Welcome to The Scrape Line

I had always been under the impression that a blog was essentially a glorified diary and from where I come from men do not keep diaries. I had always felt that diaries are strictly reserved to two types of people: Holister-wearing junior high school cheerleaders with crushes on varsity quarterbacks or for overweight British chicks named Bridget.

Diaries are definitely not for individuals like myself- red-blooded American males with an affinity for firearms, four-wheeled drives and Sam Elliot movies.

But this isn't a diary, it's a blog and this blog is essentially going to deal with the oldest sport known to man: Deer Hunting.

In my family and to most folks in the mountains where I'm from, there is no greater date in the calendar year that is met with more rabid anticipation and unbridled enthusiasm than that of the Opening Day of Deer Season.

We are fanatical hunters in every sense of the word. In this part of the country, to even label deer hunting a mere sport would toe the line of blasphemy and sacrilege in certain social circles. To us it is an absolute way of life. It’s what binds our family together. And for those brief three weeks each autumn, when the whitetails are in full rut, nothing comes before deer hunting.

What you are about to read is my humble attempt to capture and chronicle my hunting adventures. Some will be personal hunting stories while others may be simply inane ramblings from the a.d.d riddled mind of a hunting junkie. Sprinkled throughout will also be hunting yarns and tall tales that have been told so many times around countless campfires and supper tables, that I’m not entirely sure where fact stops and fiction begins. But I’ll do my best to keep to keep it honest to the best of my ability. However to quote a line from one of my favorite films, THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE, “When the truth become legend, print the legend.”

Good advice.

Now before you get too far along reading this blog, I'd also like to explain a few things up front and apologize in advance to certain individuals. First off, I'm not a writer. Well, not a very good one anyway. I've never had any formal writing classes beyond my freshman year in college, in which I made a solid C. So to any literary elitists out there who only crack the spines of great literature, you might as well stop reading now. The following entries will be loaded with atrocious grammar, run-on and fragmented sentences, and miss-spellings galore. My wife even loves to remind me on a regular basis, that I barely have a grasp on the English Language as it is. Too many years spent in the grammar-deficient mountains of Western North Carolina I guess. I'm the sort of writer who makes Hemingway, Hawthorne, and Fitzgerald spin in their graves.

I would also like to issue a warning to any left-wing, liberal, animal rights activists out there who might perusing through this blog. You probably want to stop reading now in order to prevent yourself from gouging your eyes out with a blunt instrument or your head exploding in a fit of rage. The following stories and essays describe in detail the stalking, slaughter, mutilation and consumption of furry woodland creatures. I will not be held responsible for any bodily harm you may inflict upon yourself while reading this blog. I would recommend that if you are a left-wing, liberal, animal rights activist, that perhaps you should stop reading now, go to your nearest Blockbuster Video and rent Bambi (which is nothing but anti-hunting propaganda anyway), sing Cum Bi Ya and munch on some tofu. This blog is not for you.

In addition to left-wing, liberal, animal rights activists, the contents of this blog are also likely to offend the following, listed here in no particular order:

The family and friends of Coach Mike Krzyzewski, Duke University, The Humane Society, The French, Hippies, The Department of Fish and Game, Bobby Cox, Vegans, Afghanistan, The A.C.L.U, George Lucas, The Walt Disney Corporation, P.E.T.A, Nancy Pelosi

If you fall in to one of the above categories, again I suggest that you either stop reading immediately, or proceed with caution and a very thick skin.

And with that I leave you, Dear Readers, with the immortal words of Uncle Ted Nugent,"I don't hunt for sport, I don't hunt for recreation, I don't hunt for meat, I hunt to hunt."

Those are the words that I live by. Welcome to the Scrape Line.