Neanderpundit

Okay, you asked. Well, some of you did. So here it is:

It’s not a trophy. It’s not a huge deer.

It’s dinner. It’s me, back in the field, being able to provide meat for my family.

When you are away from this for a while, like i was, it’s hard to remember how you feel, those moments.

You line up, and take the shot. You have no interest in causing the animal to suffer, so you pay close attention to what you’re doing.

You watch the animal fall. No noise accompanies it, meaning it was clean.

You walk up; for a moment, everything is turned off, everything else is completely gone, everything is now just you and the deer.

It’s eyes are open. The last glimmer of awareness fades as you walk up, you thank god there was no time for it to suffer.

The entry wound is visible just below the ear- it’s about 6″ below the crest of the spine, the bullet has punched out both lungs and the heart and gone out the other side.

You kneel next to the animal and put your hand on it’s neck, feel the warmth, smell the wild-animal smell. There is no sensation of cold, or darkness, or weariness, though I’ve been in stands or stalking the whole day, all awareness is now focused on the deer.

I roll it over onto it’s back and tie a rope off on it’s legs, hang the rope over my shoulder and drag it back to the parking area, where I lie it in the headlight beams of the truck. I gut it and dress it out; it’s a yearling button buck, less than a hundred pounds. The snow continues to fall around me and I roll the carcase to let the entrails spill on the ground, then wash the body cavity clear with handsfull of clean, fresh snow. The blood and offal lie shiny and slick on the ground.

Awareness of my surroundings returns and my heart finally begins to slow, I wrap the deer in a tarp and carry it to the back of the truck.

The rangers at the check station at Kingsbury are helpful and friendly, congratulate me when they find it’s my first deer in so many years. The ranger slips the tag in and I head home.

it’s 52 miles from Kingsbury back to the house, and all that drive, I make with no radio, no music, only the sound of my breathing and the fur smell of the deer in the back.

This is man’s most raw emotion, the feeling that his family will eat well for some time. All the stress of work, all the troubles of ordinary life, fade in to the background- proper perspective is restored.

Hunters among me will understand. Probably not anyone else.

Next year, antlers.

I’ve taken down the ad for Steve’s book, not because I don’t want you to buy it, because I do, but because it clogs up my WAP browser when I’m on my phone.

So, go to Hog on Ice and use the link there, but buy the damned book, already.