A Day In The Life Of...

… OD during hunting season.

So you think it's easy, do you? Come with me as I recap my last Deer Hunt.

3:30 AM: The alarm clock jars me from my restful slumber, visions of naked women included. I shut the alarm clock off and stagger into the kitchen to start the coffee. The shower beckons me.

4:00 AM: I sit at the kitchen table drinking coffee, showered and refreshed. My breakfast is simple this morning. Four eggs and six slices of bacon. Can't afford to be weighed down by a huge breakfast of little substance other than starches.

4:30 AM: I am now dressed in brush pants, coat with Blaze Orange inserts, and a Blaze Orange hat. My boots are laced tight, my gloves tucked away in my coat pocket. I grab a box of Remington Premier .30-06 ammo. My choice for this day is a load that hurls a 150 grain Swift Scirocco bullet at 2,910 feet per second at the muzzle. It shoots flat, retains velocity, and energy in an almost sickening manner. Factory ammo isn't supposed to be this good. I get my rifle out and head out to the truck. Crap, I forgot the thermos. I load my rifle and ammo in the back seat and head back in the house for my coffee thermos. Back in the truck I insert the key in the ignition and the 454 rumbles to life, and probably waking up everyone within 5 houses.

4:45 AM: Stop at a convenience store for gas, the truck is a hungry beast. Go inside and grab some snacks and pay for my gas. The clerk is tired and ready for her shift to end. I briefly wonder why a girl who looks as pleasant as she does is working the graveyard shift.

5:00 AM: I am headed west out of town on 2nd Street Road. My destination is the Cimarron National Grasslands. Lynyrd Skynyrd, Simple Man is playing... a fitting tune.

5:45 AM: I arrive at my chosen spot. I kill the ignition and sit for a few moments drinking coffee and enjoying the solitude. No lights, no sounds other than nature’s own. I crawl into the back seat, uncase my rifle and grab 5 shells. The moment is near… I slip the shells into the magazine and one in the chamber. I gently open the door and step out. The morning is glorious, Surely my ancestors are smiling upon me.

6:00 AM: The first rays of dawn have not yet appeared, but I am already on the move. Like a ghost I move in complete comfort and ease through the grasslands. Except for that damn barbed wire fence... I manage to find it with my thighs yet again... Thank God I am moving slowly.

This is where my concept of time is strictly on instinct. I left my watch behind, knowing the time would only encourage me to move faster and possibly make rash decisions.

Dawn comes in slowly and surely, like the sands of time on their march to make us all older and grayer. I am sitting at the base of a Cottonwood taking in the sights and watching two rabbits frolic. They do not know I am there or if they do they pay me no mind, I am simply part of the environment. An eagle screams in the distance, spooking some wild turkeys of off their roost, and sending the rabbits scurrying for cover. I slowly stand up and start making my way to the river bottom. I move perhaps 100 yards when I cut fresh deer sign; hoof prints and fresh scat. It's still warm and the odor is pungent. A mixture of sage and fermented grains.

I adjust my scope to its highest power of magnification and raise it to my shoulder. I scan the area looking for any sign of movement, and I catch a glimpse of the deer just at it blends into a plumb thicket like another worldly phantasm. I am good, but not that good. Only a fool tries to follow into a plumb thicket. With thorns up to two inches long they can snag clothing and create noise like you wouldn't believe. They hurt like hell too. I head off on a parallel course, to the river bottom. My senses are in a high state of awareness; if a cricket farted I would hear and smell it.

I didn't ever see that deer again. Quite possibly because I saw the one thing I can not see and let live, a fucking porcupine. I hate those bastards like Pigpen hates baths. If they have one redeeming quality for the ecosystem I wish someone would explain it to me. They kill trees, pure and simple. Not to mention the hell they can bring down on a good bird dog. I probably just ruined my day, the shot from the '06 roared like an atomic bomb on the Bikini Atoll.

I move rapidly away from the area heading East. I see the river bottom occasionally as I put distance between me and the area where I shot the porcupine. I stop and sit by another old Cottonwood. The birds are singing again and a family of field mice is out gathering food. I watch their antics for a while. I hear a rustling in the tree above me. I look up and meet eyes with a Bobcat. I am blessed this day, to see a Bobcat this close is truly rare. Solitary creatures, and they shun humans like the plague. We watch each other for what seems like an eternity. I slip the safety on my rifle off, although as close as he is if he decides to attack I will probably need to fight him off with my knife. Bobcats are quite possibly the meanest cats of all creation. 45 pounds of fury when they are pissed. This one grants me a small snarl and then leaps into the neighboring tree. He turns to look at me, then screams defiantly, and leaps to the ground and disappears. I slip the safety on the rifle back to on.

I fish a piece of jerky out of my pocket and chew it contentedly as I reflect on the events that just transpired. I decide that even if I go home empty handed today is a success. You just don't see Bobcats every day, and the experience I just had I will carry with me to my grave. I get up and start moving once again.

I have glanced up at the sun. It is high overhead, Noon perhaps. I am now across the river bottom at the top of a bluff lying on my belly scoping the area out through my scope. I look West and nearly shit my pants. A true monster is working his way through the brush. A twelve point buck with double drop tines on each side. However, the elements are not in my favor now. To intercept this deer and get the elements in my favor I must get down from the bluff on the North side of the river and get on the South side. The wind is out of the North, this is not good. A deer's nose is impeccable.

I move as swiftly as I can without creating any noise, which is just roughly faster than a snail. The grass is yellow and dead, the ground is littered in hues of orange and gold from the leaves of the Cottonwoods, patches of snow still remain from the last snowstorm. I am moving Southeast at this time trying to stay in front of that monster and get the wind in my face again. I am within 200 yards of the river bottom, and I see movement. I stop moving immediately. It is a group of three does feeding. SHIT! I did not need this. If I can see them they can sure as fuck see me, and the wind is at my back still. I am pondering my course of action now. I am partially hidden behind a sparse brush pile, but soon they will catch wind of me.

Too late…

Almost in unison all three does snap their heads up in alarm. As a group they vacate the area, white flags waving. As I curse my luck another deer runs into the area they were at, the light glinting off his antlers. He stops in the clearing, head up, watching in the direction the does ran off oblivious to me, and the death I bring. YES! I snap my rifle up to my shoulder and take the safety to off in one smooth motion. I settle the crosshairs in the vitals. I do not bother looking at his head. I learned very early on to never look at a deer's antlers while preparing to shoot, it distracts you and starts doubts in your mind. I am focusing solely on the heart/lung area. One shot, one kill. My mantra. My unshakeable belief. Anything less is a disgrace to the animal I am hunting. I gently squeeze the trigger, at exactly four pounds of effort it breaks. The '06 roars once again this crisp day. Before I lose sight of the deer through the scope as the rifle recoils I see it go down rolling. I have connected. I bring the rifle down and chamber the next round, the deer gets his feet under him in a flurry of blood and snow. Amazing what you can see with the unaided eye when focused intently. He runs through the end of a plumb thicket and collapses on the other side.

I pick up my empty shell and pocket it. I sit down on a log and light up a cigarette. I never take my eyes off the spot where the deer went down. As I reflect on the shot and the way the deer just collapsed I am 99.9% sure it is dead.

Rule #1 of Deer Hunting: never go running up to a deer that is down. It could be wounded and then run off hell bent for leather if you try approaching it too fast. I smoke my cigarette and enjoy the calmness that can only be found in nature. It registers in my mind that snow is beginning to fall. I glance at the sky... it is turning an angry shade of grey. I snub out my cigarette on the log and pocket the butt. I never leave anything but footprints behind me while out in the wild.

I walk up on my kill. It's not the monster but a fine six pointer nonetheless. I slip the safety off the rifle once again and close the distance between me and it. No movement of the chest. A crimson stain surrounds it in the snow patch it fell in. I poke it with the rifle barrel. Nothing… dead as dead can be.

I slowly go down to my knees and take in the deer and its essence. I say a prayer of thanks as tears slowly roll from my eyes. I have connected with nature and my Cherokee ancestors. They are surely celebrating my victory and good fortune. I turn my head to the sky and scream in joy and defiance. Why defiance you may ask? Simple. I defy the notion that man is not a predator. I defy the logic my food must be bought. I defy death itself. I am the bringer of death. Other things die so I might live. But yet I will die myself and when death comes for me I will be ready. It is nature, and nature always wins. I will enjoy many small victories such as this in days and years to come, but in the grand scheme of things nature is an unstoppable force that I play a very small part of.

The works now begins. I take my gloves off and prepare to gut the deer. An unpleasant task for sure, but crucial. The first step is removal of genitals. My knife is sharp and the task is effortless.

A few words about my knife. I don't carry what could pass for a small sword. It's a rather small Gerber with a 2¾" blade. I do everything with this diminutive blade. Gut, skin, and then bone the deer out. Its 440 Stainless Blade stays sharp and its shape makes it ideal for these tasks.

Next I hold the knife edge up in my palm, with the blade trapped between my index and middle finger. Only the first half inch of the blade is exposed. I grasp the area where the genital used to be and slip the point in then open the deer up as easy as if it had a zipper. The warmth rolls out and hits me in the face. Steam is literally pouring out as the temperature has dropped at least ten degrees since I started. I cut half way through the rib cage. Then I pull the guts away from the diaphragm and sever it completely. I reach as far into the chest cavity as I can and find the wind tube and esophagus. I cut them with one motion. I then go the ass and cut the intestine free of its exit. Next I cut all the way around the asshole and pull it free. My nose itches and I absentmindedly rub it.

I stand up and grab the deer and pull it up by its front legs. The guts slide out to the ground. I survey the gut pile, paying attention to the liver and kidneys. No signs of disease, this is good. However, the bullet hit it square in the heart there isn't a piece left that is as big as my palm. Damn. Deer heart is exquisite and there will be none this year. The lungs are mush, indicating the bullet did everything I hoped it would and more. I examine the exit wound… it is as big as my fist. Total devastation.

It is snowing hard now, and I must get moving back to the truck before it turns into a blizzard. I strap my rifle across my chest, roll the deer onto its belly, and then tie the deer’s head to a back leg. Satisfied that the head is secured and won’t be flopping around hitting me. I squat down in front of the deer grabbing it’'s front legs, pulling them over my shoulders, and stand up in one smooth motion. I do not enjoy the task ahead of me. The deer weighs close to 250 pounds gutted out, and I must pack it out on my back close to two miles as near as I can guess.

Other than crossing the river bottom the trip back was uneventful. The Cimarron is what is known as a dry river, but it is never truly dry; dig down about a foot in any given spot and you will find water, pure and clean. I nearly sank to my knees twice crossing the river bottom, thank God for Gore-Tex long johns. My pants were soaked but my skin stayed dry, and once out of the bottom my clothes froze creating a windproof barrier, although a bit stiff.

I have no concept of what time it is now. The sun is gone completely and the wind is driving the snow creating drifts, making the journey back to the truck treacherous as I can no longer see holes in the ground and sticks waiting to trip me up. A mis-step now will break my leg. Or even worse; a broken leg and arm possibly. I resolve if I go down I will not try to catch myself but rather just go down and risk broken ribs.

Trees and plumb thickets appear out of the haze like ghosts, I can't see more than 25 yards ahead of me. I set the deer down and check my survival kit I carry in the game bag of my coat. Everything is there and in good order. Kansas isn't exactly known for brutal blizzards but we get them, and this one is getting bad. I consider just setting up where I am at and riding the storm out. So many people die each year in these conditions because they are not equipped for them, or even worse… they keep going and get lost.

I eat a piece of jerky and contemplate the situation. I can still see familiar landmarks and know exactly where I am. I decide to keep moving. I once again get the front legs of the deer over my shoulders and stand up, but this time my legs scream in protest. Perhaps I shouldn't have stopped, but I move on. I top a hill and catch a glimpse of red. I can make out the shape of my truck and the red of the taillight lens is like a beacon. I move on with renewed energy.

I reach the truck and literally collapse with exhaustion. I lay on the ground next to my prize for what seems like forever. I stand up and stagger to the driver’s door. I get in and once again start up the truck. The 454 shatters the silence like a machine gun. I pour a cup of coffee from my thermos and drink it even though it's no longer hot but tepid. After I finish the coffee I get out, drop the tailgate, and once again ask my taxed muscles to lift the deer. My body screams in protest from its very core. I wrestle it into the bed of my truck and wonder why in fuck I had to get such a big fucking truck. I shut the tailgate and climb in and head home.

I stop in the little town of Rolla, KS, to get something hot to eat from their convenience store/cafe. I am truly a sight to see; literally covered in blood from head to toe. It’s on my face from where I rubbed my nose, up to my shoulders from the gutting process, and on my back from my shoulder to my heels. The old timers drinking their coffee and smoking cigarettes there give me knowing looks while the clerk is freaked out of her mind. She looks at me like I am a serial killer. I could care less, I am hungry and tired as fuck. I pay for my food,  climb back in my truck and head East for home.

5:00 PM: I pull up to the front of my parent’s house. My Dad is pulling on his flannel shirt and coming out the door. He meets me by the tailgate. This would be the last deer hunt I would be able to share with him.

We go in the house and sit at the kitchen table and talk of the hunt and the events that transpired. He helps me hang it in the garage and get it ready for the skinning and butchering process.

Still think it's easy?

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by

OD