Adventures in the Old Growth (WARNING: THIS IS NOT THE READER'S DIGEST VERSION)
HOw funny. That last post, I mean. K. So Whatever, right. We had a good weekend. Our friends, the Zierenbergs, were here. They left yesterday. It's always good to visit with friends. Our kids play really well together, too, so that makes it nice.
On Friday morning, we all (Michael, me and the kids) woke up super early (like 5:30!) and piled into our truck and went up to a place near our home to go blacktail deer hunting. I know! Can you believe it? Close to home! Crazy. Anyways, Michael found a good spot and we parked the truck. Hunter and Corrine got out of the truck with MIcheal. Now when you are hunting, it is imperitive to be silent. I was so proud of the kids. They were so quiet! I stayed back a little to get Elayna in her little bunting and put her in the hip hammock. When I got out, I saw HUnter waving frantically for me to come. They were only a little ways up the road just *glassing (*the act of putting binoculars up to your eyes to scope out the area) the other hillside. So I powerwalked up to where they were and Michael did his hand signal, (which is spreading his hands out wide and putting them up to his head to mime antlers) meaning he saw a deer. I asked in my hand signals (which is pointing to myself and then using my thumb and pointer finger on my right hand to mime a gun) if I could shoot it. He answered back with a head signal (which is a nod and a HUMONGOUS grin) yes. I quickly unbuckeled Layna from my hip and handed her off to Hunter and buckeled her onto his hip. Then Michael and I started to make the stalk. Now, picture this. It is really foggy, but not too foggy that you can't see a bit of your surroundings. It had rained and rained the night before, so everything was wet. SOAKED. I had on jeans, and some boots, but not waterproof boots. Of course Michael was decked out in the latest and greatest waterproof, camo hunting gear. He's the man. And the terrain we were hunting in was just off the road at the top of a small hill. The buck Michael spotted was down in the ravine at the edge of the tree line. Here where we live, we have what is called " clear cuts" which means this is where the timber industry has come in to cut trees to use for building houses, furniture, pencils: you get my drift. According to Michael and every other blacktail hunter, these deer are elusive. They are supposedly nocturnal (only up at night, for those of you who, like me, don't remember much from high school biology and what-not). And they like the rain and the density of old growth forests. They don't really like old-growth, but reprod...thick regrowth. ( I know, I'm using terminology that you only hear of when you move here. I had no idea either, of all the words out there!) Old growth is thick stuff. So thick in fact, that if a person were laying down 3 feet from you under the brush, you would never know it. Trust me, this part is imperitive to the story. (Oooh. Wouldn't that be a good setting for a mystery book?) Ok, way off topic. Shall we continue? SO, Michael and I hike a little way down, leaving the kids on the road to wait for us. Now before you go calling CPS on us, it was a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Not in danger of vehicular manslaughter. Back to the story: He gives me the gun (a beautiful Ruger 7 mag) and tells me where the deer is. I find the deer in the scope, hold my breath, aim just behind the front shoulder, and I squeeze the trigger. BOOOOM! The deer doesn't move. I'm totally shaking. He can't tell through the binoculars, but he thinks for sure I hit him. So I truck it back to the road while Michael makes his way down to the buck. I get the kids and tell them that mommy just shot Bambi's daddy, to which they reply, "SWEET! Let's go get him!" Now other children might cry or even wail at the news I just gave my children, but no. Mine celebrated! (Not like the time Michael and I went out to eat at a seafood restaurant and then came home and told Corrine that we ate Sebastian and Flounder. She is scarred for life from that one.) We all make our way -S-L-O-W-L-Y- down the hillside to where Michael is. He says he saw a lot of blood, which meant that I did hit him, but no deer. He said that I must have made a gut shot, which is not the same as a lung or heart shot, which means that it didn't immediatly drop the deer. He ran off into the old growth and that was the last we saw of him. We (Michael) looked and looked and looked...and looked. Seriously. For any of you who know my husband, this is a hard thing for him to leave an animal, that he knows is down and walk away. He could not find it ANYWHERE. It may have been only a few yards away, but with the thickness of the foliage, it was impossible to find him. We all took a moment of ponderation (not really a word, but it sounds good, eh?) and wiped a few tears away before heading back to the truck. So, needless to say, my first blacktail hunt sent us home emptyhanded.
I still think about that buck, and what might have been. He would have been happy in our stomachs, and his antlers would have looked great as a head mount hanging above our wood stove. *sigh* Maybe next year.
(How's that for blog vomit?)
This is Michael (can you see him?) walking down to Bambo. (I know. I named the deer. My first ever deer I named Gus. He's cute.) The second picture is the stump I used as a rest to shoot from.
On Friday morning, we all (Michael, me and the kids) woke up super early (like 5:30!) and piled into our truck and went up to a place near our home to go blacktail deer hunting. I know! Can you believe it? Close to home! Crazy. Anyways, Michael found a good spot and we parked the truck. Hunter and Corrine got out of the truck with MIcheal. Now when you are hunting, it is imperitive to be silent. I was so proud of the kids. They were so quiet! I stayed back a little to get Elayna in her little bunting and put her in the hip hammock. When I got out, I saw HUnter waving frantically for me to come. They were only a little ways up the road just *glassing (*the act of putting binoculars up to your eyes to scope out the area) the other hillside. So I powerwalked up to where they were and Michael did his hand signal, (which is spreading his hands out wide and putting them up to his head to mime antlers) meaning he saw a deer. I asked in my hand signals (which is pointing to myself and then using my thumb and pointer finger on my right hand to mime a gun) if I could shoot it. He answered back with a head signal (which is a nod and a HUMONGOUS grin) yes. I quickly unbuckeled Layna from my hip and handed her off to Hunter and buckeled her onto his hip. Then Michael and I started to make the stalk. Now, picture this. It is really foggy, but not too foggy that you can't see a bit of your surroundings. It had rained and rained the night before, so everything was wet. SOAKED. I had on jeans, and some boots, but not waterproof boots. Of course Michael was decked out in the latest and greatest waterproof, camo hunting gear. He's the man. And the terrain we were hunting in was just off the road at the top of a small hill. The buck Michael spotted was down in the ravine at the edge of the tree line. Here where we live, we have what is called " clear cuts" which means this is where the timber industry has come in to cut trees to use for building houses, furniture, pencils: you get my drift. According to Michael and every other blacktail hunter, these deer are elusive. They are supposedly nocturnal (only up at night, for those of you who, like me, don't remember much from high school biology and what-not). And they like the rain and the density of old growth forests. They don't really like old-growth, but reprod...thick regrowth. ( I know, I'm using terminology that you only hear of when you move here. I had no idea either, of all the words out there!) Old growth is thick stuff. So thick in fact, that if a person were laying down 3 feet from you under the brush, you would never know it. Trust me, this part is imperitive to the story. (Oooh. Wouldn't that be a good setting for a mystery book?) Ok, way off topic. Shall we continue? SO, Michael and I hike a little way down, leaving the kids on the road to wait for us. Now before you go calling CPS on us, it was a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Not in danger of vehicular manslaughter. Back to the story: He gives me the gun (a beautiful Ruger 7 mag) and tells me where the deer is. I find the deer in the scope, hold my breath, aim just behind the front shoulder, and I squeeze the trigger. BOOOOM! The deer doesn't move. I'm totally shaking. He can't tell through the binoculars, but he thinks for sure I hit him. So I truck it back to the road while Michael makes his way down to the buck. I get the kids and tell them that mommy just shot Bambi's daddy, to which they reply, "SWEET! Let's go get him!" Now other children might cry or even wail at the news I just gave my children, but no. Mine celebrated! (Not like the time Michael and I went out to eat at a seafood restaurant and then came home and told Corrine that we ate Sebastian and Flounder. She is scarred for life from that one.) We all make our way -S-L-O-W-L-Y- down the hillside to where Michael is. He says he saw a lot of blood, which meant that I did hit him, but no deer. He said that I must have made a gut shot, which is not the same as a lung or heart shot, which means that it didn't immediatly drop the deer. He ran off into the old growth and that was the last we saw of him. We (Michael) looked and looked and looked...and looked. Seriously. For any of you who know my husband, this is a hard thing for him to leave an animal, that he knows is down and walk away. He could not find it ANYWHERE. It may have been only a few yards away, but with the thickness of the foliage, it was impossible to find him. We all took a moment of ponderation (not really a word, but it sounds good, eh?) and wiped a few tears away before heading back to the truck. So, needless to say, my first blacktail hunt sent us home emptyhanded.
I still think about that buck, and what might have been. He would have been happy in our stomachs, and his antlers would have looked great as a head mount hanging above our wood stove. *sigh* Maybe next year.
(How's that for blog vomit?)
This is Michael (can you see him?) walking down to Bambo. (I know. I named the deer. My first ever deer I named Gus. He's cute.) The second picture is the stump I used as a rest to shoot from.
Pic. #3: The kids making their way down the hillside.
Pic. #4 and 5: Michael and I and the kids. Behind us you can kindof get the feel for the type of forest I was describing above. Notice Hunter holding up a skull, this was the only dead deer Michael found that day.
Pic. #6: I could just eat her up!
Pic. #7: Michael's waterproof camo really does work! He's dry as a bone that's been laid out in the sun to dry. (because bones that haven't been laid out in the sun aren't really dry at all, are they?)
Comments
Oh, and I'm gonna sell the hats for $15, if you really want some! =D Check out my new post on my blog.