Entry Forty-six: Sitting in the Stand.

[A story in many parts: Part Fifteen]

I sensed a certain "last day!" "Last session!" "Let's kill something!" fever sweeping the lodge, so I pulled myself off the sofa and returned to the woods for my last session. Everyone wanted me to shoot a deer, so I figured the least I could do was put in the time, if not for me, then at least for everyone else. I was taken to a spot I hadn’t seen before. It was set off deeper in the woods but it had a nice, clear, wide shooting lane. The biggest problem was it was very hot, complicated by the stand being very small. I was crammed in there. It didn’t help that by that time I had added a sterno plus a cooler packed with an obscene supply of Carl Buddig lunch meats to my supplies. It helped cut through the loneliness, but it cramped my space. I used my new trick of tying my backpack to the rope amenity and after knocking it off the top of the stand a couple of times and dragging it back up, I left it on the ground until I needed it. That, at least, gave me some leg room.

It was almost funny how little wildlife I had spotted while I was there. Outside of birds and insects, I had seen nary hide nor hair of God's creatures. While sitting in the stand, searching for wildlife, I realized you disappoint half the people whether you come home with a deer or not. The hunters want you to kill something and, if you don’t, will look on you with pity, or worse, disdain. The anti-hunters want you to miss and, if you do bag a deer, will think you are an insensitive barbarian. Great hobby, eh?

All words and images ©2005/J. Colle

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