I don’t care much about antlers. (You listening Mike P?)
The pic was taken the next day (Saturday) at the butchers. He spent the night jammed in the trunk of my car full of ice packs. I’m 6’3’ and 210 myself, and he was heavier than me.
Here’s what happened.
Last Tuesday was spent working with the farmer on whose land I hunt. We cut a 25’ cedar pole, hoisted it up into the attic of the sagging summer spam and jacked the whole thing to straighten out the ridge. Then cut posts to support the pole before framing the rafters half-way down to take the sag out of them. Hot work in a 4’ attic. We worked from 9 till dark but got it done.
Friday I was back to ‘process chickens’ for the farmer’s wife. Dang I hate that job. I got 8 done before calling it quits since I wanted to hunt the afternoon. But she had held lunch for me and I could not turn down such a kind invitation, so we all sat on the porch, and chatted before dessert.
After helping clear the table I excused myself to go and hunt, she gave me instructions to “shoot them all” since they ate her carrots again this year. It was a short drive to the back of the property. Thank goodness since it was already after 3:00.
Not having hunted for the last two weeks, I was not sure of the rut, scrape lines or deer activity, so I chose a stand overlooking two small meadows and the point of a thick cedar bush. It wasn’t until it was getting duckish I heard a crisp SNAP in the cedars indicating that something heavy was there. Bear? Deer? Person? Nothing. Then a shadow moved and I thought it a was a fawn, as it nosed along I decided a doe, but when it stepped out I saw the white of antlers. Since I had already taken a spike I was willing to pass on does, but this was no doe. As he surveyed the meadow I had the cross-hairs on his vitals and a single shot rippled his ribs. The decision was made. He bolted 40 yards into the open, faltered and fell dead.
I phoned my wife from the stand to tell her I’d be late for supper.
Once down from the tree he was easy to find. The hard work started when he was gutted. I had to empty the trunk of chain saws, gas cans, cooler, propane stove and big pot (for processing chickens) and hunting gear. Then drag him to the laneway myself, and man-handle him into the trunk.
How do you get a heavy, wet, slippery, antlered deer with no handles in to the trunk of a Volvo? Alone. Lift the front, the back falls down, lift the back the front falls down……lift the front…..
I’ve had this problem before, but when I finally wrestled the last leg in, I was sweaty, exhausted, covered in blood, smelling of buck-in-rut, and very, very late.
That is how I was when I got home to find my birthday dinner was already in progress. I tried to sneak upstairs for a shower but I was caught at the front door. I think I might have felt more comfortable meeting company stark-naked than as I was. Some understood, some may not have.
My birthday has always been a traditional hunting day, and I had a great one this year. Couldn't have been better.
Maple
