I've made no mystery about the fact that I feel depressed when football season is over. A big void enters my world, one vast February wasteland of frigid temps and no football. I hate that. This late in the football season it's always at the back of my mind that the more I enjoy, the closer the end gets. I got a little taste of that today. For the first time in my life, I'm actually depressed that hunting season is over.
It's not that I got skunked, which I did. But I did get a shot off, which pleased me to no end. I managed to get myself into a tight spot up on a point above the ridge I was hiking, where the drop before me and to the east was impassable, and the slide to the west wasn't a whole lot better. It was too steep for stable footing and snowy/iced up to boot. I kinda zigged-zagged my way down, until I hit a passable game trail, and then followed it to the bottom. As the ground leveled out before the trail, I broke out of the brush and there was a doe, just standing there looking at this moron who was standing there looking at her. She was about 50 yards away, and she moved up the slope on the other side, revealing another muley standing broadside to me about 10 yards behind her. I knew that was a buck; every instinct told me it was. But I couldn't see his hat. He was behind a Ponderosa pine, with his neck dipped just looking at me. I could see his snout and his eyeballs, that's it. I slowly slid the Mag off my shoulder, and sighted him through the scope, but I wasn't going to take the shot until I knew he was a he. We stood like that for 3 minutes (that is no lie) and by the time he moved, I was wobbling so bad I couldn't have hit Godzilla at that range. That bastard didn't even flinch when I flicked the safety off. My younger brother would have taken that shot, consequences be damned. But I had to know it was buck, and I couldn't tell. I'm kinda stupid that way.
By this time, 2 more does had moved out of the brush on my side and joined the first headed up the hill across from me. They just stood there in a bunch staring at me, like the fricken brides of Dracula. And the deer behind the tree didn't move any either. Finally, that bastard moved back behind the brush and up the hill. I sighted in on the clear point near the crest where I thought he'd have to come out, and sure enough, he did. He was at a trot by then, and angled away from me. I saw that he was a fair sized four by four; 'had to be big to have a harem of three. I pulled up and fired ... and went clean over his back. Bastard. Over the hill he went. Bye bye.
Even after I shot, those twisted sisters just kept looking at me. As my father-in-law suggested, they were probably thinking: "shit, you can't hit nothin' anyway ...". Then they turned butt and headed over the hill with the buck. Damn.
That was an evening hunt. My niece and I headed up the next morning to see if we could catch the deer headed back across from the west rise to the eastern clearings. We had one asshole buck fake us out. I could smell him, but he was bedded about 20 yards to our rear, and when he ran, we only saw his backside. We found a nice group of does up on the top ... but no buck with them. My niece had a horrible thought. They were alone because the distant shot we'd heard about 30 minutes before was somebody else taking down the buck. AAAHHHHGGGG!
Seriously, I had more damned fun hunting this year then I have had doing most things in one helluva long time. I got skunked because I never planned for hunting more than a couple of hours at a time. Poor planning, late season prep, yada yada ... Hunting is probably about 5% prep, 55% luck, 50% skill and 100% perseverance. (yeah, I know that's more than 100 ... just shut up.)
But there is next year to look forward to. Problem is, there's a long frosty time until that comes. Don't get me wrong; I'm bummed, not mad. Life doesn't owe me a kill, or a season, or anything. I value these because I can take them, I can earn them. I'm unhappy that this season is done, over, finished ... but I'm hungry for next year.
And Gerik, if you read this and come on in next year, I'd love to stomp the ground on your spots with you. Let me know.