BLOOD UNDER THE FINGERNAILS

I'm writing this just after sunset on the last day of muzzleloader season, here in the Catskill mountains of NY state. It's been a long and frustrating season. From those salad days of October, watching small bucks and uncountable does prance, and munch on clover, to a missed shot at a big buck on opening day of gun season, to the past couple of weeks of silent empty woods, I finally am putting away my various weapons and letting all God's critters live. Did I ever get a deer? Well, let me tell you.
As of last Thursday night i hadn't had the safety off the gun since my miss. I called and comiserated with brother Bird. "I see deer way out in the field at first light, but I'll never hit 'em with the iron sights on that muzzleloader." I whine. "Hell, why don't you take the .243 down before work and pop one." Bird reasoned "Noone will give a shit." Hmmmm. I thought. That's not such a bad idea. I'd played it straight all season, letting does walk, and adhereing to the "three points on either side" rule. My freezer was empty and my belly was grumbling.
The next morning I hit the field before dawn. I didn't even bother to wear my hunting clothes. I wasn't really hunting....more like culling the herd. I waited patiently in my work boots, scanning the field. Nothing. At 7:15 AM I got in the car and headed to work. I didn't get 50 yards before four big does ran in front of the car. I pulled into GNJohn's driveway, threw a shell in the chamber and pulled up on the deer across the road....
"ACROSS THE ROAD!" The old man indignantly exclaims as i relay the incident over the phone a day later. "Wait a minute. I'm making a list of how many laws you broke." he chides. "I looked both ways." I explain lamely. "No muzzleloader, shooting across a road..." I interupt as he ticks off the charges "I think it was also a couple of minutes before sun up your honor." "Did you at least hit her?" the old man asks. Here's where it gets really frustrating.
BANG! The doe hunches and I think I hit her, but when i cross the road I see nothing- no deer, no blood, no hair...nothing. I'm so disgusted I could spit. It's one thing to break all these laws, but then to not even hit the target. I gather up my sorry ass and head for Stone Ridge. I have an important client meeting. I feel like shit. There's a knot in my gut. After the meeting's over I drive home. "John" I say into the phone. "Hope I didn't wake you up this morning." Touching one off right under his bedroom window should've been a rude awakening. "What? Never heard a thing." John says. I tell him the story and ask if he'll help me search the swamp with his dog Girl.
I carry the muzzleloader as Girl works the brush. It's thick as can be. Then all of the sudden Girl stops and I see brown. She's found the deer. I can't tell you how happy I am. The deer's only been laying for a matter of hours, so nothing has spoiled. I gut the deer and GNJohn and I hump it up the bank. When I butcher it Girl gets a leg as her reward.
I think we're all hardwired to go after that big buck, but as the season winds down, we all become "pot hunters". Usually a perjorative term, I wear that label proudly. No, I have no wall hanger. Yeah, I broke a few laws. I guess I shouldn't even admit to all this....but what the hell, last night GNJohn and co. cooked up some very tastey backstrap steaks and we laughed and ate and drank. Finally. Here's a toast to all you hunters with blood under your fingernails. To the rest- Good luck next year.