Thanksgiving is always a fun time of year. I love the holidays. I love fall weather. I love family gatherings, drama and all. I love to cook. So, all-in-all, this is win-win for me. This year, I had the added excitement of
embarking on a new adventure – I joined the annual Thanksgiving hunting
trip. Ta-da!
I’ve wanted to attempt deer hunting of the past couple of
years (which, I realize, seems in direct opposition to my whole “I’m not a
country girl” thing). I like learning
new things and I’m curious as to what all the hoopla is about. Between toddler duty and letting kids have
their first hunts, I usually end up giving my spot up so that someone else can
have a shot (no pun intended). So, this
year’s plan was “Mommy gets a deer first.”
Don’t hold your breath, kids.
We headed west Friday – locked, loaded and ready to go. As we drove in our unusually quiet car (we
only took Luke and the dog, the two younger kids stayed behind), my mind
drifted back to my very first deer/hunting interaction. It was with Gregg, of course, and even though
it was almost 20 years ago, I remember it with complete clarity.
We were freshmen in college and had been “hanging out” without
actually dating (whatever that means) for a month or two. Translated, we were still too cool to make
the first move, but in the “I need to impress you with how irresistible I am without
seeming to try too hard.” Gregg was at
his house which, to my mind, was out in the country and I had driven over to “hang
out”. We couldn’t go anywhere because he
had shot a deer the evening before and it was hanging, field dressed and ready
for him to skin and quarter. Naturally,
the super cute Wonder Girl persona I had on prompted me to volunteer my
services and help him out. After all, I was
dissecting stuff in Anatomy lab and pre-med at the time. How hard could this be? Plus, for all my insect and scorpion phobias,
mammals don’t make me squeamish. And
Gregg looked as impressed as he did shocked, so I figured it was the right
call.
We went out to where the deer hung and, after a brief “Aw”
moment, I was ready to work. Gregg gave me
a small handsaw and began reciting very specific instructions, which I actually
listened to without allowing myself to become overly distracted by his
dimples. Or height. Or muscles.
Did I mention he was really cute?
Believe it or not, in my younger years I was way more focused and less
ADD than I am now. I blame the children
for this loss.
Sorry, I digress.
See?
Instructions: I was the quarterer, which meant I had to
remove the legs (if you are squeamish, you might want to skip ahead. If you are a card carrying member of PETA,
just skip this post altogether). The
method I was to use was to saw halfway through the leg tendons, twist and pull,
popping the leg off. Repeat for each
leg. Gregg did the actual skinning, and
was impressively fast at it, until he got to the head/neck area – he then sat
on the ground to work with more precision (obviously, the deer was hanging
upside down). This was my cue to being
working on the hind legs. Show time.
As I stated earlier, this was a time in my life where I was
incredible focused and very literal. I
took the handsaw and sawed through exactly 50% of the tendons with extreme
specificity. I may have even counted
fibers. So far, so good. I carefully set the saw down, reached up for
the leg, twisted and pulled.
Nothing. Hmmm…. I twisted a
little further and pulled with more force.
Still nothing. I repeated the
twist/pull pattern with incremental increased in force for three to four more
repetitions. No luck. The leg was still firmly attached. And now, it was personal. I had followed the instructions without
deviating and it was not working! My
type A personality could not reconcile this, so my mounting frustration may
have made me a tad irrational. I totally
forgot about Gregg’s presence and became completely immersed in the woman versus
deer leg struggle for dominance. Bring
it on, Bambi!
I raised all the way up onto my tiptoes, wrapped both arms
around the leg and turned by body so that the deer leg was positioned under my
armpit and lodged against my ribs. I
placed my foot on the tree trunk, braced myself and started yanking with my
arms and body while shoving my foot against the tree for leverage. I’m pretty sure there was grunting. I struggled this way for a good minute, hair
whipping wildly, tree bark flying, the deer swinging back and forth…..until,
breathless, I realized two things: 1) this deer leg was no closer to coming off
at this point than it had been before I started
and 2) Gregg was still there.
Oops.
I slowly turned my head and lowered by eyes to where he sat;
stunned, silent, not moving at all, as he stared with wide eyes at this lunatic
hanging on his deer. After an awkward
pause, he asked, “What are you doing?”
There really was no dignified response here, so I simply said, “Twist
and pull.” We learned that day that I
was not strong enough for the 50% rule.
My success rate with the other legs went up exponentially when I sawed
through 90% of tendons instead.
Fast forward 20 years to the inaugural deer hunt. We dropped off our stuff, our son (he had no
interest in going since the focus was not on him…so much for supporting mom)
and the dog, then headed to the deer lease.
I was quite excited, although more than a little apprehensive, truth be
told. I’ve mentioned on more than one
occasion how busy we are, and the holiday season only magnifies this. While I have shot guns before, it’s been a
while. With our crazy schedules, we
never got around to letting me practice with the gun I was actually going to
use. So, when Gregg handed me the gun
and said, “Ok, babe, rack a round and put one in the chamber”, I just sat there
blinking at him. I mean, really. Who did he think he was talking to? Where would I have just picked that up as a
skill? This was probably his first red
flag. The second came as we were exiting
the vehicle and I turned to him with the question, “So, where exactly am I supposed
to shoot the deer?” Nothing like waiting
until the last possible minute to get the basic info.
We set off on foot across the lease and I felt pretty
official in my black wool beanie, five layers of clothes, Gregg’s camouflage
vest and a rifle in my hands. This
particular lease doesn’t have many deer blinds and we got there after the
feeders had gone off, so the plan was to walk the lease and find deer to
hunt. This requires stealth, a good eye
and quick response time. Perfect. Sounds like a recipe for success to me.
Still, I had promised to be a good sport and follow
directions, so I squared my shoulders and soldiered on. Gregg led the way and we wound our way
throughout the terrain. It was really fun. There was wildlife everywhere – we saw
jackrabbits and hawks and foxes, and there was a veritable cacophony of
birdsong. It was so great to spend time,
just the two of us, enjoying nature and fresh air. I almost forgot we were stalking deer. Almost…..the gun wasn’t exactly light. At intervals, Gregg would turn to me and do
the two fingers at his eyes, then at me, then out at the clearing. I would nod and look around dutifully. He would motion to get down. I would duck and squat. He also did a whole bunch of other signs that
made no sense to me whatsoever and I couldn’t begin to guess at their
meaning. I just kept nodding. He seemed so excited to communicate in that
way, I didn’t have the heart to burst his bubble.
As the sun began to set, we became resigned to the fact that
this trip was unlikely to garner the result we had hoped for. We began walking back towards the
suburban. All of a sudden, Gregg started
flapping and pointing wildly while squatting and motioning for me to do the
same. Okay! Okay!
I got it. He duck walked/ran over
to me, put his chin on my head and began speaking under his breath. I thought this was a great trick, by the
way. I know, focus on the point. He had spotted a doe in the field across from
us. Sweet! I turned to look where he was pointing. Nothing.
He pointed again. Nothing. Again.
Nothing. What the heck was he
looking at? I mean, the man can’t find
his keys when they are six inches from his face, but he can spot a partially hidden
deer at 200 yards? Amazing. He told me to sneak along the fence line past
the bushes and I should be able to see her.
Ok. Got it. So I slowly began this awkward
lunge/squatty/duck-like walk along the fence while hiding behind the
bushes. It was ridiculous, and only the
thought he would kill me if my laughter scared off the invisible deer kept my
giggles at bay. I stopped and
stared. Nothing. He pantomimed for me too look through the
rifle scope to see if it would help. Oh,
my gosh. Have you ever tried to do that? How does anyone see through those things? Gregg snuck over to me, told me not to put
the scope so close to my face or the recoil would give me a black eye (great,
something new to worry about) and said there were now two deer. Because I was having so much trouble seeing
them, he would go around and see if he could “encourage” them to come towards
me by making a little noise on the other side.
What?!? Then, he says, “This
means you’re gonna have to be quick, Bec.
I mean, no hesitation. Click off
the safety, get your gun up, aim and shoot.
They’ll be moving, so you won’t have much time.” Again, who does he think he’s taking to? It’s like he’s never met me!
Needless to say, this plan was not successful. I never did see the deer. Maybe they flew away…..Christmas is coming,
you know.
Walking back to the car, we each spent a few minutes in our
own thoughts. I was a little
disappointed, but still had fun. My main
concern was that this had to be the most boring hunting trip ever for my
husband. The man has been hunting his
whole life. He doesn’t even rifle hunt
anymore, preferring to use a bow. Here I
am, candidate for Clueless Hunting Rookie of the Year. Gregg was walking a few feet in front of
me. He paused for a moment, turned, and
said, “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you came along. It means so much to me that I got to share
this part of me with you.” I felt my
heart lift, my spine straighten and my face break into a smile. As he turned to keep walking, he casually
tossed out, “And you look really cute in that hat.”
Victory!! As far as I’m
concerned, this hunt was a roaring success.
Any time a good-looking outdoorsman walks away from an empty-handed hunt
with a smile and a compliment, noticing your adorableness, you’ve won the day. After all, isn’t that what we all hunt for
throughout our lives? Aren’t we tracking
down people and occasions that leave us feeling loved and beautiful and
worthwhile? We equip ourselves as best
we can to find positive reinforcement and incidences and individuals that are
able to celebrate our relationships over our results and our company over our
competence. This is why community and
friendship and sisterhood are so important.
We were created to embrace them…and each other. So celebrate that every opportunity you get,
and even stepping outside of your comfort zone won’t feel so daunting, I
guarantee it. It makes a cold,
intimidating hunt much more enjoyable.
Getting to watch him walk around in front of me in his jeans
was just a bonus.
Solidarity, sisters.
The hunt is on…..
