Bluegrass Deercamp (Part Daeioux)

One of the reasons that the poor Polish people have to spell their names with x's, y's and z's is on account of the French, who, as you can see from the title of this piece, use up vowels at a dizzying rate that would cost a a bazillion dollars on Wheel of Fortune, as evidenced by the title up there. I mean, an American cat says "meow", but a Franch one she says "Mieaux", a waste of two perfectly good vowels and one reason the Germans kicked their butts in WWII---by the time they got the orders out the war was over for them.

At any rate, I'm not here to dispense with history lessons, as German or germane as they may be. My intent is to bring all my readers* up to speed on the deer camp experience, which would make a pretty good movie, I think.

Opening morning was slow for me---three doe with a place to be and no time to get there was all I saw all day, makes for a long and pretty boring day. Anth man did no better, although his dad, the famous Jimmy Hansen, did nail a doe which he managed to skin out after dark without a flashlight.
And he didn't even lose any digits doing it. What a man.
Early the next day I was surrounded by does, watched them doing all the deery things they do, sniffing and stretching and pooping and eating, so that was pretty cool. I din't have a Tioga county doe tag, and truth be known, I had actually been hunting the whole time with last year's licenses because I forgot to change them out before I left home. Just as well I din't get something. My luck, we would've been stopped and I would lose my rifle, my car, and the lovely set of credenza covers I picked up in Wellsboro.
Seems the Pa. Game commission has powers even Jack Whatsis-face doesn't have in that TV program "24", and if they bust you, they take everything that touches the crime scene--houses, boats, children. I knew a guy that shot one squirrel too many and they confiscated everything that man owned including his iron lung, and by the time they had all the legalities straightened out, the poor fella was deader than a mackerel and harder than a carp.

I mean, granted, it was a large squirrel, but as Jimmy would say, "Lord GOd! Shit Fire!"
To which I say, "Amen!"

In the meantime, I was reminded of the futility of bringing my good friend Neil along as "camp cookie" seeing as how he eats only an apple and three pretzels a day. Fortunately the lovely and talented Sue Cunningham was up after a job they had and dropped off a delicious pot of chili after a chilly day out of doors, which really hit the spot, I must say.

Monday I went out after school, just as I have for twenty years, and I was not expecting anything much--I had seen two doe coming up the gasline on Saturday afternoon and thought perhaps that might be a good place, so off I bopped with my tree-stand on my back around about 3:45, thinking they wouldn't show until it was too dark to shoot, popped my head out of the woods--and saw a deer!

I mean, you coulda knocked me over with a feather, really. So I quick ducked back and dropped the tree stand (not quietly, I might add), but as there are houses everywhere and they couldn't scent me, they didn't spook. Turns out there were three of them, and three minutes after I began I had dropped one, a decent shot at about 125 yards, so that was cool--meat in the freezer and the best chili in the world for the next season.

Saturday I have a book signing at WaldenBooks from 1 till 3, so I'll have one more chance to fill my second doe tag or maybe get a buck, once more in the morning and another afternoon hour, and then my hunting is done for the season. I have to admit, standing long hours or climbing trees is getting a bit tiring, and the burning desire to hunt is dimmed a little bit, although I still get all jazzed up when there's a deer in my scope or a turkey coming in, so with one hanging I'm satisfied.

Not that I'd turn down a nice twelve pointer hah.

Snow is in the forcast, and I still have to button up a few little details at home, then I'll be praying for snow. The kids at school are restive and I am burnt out from my doctoral courses, mostly because of one professor I have with zero humor and a dictatorial streak a mile wide.

I hope I remember that in my own classroom, because her complusivity** really didn't do anything for me or anyone else in the class, although I have to admit that I have always had that subversive streak to me. I'm thinking that goes with the whole bluegrass ethos.***

So in a week or so, Christmas is right around the corner, the annual volleyball tournement at school will ensure that no meaningful education occurs here at school, and I can chill at home and keep the fire stoked down in the man cave, or the clubhouse, as my basement is now called. Hey, it might not have nice curtains or credenza covers, but it's got fire and axes, and a dartboard I might just have to put back up after all these years.****

yeah. So safe hunting to all my bluegrass buddies, and congratulations to Kim Gluckler and Earl Karlson on their upcoming marriage, which should be a hoot.
And a Mrry Chrtms and hppy nw yr to all!

*one of which is in ALgeria, fer cryin' out loud, and to whom I apologize for tha whole Franch thing up there.

**It is too a word, Pat. You knew what I meant. hehe.

***An appropriate time to plug my new novel, "The ComPleat Dartshooter" now availble from Authorhouse and a ripping good read, from early critics.(*)

****There's two wods I betcha you never saw together hehe.

(*) Next time----a review of a "real" review of Bluegrass which appeared in Bluegrass Unlimited in March of this year which wasn't all that bad!