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Gonna Give Up Huntin’

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Gonna Give Up Huntin’

by Smith Dewlen

Yup.  I am gonna give up huntin’.  This year has not been good to me.  Let me tell you about my troubles.  But first get a cryin’ towel.  You will need it.

Back in January I went on a mountain lion hunt in Colorado.  The guide I was supposed to be with was able to hunt only one day.  So I got passed off to another guide.  The first day he called in sick.  The second ended early when he again became ill and the truck blew a heater hose.  So, guess what?  Guide number 3.  Mark Young is a nice guy and knows his business.  Then so does the lion.  After a long chase the only lion we could put the dogs on headed to private property.  Of course the dogs did not read the sign.  Hours later we were able to account for all but one dog.  Backtracking, we eventually found her.  A cactus spine on her foot.  We will try again tomorrow.  Tomorrow turns in to today.  The phone rings.  Marks Grandmother has passed away.  The hunt is over. 

In September I go on a Caribou hunt that I won in a raffle at the Central Missouri Chapter of Safari Club International fund raiser.  Day one, bad weather.  Cannot fly.  Waste the day doing a lot of nothing.  Yeah.  Day two and we fly.  Two and a half hours later than we are scheduled.  At last, in camp.  Pack the gear to the cabin and get ready for a bite to eat and go hunting.  With only half a day to hunt we see nothing.  Get some rest.  Tomorrow we will get out there.  That we did.  After walking for over nine miles we spot caribou.  Dots on the landscape.  More walking and our luck changed.  My buddy, Harold, gets the shot at one I had spooked during the stalk.  As we field dress this one.   Another caribou comes over the ridge and watches.  Not a monster, but meat.  This time the stalk works and I down my first caribou.  Since it is late, we take half the meat from each caribou and the antlers and head back to camp.  We will pick up the meat in the morning.  Yeah. Right.  When we arrived for the meat, mine was gone.  A bear had decided that my caribou meat was tasty.  I hope the sucker got a belly ache.

Now comes the Missouri deer season.  I go to the area that has always been excellent.  I have taken a lot of deer on the ridge and the field below.  Not this year.  I got skunked.  Really.  I got skunked.  Not once but three times by one mad skunk.  It (it because I did not check on the sex) chased me and kept spraying.  The whole area was full of the skunk odor.  My next problem came a few days later.  My Buddy, Harold, got a do, late in the afternoon.   I went for the truck.  Now there is a creek that I must wade to get to the truck.  Oh, so you guessed.  Yeah, I sat down in the creek, in water that was a little over mid calf deep.  With nearly a half mile yet to walk, I squished my way to the house and changed.  No.  I did not forget Harold.

So, I do not need to be hit on the head anymore.  The word has sunk in.  I gotta quit huntin’.

At least until I return to Colorado/Utah for another mountain lion hunt on December the second.    Me, give up?  Not until they close the lid on my coffin