This Buck's For You...

Deer hunting in Northern Nevada…all I can say is, if you have ever think you've been cold in your life, you really don’t know what cold is.

As my Dad explained it, the Earth was at its coldest right before sunrise, when the ground had let loose of all of its heat, and the sun had risen to begin the heating process all over again. Little solace was this scientific explanation as I sat on a rocky, windy ridge, perched 100 feet above a quiet meadow waiting for deer that would surely have the sense to be somewhere warmer than where we were.

“The deer come out early to feed in this area, so we have to get a jump start.” my father explained.

Since we were there late in the season, I figured that despite having brains the size of golf balls, the deer had probably figured that this area was one to be avoided, else they be turned into venison jerky like their brethren. But I was 8…what did I know?

Slowly, much much too slowly, the sun finally woke its late ass up and began to peek over Mount Moriah, the area that Dad had found years before and swore was THE place to bag his deer year after year. Despite only coming home with one carcass in the years that I remember him hunting, he seemed to take pleasure in the fact that Moriah was not crowded or even well-known….things that should have tipped him off as to the scarcity of said deer.

I shifted my seat on the cold, damp rocks for the 100th time, hoping against hope that we would that day…please God that day…bag the deer we were trying for and spend the rest of the trip in warm tent comfort, sitting by the fire and telling stories.
Speaking of stories, one of my favorite and yet weirdest memories was the time my Dad told me he had been captured by the Red Chinese. In Vietnam, my father had driven PT boats, those ones with the front gate that would fall open and unleash the screaming American tide against the NV oppressors. Most of the time, his stories about that time in his life had to do with women, or boxing, or getting drunk and boxing other men about women. However, on one occasion, he decided to “let me in” on the fact that he had been captured, tortured and threatened with death by “Red Chinese” soldiers fighting in Vietnam.

Since I woke up at 5am every day to sit on a cold, damp rock above a grassy meadow waiting for deer that would never come, I was damn tired by the time dinnertime came about. That night, my dad decided to cook steaks over the campfire and while they came out great, the combination of early rising and a tummy full of warm beef made me very drowsy. However, since this was time well spent with my Dad, I tried my best to fight through it.

“…and so I sat tied in this chair while they shouted in Chinese. I don’t know why they thought I could understand….are you awake David?” I would bolt up in my lawn chair and swear that, yessir, I was listening. Sweet Jesus was I tired.

“Ok, just making sure. So anyway, they tried to hand me this piece of paper to sign….a confession or something. But they forgot my hands were tied, so I couldn’t take the paper from this idiot’s hands, so he just kept getting redder and redder in the face and louder and louder….David?”

I had checked out at this point, surrendering to the forces of exhaustion and a full stomach. I still don’t know if my Dad was pulling my leg about the story…I am almost embarrassed to admit that I didn’t hear what could have been a very important tale of his wartime life…or a truly amazing fabrication of same. Either way, I didn’t want to admit to my father that I was paying attention! We had already gone through that, as you shall see.

Earlier in the week, I had been dispatched back to the camp to retrieve a water bottle that my Dad’s friend had forgotten. Our “deer perch” was about 100 yards from the camp, so I jogged back to the camp in an effort to get back to hanging out with them. I roamed around the campsite looking for the bottle and finally found it, starting back towards where they waited, head down against the wind and cold. As I got within 10 yards of the perch, I looked up to see my Dad and Jerry with wide eyes full of surprise.

“Did you not see that deer??”

Huh?

“There was a deer about 15 feet from you, looking for food on the ground of the campsite!, Jerry explained.

Oh shit.

“Son, it was right there next to you!” Dad added in. “ We wanted to take a shot, but was worried we might hit you instead!”

Well…thanks…

“So we tried instead to make some noise to get you to turn around, but the deer heard it first and took off. It was a sweet buck…you didn’t see it?”

I probably would have crapped my 8 year old pants if I turned and saw a full-grown antlered mammal checking me out with large quizzing black eyes. Crapping would be about all I could have mustered…forget all about raising the rifle and taking a shot.

‘Oh well,” my Dad finally laughed. “Maybe we’ll see that deer again”.

We did see that deer or one like it the next night at sundown. As we were traveling back from a jaunt around the valley to scout out any other deer-rich areas, the light slowly fading from the earth, Dad noticed something off to the right and ahead of the truck.

“Did you see that?”, he asked

What?

“I think there are a couple deer right over the hill there”.

I didn’t see anything.

He slowed the truck and then to a stop, opening his door. Then in one fluid motion, he grabbed his rifle, swung one leg out and, turning on that foot, managed a pirouette that brought the rifle scope over to the top of the truck hood. A few seconds later a shot rang out that echoed across the valley. He stayed looking through his scope, trying to coax a little more light out of the fading sky. Then, slowly, he motioned for me to get out on my side and join him.

“I got him”, Dad mentioned quietly, almost as an afterthought.

Really?

“Yep”

We walked about 20 feet from the truck and there I noticed a large animal lying on the ground, slowly twitching as if to try and get away. Suddenly, it was still, and I felt bad for having witnessed such a thing. I’m sorry, Mr. Deer. This whole circle of life thing is a bitch and I trust that you understand why we are out here. See you in the next life.

My father, worried that the beast might still have some kick left in it, unsheathed his knife and drew it across the deer’s neck. A slight spasm from the deer and that was all. Dark red blood, steaming in the dusk cold, began to pool and waterfall down the incline under the deer’s head.

“Can’t believe I saw that thing in the dark, let alone hit it.” I agreed with a nod, my eyes glued to the first animal I had ever seen killed. We stood there for a while longer, then wrestled it into the back of the truck and took off towards camp. Once there, my father wasted no time in hanging the deer up by its hind legs from the side of the truck and dressed the beast, cleaning it like you would a fish…..a very big, very hairy, very stinky fish.

When he was finished with his duties, he washed his hands with water from the orange Igloo cooler and dried them on his pants. Slowly, he turned to me with a smile and said “How about we tell Mom you got this one?”

Huh?

“I know this trip has been a long one for you and you didn’t even get to take a shot at a deer.” He explained. Unspoken was the preceding day’s failure with the deer that was 15 feet away, although I knew he was thinking the same thing.

I don’t know Dad

“Sure. It will be no big deal and she will get a kick out of it.”

I guess so.

The rest of the week passed along uneventfully and we made our way back to Vegas. Once there, my mother squealed with delight at her son and his joining the ranks of men. Later in life, I confessed to my mother exactly what had happened and she said that Dad had already told her years before. I sighed with relief, knowing that I had never lied to my mother about anything, and that I felt bad to have started with a very tall deer tale.