What About These Pants I Got On?
I could see them in the distance as I rounded the curve. Easily. Two at least, maybe three of them and they were no less than half a mile away. Their intentions were unmistakable and though clearly not the least concerned with me, I felt uneasy. They stood there by the side of the road glowing—literally.
Hunter’s orange. Dear Lord that shit is bright! Had there been any more of them I would have thought I had come upon a prison break. At the very least a work detail. Except that I don’t live that close to a prison and these dudes were carrying.
Gun season on deer has opened in these parts. It’s time to paint the dog blue, break out the cow bells and quarantine the kids. My solemn country sunrise is no longer followed with words praising nature’s beauty but by the sonic recoils of rifles aimed at the helpless. “Holy crap! That was a close one!”
I’m not a hunter. Never have been. That’s not to say I’ve never been hunting, I have. The closest I came to bagging a deer though was pouring my coffee on the herd that walked up under my stand. There had to have been four of them and they walked directly up to the tree where I was perched some thirty feet above.
It was some god awful frozen morning and I had been sitting precariously in this tree for well over an hour before the sun had even hinted at rising. My focus turned to the biscuits I had thoughtfully packed and the thermos of hot coffee I brought along. I was enjoying the warming salvation that is caffeine in the morning and watching some squirrels play in the trees beside me and the aforementioned heard sneaked right up on me.
I looked down to see 8 big doe eyes all fixed on me as if to say, “What the hell, dude?!” All I could do was toss warm coffee at them. They didn’t even run when I did. Rather, they casually walked on clearly realizing that I posed no threat.
I am not a hunter.
As I passed the guys on the side of the road, the guys glowing brilliantly in their hunter’s orange jackets and hats, I was struck with this odd observation. Beneath the glowing orange jackets and hats the guys were decked head to toe in camouflage. One even had his face painted. Why? I mean, seriously, why?! If I can see you from almost a mile away surely Bambi’s mother can see you. Why the camouflage? After the all that glowing orange it just seems dichotomy.
I gave it some thought but as I’m often prone to do, I got sidetracked. Then I stumbled upon this little gem and the perfect answer.
Hunting is pretty much unknown of over her aside from the upper classes who seem to enjoy killing things for fun.
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Ed Reply:
December 3rd, 2009 at 6:54 am
And you see, over here, there’s no class distinction between a person’s affinity to kill something for fun.
I went deer hunting one year when I was 16. Got my first deer, within the first hour of hunting, and my first shot. Then I spent the next few days “driving” (walking through the woods to drive seer to the people shooting). Real safe… I’m on one side…a guy with a gun on the other, and the deer in the middle. Let’s just say I dropped to the ground more than once because I could hear slugs whizzing past me. Never been again…
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Ed Reply:
December 3rd, 2009 at 6:56 am
That sounds like the worst job ever! And definitely one that only a 16 year old could be suckered into doing.
I used to duck hunt as a kid, but like you never actually killed anything. I guess I am glad now I did not. I am not a hunter either.
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Ed Reply:
December 3rd, 2009 at 6:59 am
My uncle was a big duck hunter. I think he had more fun making decoys and building his duck blind than anything else.
I love that video! I have never seen the point of hunting, I would much rather see the deer bounding through a field that shoot one. But I am a girl.
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Ed Reply:
December 5th, 2009 at 11:18 pm
I understand that there are a fair amount of people who do hunt to provide for their families. I’m just not so sure the guys I’m passing every day fall into that category.
I shot a rabbit once while hunting with one of the bigger kids. I couldn’t have been any older than 14. It wasn’t a clean kill which is something considering the size of a rabbit. I’ve not done the hunting bit since.
We have our own hunting season routine, much like yours. Kids inside and horses outfitted with orange neckerchiefs and tail socks. We haven’t lost a horse yet but I have found shells in the pasture. Ah, well.
That video ’bout killed me.
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Ed Reply:
December 5th, 2009 at 11:23 pm
Reminds me of this little gem–
A guy takes his wife hunting for the first time. Gives her a few instructions and leaves her with the gun. Few minutes later he hears the gun go off followed by a loud argument. He rushes back to his wife to find her screaming at another hunter, “It’s mine!! I shot it!! I saw it first!! It’s mine!!!”
Finally the hunter responds, “Lady, you can have it. But please let me just get my saddle off first.”
We woke up a couple Sundays ago to find a dude in some of that serious orange perched in tree in the woods behind our house. There’s some question as to where exactly the property line divides our land from a neighbor’s. Apparently the neighbor gave his buddy permission to hunt in our backyard again. I wasn’t too happy for a few reasons. 1) I don’t like to see men in the trees behind our house. 2) I don’t like hunters to be playing with loaded guns anywhere in the vicinity of my children. 3) I’m pretty sure that was MY property he was on 4) I LIKE seeing deer come up in our backyard, and I didn’t want him shooting any of mine.
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Ed Reply:
December 15th, 2009 at 7:25 am
I may have blown a gasket myself. Or I may have decided that it was a good morning to clear brush and fire up the chainsaw.