By Allen Hamrick
Yeah, hey folks, this here’s Lew. It’s been awhile since I filled my feather with some ink to jot down another tale for ya. Ol’ man winter has done started his freezin’ of the earth early seems like this year, an’ all the things we were gonna get done before he sent his icy breath has got to be done did till the sun decides to get a little backbone and show him who’s boss. This time of the year, though, the freeze is a welcome sight to those that brave the woods lookin’ for Bucky or Doe, and those that don’t get froze to their stands or have their knees lock up from standin’ too long get a natural chill to hang their kill. Usually after the first week in, folks are sittin’ around their smokehouses and woodstoves talkin’ turkey ‘bout why they did or didn’t get the big one, but they ain’t much talk this year.
Now, we have had some times in our parts of the woods in recent times, but the first week of buck season this year was an odd duck. Usually the week before people done popped the cap on many different targets cause they can’t hit the broad side of a 52 Chevy one ton. There was a different air in our stretch of the neighborhood this past week – never heard much shootin’ or cussin’ and even our big black Friday events were a bust. Nobody fightin’ over nothin’ and all the stores took a hit at the register. At the hound pup sale on Culpepper Mountain, hardly a pup was sold. Usually the hillside is full of folks ready to pick out the next best bear hunter, but not this year. Seems all our neighbors and friends and enemies gathered round the one “puter” in the area to order what they wanted. It took all the fun out of the social event of the year. Why, there was more people flingin’ cards at that puter than poker night at Pap’s Barber Shop. I believe that “puter” needs to be unplugged, cut in half and buried at Buzzards Bend before it ruins the neighborhood.
We needed a good deer hunt to save the independence from leavin’ our generation and these hills. So, the first week came and went hardly a hunter was in the woods ‘cept the few of us, and we never even saw so much as a pile of deer droppins’. Well, we was all sittin’ around tryin’ to do some figurin’ of our next move to corner the deer market when we heard the unmistakable bell on Ol’ Tom Crawd’s wagon comin’ up the hill. For those that don’t know Tom, he is the local deer whisperer who only comes out in public in a time of desperate need, and this was one of those times. Ol’ Tom is a gangly fellow who has a skinny head and teeth that could pick the prize out of a Cracker Jack box without touchin’ the sides. One of his specialties is wrote on the side of his wagon…deer whisperin’ an’ other animal talkin’. Some say he can talk the meanest bull in Hard Luck Corral to give up his horns and a leg bitin’ rooster into a banty hen just by whisperin’ to em’.
It was time for Ol’ Tom to get to work waggin’ his tongue in a deer’s ear. Well Ol’ Tom set a trap for one of the deers near Zeb’s outhouse where he hung a deer feeder off the back of it. We all waited in the brush that evening to see Ol’ Tom go to work. Sure enough, around 9 a’clock, one of the biggest bucks you ever saw come wondering in for supper at Zeb’s outhouse feeder. Well, quick as a cat, Ol’ Tom’s gate went closed on his trap and we all stood in awe at the 12 point standing there. Tom went to whisperin’ to the buck, and the buck was whisperin’ back. We tried to read their lips but it just couldn’t be done. When they were done, Ol’ Tom released the buck and he trotted off into the woods; we couldn’t tell but it looked like it had a smile on its nose. Tom told us he asked where all the deer were hidin’ but the buck wasn’t easy to convince. It cost us five 50lb bags of cracked corn, and we had to promise five years of freedom for the buck.
We set off that Monday with the coordinates the buck gave Ol’ Tom. We went up and over hills, down steep cliffs, crossed two rivers and up three hollers till we finally made it to this canyon like holler. Here is where all those deers that were hidin’ out were finally gonna meet the freezer. With our nerves on edge waitin’ we couldn’t set our eyes on any bucks, does, rabbits, squirrels – nothing. That dumb deer had done double crossed us and got us lost. It was then while we were figurin’ our next move that we looked up realized that deer done led us astray and into a bear trap. We were completely surrounded by black bears; they were all lined up on the ridge to charge us. That’s when Ol’ Tom stood up and declared to the bear that were only after the bucks not them.
He must not be able to talk bear; they came at us runnin’ on all fours and all twos, and the only chance we had was the trees. Ol’ Tom had done lost his wisperin’ voice’ so he was no use, but Zeb, who is too big to climb trees, decided this was the end and just up and fell flat on his belly. When he did, all those refried Beanie Bloaters he ate that his wife makes finally gave up and blew out. That stopped the bears’ charge right in their tracks. The smell was too overwhelming, and they stopped the chase. Zeb’s near death experience taught us a couple of things: never trust a penned up buck and always carry a few fried patties of Beanie Bloaters on your next hunt. That was it for us for our two weeks of huntin’. Pap, Pip, Popcorn and Kernel all bagged a deer for their freezers but the rest of us got skunked. From here in our neck of the woods, hope all of you had a great Thanksgiving and hope you have a great Christmas. In the meantime, keep a tight line in the water, your sights wet and never whisper to a deer – you just can’t trust em.
