Day Two....

Upon waking just before 5 am, I feel well rested....well, sort of...I mean even more so than any other morning...oh that's right, I went to bed before midnight this time. I feel awesome albeit a bit groggy....my body is not sure what to do with more than 4 hours of sleep. I begin the layering process and walk downstairs to greet my dad...he is chipper and wide awake as usual, working on his breakfast of champions... ramen noodles. I grab a schwill of coffee (this is a new thing for me) and rummage through my mom's cupboards for a morning snack other than soup...my layers are starting to suffocate me so I grab the last bits and walk out onto the porch to finish dressing. My dad comes out behind me and we walk the short distance to the barn where he has turned on the kerosene heater and warmed the place up. This is no ordinary barn. My dad converted a section of the barn to an insulated whiskey bar coupled with tools, workbenches, chairs, well let's just say it is a cool place...think of your fly tying mess of a desk but instead of feathers they have been replaced with ammo, guns, whiskey (well maybe that is on your desk too), cups, beer cans, and nails.

Dad and I have what we think is an incredible plan to sit in a perfect site for deer on the upper field. It is like deciding what run you will fish first thing in the morning, weighing in where fish have been caught, the river levels, choosing the fly to seek and destroy....We have chosen to hunt together this morning and I am thrilled to be hunting at my dad's side... picking up hunting tips...having an extra set of eyes on the field. We roll up into our spot and today is even colder than yesterday. I threw on my patagucci down jacket this morning to combat the cold and shoved myself into grandpa's coveralls again. Rummaging through the shed I found a rabbit fur hat and now feel confident I can stay warmer....My dad threw me an old wool blanket for extra measure.
Before we get into position, I have a great idea to slowly walk my way towards our chosen spot, hopefully driving up the buck I ran into the previous morning. So I trudge over the hill to the corner of the field and wait a few minutes for light to peek over the treetops.

As I round a huge clump of thorn bushes, I hear my buck. Rustling around on the other side of the thorn bushes. Could it be him again? He stops and snorts and I am certain he is mine. My heart is exploding through my ears and the anticipation of seeing him thrills me...as he again defiantly walks away from me into the woods belonging to the neighboring farm. Optimism prevails as I consider he may come back over the fence line if I stay still and quiet. Fat chance. He snorts and stomps his way out of my hearing....I salute the buck for living another day and say a little prayer about my name on his head... I dive into the field of thorns and work my way around the hillside to my pops. I see no other signs of life and take my place beside Dad.
Having much concern and paranoia that I am not hunting well, I feel relief to sit beside grand master hunter Dad. I am hoping to extract the secrets of sitting still and absorb the luck of being a deer magnet. He just got a ten pointer the other day (five for all us westerners) which is a healthy buck for these parts.
We are both freezing. We are whispering. My dad is standing then sitting. Now he stands again. This hunting stuff isn't so difficult it seems.

(nice pumpkin head dad)
We waited an incredibly long time before we saw or heard anything this morning. Perserverance kicks in and I am thinking about those steelhead days where you begin to wonder if you are just flogging water....is there really anything in there?
Well I am intently watching the field to my left as Dad eyes the right side when I see a twitch of ears in the thicket down below that definitely was not there before. The heart starts racing as I slowly fumble the binoculars to my eyes and confirm it is in fact a doe. Still not doe day.



I watch her amble over into the pines munching on the old blackberries still clinging on and slip into the darkness of the underbrush. I contemplate the three times I had open perfect shots at her. And anyway, I am not sure I really want to kill a doe. My dad asks me if I am sexist...ha ha, I say of course. I really like to release the females, I wish my clients felt the same way about salmon and would consent to only kill bucks. I mean is it not humane to leave women and children? That is unless it is a Jack in which case we all know it's time is up if it grabs my hook. I wonder if I will be so lucky with the next deer that walks in my field of vision. Of course not.

He bounds out of the lower forest fifteen feet from where the doe popped up and sticks his head behind a bush. Really? I pull out the binoculars and call on the eyes of the eagle to help confirm the gender. No clue. Somehow the deer managed to stick its head in the sand and walk around so I had no chance to determine the gender. It follows the exact path of the doe and I have now fully convinced myself it is a buck. I just can not confirm it, so I watch this beautiful animal disappear into the darkness of the pines as well, never seeing its head. Unbelievable.
Their brains must be like steelhead, ever evasive, lucky as hell.