In my part of the country, there are five seasions: winter, spring, summer, fall, and hunting. Some people claim that the school districts began having autumn break because so many kids were playing hooky every fall to go hunting! Carmon was an avid hunter: deer, elk, rabbit, javalina, dove, quail, and just about anything else for which he could get a license and a tag. But his all-time favorite was deer season.
The first year I went hunting with him, he took me to the rocky desert surrounding Saguaro Lake. By the time we got to the top of the hill, I told him to just leave me for the coyotes: I couldn't walk another step. But he was pursuasive and walk I did. We finally got back to our boat hours later with nothing to show for it but the blisters on my feet. Lunch that day had consisted of Carmon's standard hunting fare: 1 can of sardines each; an apple; a Hershey bar; and water from the canteen. Even for sweet chocolate, I never climbed that hill again.
Things were better when we moved to Nevada. We still hunted desert mule deer, but at least we were up in the Cedars and it was a little cooler. The deer population was a sparce and we could usually be back in camp for lunch (Spam sandwiches!) I actually enjoyed going with him on those hunting trips.
One stands out in my mind. Carmon didn't trophy hunt. To the contrary, we used ever speck of edible meat. However, that is not to say that he would have walked away from a trophy buck had he seen one. But year after year, he brought home a little two-point.
Then one fall it happened: he saw his trophy buck. The animal's rack of antlers was so huge, he looked like the stag in the Hartford insurance commercials to me. He just stood there looking at us. Carmon took careful aim. He couldn't afford to get in a hurry. Slowly, he squeezed the trigger. He got him! The buck stumbled, then went crashing into the underbrush. We trailed him all day until it was growing so dark you could see the trail. Finally, we had to return to camp.
Not only was Carmon sad at missing him, but he hated to leave a wounded animal to hurt and perhaps die later. What we discovered when we got back to camp that night was that Carmon had forgotten to unload his target bullets which have silver tips and replace them with regular bulletts which have lead tips. Carmon never saw a buck like that one again in his lifetime. As for me, I prayed that the silver bullet - so effective on werewolves - passed right through that beautiful animal and that he healed an went back to his life as the Great Prince of the Forest.
Text © 2012 Gebara Education
Picture of mule deer in the Arizona desert from www.fws.gov
Picture of buck from www.123rf.com
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