mama

In January, there is a subsistence deer hunt on parts of Kodiak Island where I could shoot three or four deer- to fill the freezer- not a trophy hunt because the deer have already dropped their antlers. I shot two deer, partly for me and partly for my buddy Matt, who just had a beautiful little girl and is too busy with her to go hunting much.

Both hunts were magical- the first deer gave itself to me as a sacrifice. I hunted hard all day, but didn't see many deer of size, just lots of moms and babies. I was determined not to shoot a mama, though it admittedly was my fall-back plan. At the end of the day, I still had not shot anything, looking for a large male only, and I returned to camp. Rose laughed at my poor skills and pointed to a mama in the yard, "why don't you shoot that one?" (apparently female deer are the delicacy of Belgium). Rose is no killer though, and I guess I might be secretly a softy, but I determined I would take a last walk in the fading evening, and if I saw nothing, when I returned I would take the female. I saw nothing. I came back and found the female, walked up to her and had her in my sights. But I couldn't do it. I watched her for several minutes, and pulled my gun down. In my head, I begged God, or mother nature, to send me another deer, any other deer that I could shoot instead of "mama," as I now called her. In this state of agitation, I unwittingly wandered over the top of a hill, where I had already walked that day, and a deer spooked out of the brush, stopped right in front of me, broadside. I didn't think, just pulled up and fired, perfect lung shot, and after a short flight, he dropped dead. A nice, medium sized male, exactly what I wanted all day. And mama lives on.



(numero uno)