When Hunting Doesn't Go As Planned

Next weekend is the end of dog hunting at Wolf Creek so we're trying to make each hunt count. The Hunter took a friend from Auburn, Alabama on Saturday and got a spike buck. He had to fight a black and tan hound named Oscar for it, but brought home the hindquarters and backstraps. I can see a little Zatarain's breading and an cast iron skillet in my future.

My dad and I went with him on Sunday. The forecast was for rain in the afternoon, but somebody forgot to tell the clouds they weren't supposed to arrive until after lunch. 

Neither The Hunter nor I had any rain gear, but, as usual, Daddy was prepared. Folded up in the pocket of his jacket was a poncho he got from some kind of US Steel promotion, almost fifty years ago! About the time they let the dogs loose it started to rain. 

I had my video camera with me and shot this little montage of my thoughts on the morning. Unfortunately, that's all I shot...

 

Dog hunters use walkie-talkie radios to let everybody know when the dogs are let loose and which way they're headed. That's helpful if you can't hear the dogs. The only problem is: you have to know where you are. There are spots at this club called The Refrigerator, Ax Road and Double Buck. If you don't know that a refrigerator was dumped at a certain place thirty years ago or where Sammy killed two bucks with one shot, you are just outta luck. Of course, I usually don't have a clue where I'm standing, but it is entertaining to listen to them talk sometimes.

"I heard a shot over by The Lake. Who's over there?"

"I think it's John."

"What'd 'e get?

"A tree."

Even though the hunt was shortened by rain, it was so much fun to be with my dad. He's the one who taught me to "roll with the punches" while I was growing up, and we certainly had to do that on Sunday.