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This is a multiple part story, written in a colloquial style. Bien sûr!

Why I Don't Hunt with No School Teachers!
Copyright 2012 – Stephen Redgwell

I learned a long time ago never to go huntin' with school teachers. I didn't much care for them when I was a kid, but they really angervated me when I got older! I've been meanin' to tell my grandkids this story, but their daddy is a teacher himself and there hasn't been any peace around the house since before the wedding.

The big problem with teachers, and my son in law especially, is they don't know when to shut up. Just gettin' Dalton to clamp it at the end of the day is impossible! He prattles on every chance he gets. The poor kids! Teachers just don't understand that no one cares to listen to them on holidays, after school or on weekends. Did I just say weekends? Heck, especially then!

This is what I'm talkin' about. One Saturday afternoon, I went over to my daughter's house. Standing on the front porch, holdin' up a well used, 600 page copy of Hans Dietrich Von Kurfurstenburger's Advanced Grade School Grammar - Fifth Edition (Revised), was Dalton. It was the weekend and you could hear him from the street, tryin' to cram some English into two terribly bored, fidgety children. That man is pure evil.

"But daddy, it's Saturday! Can Jo and me go play on the swings?" That was my youngest granddaughter, Melissa. She was only six and listenin' to her daddy was torture.

"No, no, no, Melissa! It's 'MAY Jo and I play on the swings, please?' You are asking permission, so we use the word 'may'. And it's 'Jo and I', not 'Jo and me'! One final thing: you simply wish to play, not to 'go play'. Grammar is important!"

Melissa's frown turned to a smile when she saw me walkin' up the driveway. I waved at the kids and shouted,

"Hey Dalton, don't you think them kids get enough of that during the week, or are you into S&M?"

Jo, the oldest, smiled at me, waved, and asked, "What's S&M, daddy?"

Dalton turned six shades of red and told the children they could play on the swings. He seemed a little ticked off and asked,

"Why do you insist on speaking that gutter talk every time you visit?"

I smiled and told my son in law it was time to pull the chalkboard out of his ass and act like a real person. "Hey Dalton, I think I used a simile. Here's another. 'Now shut up like you know how!' "

Dalton started to answer. "Actually, that's not a..."

But I cut him off.

"I'll be damned what my daughter sees in you. One day, when I'm an old man, lyin' on my death bed, I'll likely have an epiphany. You know what that is, Dalton? I'm talkin' about havin' a sudden understanding or an insight about you. On the other hand, it's unlikely that I'll ever figure you out."

Dalton just shook his head and called for my daughter, Sam. That's short for Samantha. Still shaking his head, he went inside the house. A couple of seconds later, my daughter came runnin' out the door.

"Hi daddy! I'm sorry that you had to see that. I've tried to tell Dalton that weekends are for having fun, but he thinks the kids need to be prepped now for college!"

"That's okay, honey. Tell you what, I'm gonna give you and the girls a break. I figure to break Dalton of that annoying habit of always bein' a teacher, and take him huntin'. Would you like that?"

Samantha gave me a big hug and whispered in my ear, "I think that's wonderful, daddy, but Dalton isn't the outdoor type..."

"Don't worry little girl, what's the worst that can happen? Maybe we'll lose him and my grandkids won't have any more weekend English lessons!"
---

The following week, I showed up at three thirty in the morning to get Dalton. We stowed his gear in my pickup and took off. He looked tired, which was good. At least he wouldn't be tryin' to correct my English. Heck, I was speakin' it before he was a twinkle in his old man's eye. Come to think of it - and this might sound mean spirited - it was probably a good thing that his dad died young. He didn't have to watch his son grow up to be a moron.

I greeted Dalton in a loud, clear voice. "Hot damn! A weekend of deer huntin' - just you and me! Ain't that something?"

"Oh yes, it's something alright..."

"Don't get sassy, boy! By ten o'clock, we should be up to our armpits in deer guts. I brought plenty of beer, bacon and gummi bears to snack on."

"Gummi bears?"

"That's right. Them and beer are two of the world's most nearly perfect foods. Listen here, Dalton. When this earth was made, all the lower forms of life was made to munch on plants. That fattened them up for the higher forms - us."

Dalton had a disgusted look on his face and said, "Not everyone eats meat, you know. Some people have seen the light. Too much meat means high blood pressure, bad cholesterol, acne, clogged intestines..."

"Shut up, boy! It means hickory smoked heaven, hot off the stove. You'll change your tune when you smell bacon fryin' as you're wakin' up! In the meantime, here's a brick. Just one quick blow to the head and I figure things should be peaceful for a few hours, while we're on the way..."

After a few minutes, Dalton was out like a light from a well aimed hunk of masonry to his noggin - courtesy of his father in law.

Why I Don't Hunt with No School Teachers! Part 2
Copyright 2012 – Stephen Redgwell

As we was drivin' down the road, I realized that this huntin' idea might not have been the best thing I ever thought of. Then I had that epiphany I told Dalton about the week before.

There was almost two hundred miles of dank, deep and dirty ditches on both sides of the road between his house and my deer camp. It was awful easy for things to go missing in all that mud...

Dalton was nice enough to keep quiet for 150 miles of the trip. It didn't last though. Just before we reached the turnoff to camp, I pulled into Tom's Husky station for some gas, and he woke up.

"Dad, you really need to replace this old pickup with something more fuel efficient. It's destroying the ozone."

What he said ticked me off. I bought this pickup new in 1988 and had it paid off in four years.

"Listen here, Dalton, I've been drivin' this Ford for twenty five years - twenty one of 'em without a monthly payment. The motor has 264,000 miles on it, without any major repairs. It's a 351, but that probably don't mean nothin' to you. What it means to me is that it's dependable."

Dalton rolled his eyes.

"Watch it, boy. This old truck has moved tons of firewood, camp supplies and venison since new. Your wife went for her first ride in it when she was six years old. It carried what little furniture you owned to your first apartment, when you married Sam. It has a history with my family. Put another way - a way you might understand - it has tenure. Somethin' you don't have."

"But it's an eyesore!"

"First, it was destroyin' the ozone. Now it's ugly. Listen close! It don't burn no oil. The paint is faded, but there's no rust. The radio still works. I'll explain it to you this way - in twenty five years, this is the only vehicle I've owned, but you and your friends have owned three or four new vehicles each. How environmentally friendly is that? Then there's the money it's cost you. You've always been in debt, and for what? Just to own a hunk of new steel! That don't seem too smart to me. Dalton, you're stupid, but you're too dumb to see it."

My son in law went silent when I got out to fill the tank. The owner of the station, Tom Chapman, came over to say hello. “Hi Bill, I ain't seen you in a couple of weeks. I...oh, I didn't notice your son in law sittin’ there. It's Dalton, right?"

Dalton nodded, but said nothing.

I couldn't resist one small jab. "Yep. Just lookin' at his face, you wanna slap him. Still, he married my little girl. I wonder what possessed his folks to name him Dalton?"

"I dunno, Bill. I'll bet that when he was a kid though, he got beat up a lot at school. I think this is one of those times when you can genuinely blame the parents for how their kid turned out."

I looked at Tom and whispered, "I figured to bring him with me deer huntin', but he's gonna be a lot of work. Wait 'til he finds out there ain't no real toilet at camp!"

Both of us started laughin'.

I finished toppin’ up the tank and filled a couple of five gallon gas cans for the generator. I figured to park beside the restaurant and make sure everything was okay before we headed down the twenty mile dirt road to camp.

"Dalton, I'm gonna check the trailer and make sure the load is secure. You get us a seat in the restaurant. Order me a coffee and a BLT. I won't be long."

Tom walked over again and asked how long I'd be stayin'.

"Just a couple of days. That's about all I think I can handle with Dalton. It's not really about gettin' a deer. I wanted to give my daughter and the grandkids a break. Since it's the first weekend of the season, I'll get him to give me a hand settin' everything up. All things considered, the fresh air will do him some good. It ain't healthy spendin' all that time cooped up in a classroom, starin' at a computer. Heck, maybe I can turn him into a real person!"

"Good luck with that, Bill. It took me ten years to break in my son in law. He's dumber than a bag of hammer handles, but he's good with tools. I think you got your work cut out for you. This is gonna sound unkind, but he don't seem too bright to me..."

"Thanks Tom. I know what you mean, but I gotta make the effort. It's for the grandkids, right?"

I went into the restaurant and saw Dalton talkin' to Tom's wife, Jean. She ran the place. Jean smiled and said, “So you've finally brought Sam's husband in for me to meet. He's, um, interesting to talk to, Bill. Let me get your coffee."

Dalton sat quietly, staring out the window. I sat down beside him and said,

"This time of year sure is pretty. Fall is the best for me. Always has been. The kids are back in school and there ain't many tourists around. But I think what I like the most is watchin' the trees change colour. I ain't no art critic, but God must be a painter. He's good with vibrant colours, splashin' them around all over."

"Wow, that actually sounded nice! I'm surprised to hear something like that from you."

"Don't worry, boy, it won't last. There's plenty to be done and I'm sure you'll tick me off in no time. Do yourself a favour, when we get to camp, take a few minutes and breathe the air. Smell the forest floor. It's changin', you know. Mother Nature is gettin' ready for her winter's rest. You cannot experience any of this back home, breathin’ in car exhaust or listenin’ to an iPod!”

Jean brought our food to the table and we ate in silence, starin’ out the window. It was cool outside, and I was lookin’ forward to a campfire later on.

Why I Don't Hunt with No School Teachers! Part 3
Copyright 2012 – Stephen Redgwell

I bought the camp in 1992, the year the pickup was paid off. It is 120 acres of mixed hardwood and pine - complete with a cedar swamp at the northern edge. There is even a small creek runnin’ dead centre through the middle of the property.

Over the years, I built a small cabin, an outhouse, a woodshed and a small play area for Samantha. Her outdoor toys consisted of a worn out tire tied up with some rope, and two ancient swings, saved from the junkyard when they tore down the old public school. It wasn’t fancy, but made her happy for many years. Now, I hoped my grandkids would get to use them.

There weren’t a lot of creature comforts inside. The furniture was a hodgepodge of homemade 4x4 cedar, rough-cut local wood and castoffs from home. The centrepiece of the two room cabin was an aging pot belly stove, bought second hand from a flea market beside Tom’s Husky station. It was the only source of heat. My wife loved the place and called it ‘rustic'. I called it comfortable.

It was gonna be interestin' to see Dalton’s reaction.

I’ve always loved gettin’ off the highway and takin’ the dirt road to the cabin. Not many people use it and that’s fine with me. All the city people see is a dusty farm road, too grimy to risk drivin’ on with their shiny BMW SUVs.

I don’t understand these people at all. The only reason they own a 4x4 is for the cool factor. None of them is used for their intended purpose. In fact, they rarely put it in four wheel drive - except for a couple of minutes after leavin’ the showroom. Two or three years later, they become “old” and need to be traded in for the latest model.

My dirt road is bordered on both sides by farm land. For at least fifteen of the twenty miles to the cabin, there’s nothin’ but corn, some wheat and soy beans. The crops attract wildlife, which the local hunters harvest. It’s a win-win situation.

I was showin’ Dalton all the sights, but he didn’t seem too interested - at first anyway. He wasn’t a techno-geek, but I think he missed havin’ a computer within easy reach. My daughter conveniently forgot to pack his netbook and Blackberry. Good girl!

About four miles from camp, we drove down a big hill and crossed over a creek at the bottom. In a soy field about fifty yards past the bridge, we saw two bucks facing each other, pawing at the ground. I stopped the truck for a better look.

“The rut has started. See those two deer? They’re eyin’ one another. The fellow on the right is bigger and has a larger rack. He’s likely the dominant male around here. The other guy might be challengin’ him for the territory and whatever does are around.”

Dalton took a camera from his belt pouch and started to open the door.

“Don’t do that, boy! If you want a picture, just roll down the window and stay in the truck. They’re used to seein’ vehicles on the road, but will take off if they see you walkin’ towards ‘em.”

The two bucks put their heads down and began sparrin’. It was like watchin’ a dance. The bigger buck pushed into the smaller one and shoved him away. Both moved in a circle, their heads down. Twice more the big buck knocked his challenger away. They did this for a few minutes before the smaller deer turned and left. The encounter was tame, but it was obvious who was in charge. The dominant buck remained, watchin’ the pretender disappear into the trees.

“Why did the other buck leave?” Dalton asked, fascinated by what just happened.

“Well, the younger one kinda felt like he should be in charge. The trouble is he’s not as big or as strong as his rival. The larger buck showed him who was boss. If we’re lucky, we’ll see more of that. We’re about ten minutes from the cabin. Let’s get there and unpack. You’ll get a chance to see more of their hijinx in a little while.”

The scenery changed the last few miles. The farm fields changed to deciduous trees and some pine. The orange, red and yellow leaves were a wonderful distraction that made it hard to concentrate on my drivin’. I told Dalton,

“After we unpack, I’d like to get some water from the creek for washin’ dishes. I know it’s only a little after five, but by the time we’re done settin’ up, there won’t be much light left. I’ll take you down the ATV trail. If we’re lucky, we’ll score some ruffed grouse.”

Dalton’s mood had improved dramatically. He was excited to be here and talked non-stop about the deer we’d seen. This was a positive sign. He was thirty two years old, but acted like a teenager. I couldn’t help smilin’.

After we finished carryin’ in the food and bedding, I took out two shotguns. For upland birds or rabbits, I’ve always been partial to a 20 gauge. Heck, I got three. Whether it’s ruffies or rabbits, a load of No. 6 shot always does the trick this time of year.

“Dalton, you’ve used my over and under a few times. She’s rock solid. This is different from the range though. We’ll load her up and I’ll get you to walk a step or two in front of me when we’re on the trail. Remember not to follow your target past ninety degrees to the left or right. In other words, DON’T turn around to follow a grouse in flight. I’m behind you. There are plenty of them around, so you’ll get other chances. Okay?”

Dalton nodded and said he was ready to go. The last thing he did was to load the shotgun.

“Hey dad, do I shoot them if they don’t flush?”

“People have been debatin’ that question for years, but we want ‘em for food. As long as they aren’t too close, they should be at least 20 yards away, take the shot. If you shoot a grouse too close, you’ll blow it apart and there won’t be nothin’ left to eat. The season for them has only been open for a couple of weeks and no one hunts back here. Generally speakin’, they’ll walk away as you approach. There’s been no huntin’ pressure to make ‘em skittish.”

We headed down the trail with Dalton two paces ahead of me. He was cradlin’ the open action, just like he had been taught. Fifty yards away from the cabin, the bush got denser, with alders and some smaller birch trees crowdin’ the trail.

“It’s late in the day, but the sun is out, so walk slowly. Take a few paces then stop. Look at the edge of the trail, check the deadfall and stare under small bushes or trees for a grouse. So they don’t end up being supper, they’ll quietly walk away as we get near ‘em. They will head for the underbrush to hide. Take your time. There’s no need to rush.”

“And if one flushes?” Dalton asked,

“Take the shot. Just remember what I said about not turnin’ around.”

Dalton was goin' nice and slow. I don’t know if it made a difference, but we was whisperin’ back and forth, like you do at the library. We’d take three or four steps and stop to look around. I guess we’d gone about the length of a football field when I spotted a grouse sunnin’ himself on some deadfall.

“Hey,” I said in a low voice, “Look over there beside that small pine tree.” I walked up behind him and pointed at our quarry. He was twenty five yards away maybe.

Dalton closed the action, swung the shotgun toward the grouse, and then, BOOM!

Why I Don't Hunt with No School Teachers! Part 4
Copyright 2012 – Stephen Redgwell

A huge explosion shook the ground. It sounded like the whole valley erupted. Debris flew through the air, including part of the bush that hid our grouse. The concussion from whatever blew up knocked me to the ground. I lay there for a minute or so before I heard a man screamin’.

“What the heck are ya doin’? What fool shot my still? Idiots! You’ll pay for that!”

A short, skinny guy, five foot two maybe, came charging onto the trail about thirty or forty yards behind where we were lyin'. He was obviously angry, yellin' obscenities and wavin’ his arms in the air. He must have watched us pass by earlier, hidden by the bushes.

“No one, I mean no one, shoots a man’s still! No one deprives a man of his hooch and gets away with it! Which one of you idiots is responsible for this?”

We stood up and faced this guy. He was older, with a grey beard, and wore an orange wool tuque, plaid shirt and blue jeans. I glanced at Dalton and saw he was scared. In fact, all the colour had drained from his face. I started to laugh and said,

“Hey mister, you don’t come runnin’ after two men with guns and start makin’ threats. It seems to me like you’re the idiot. Besides, this is my property. It appears like you’re trespassin’. Just consider yourself lucky that we ain’t in Texas. After a big explosion like that and you chargin’ at us screamin’ your head off, I’m thinkin’ you coulda been shot!”

The guy stopped ten feet away and looked at me without sayin’ a word. I adjusted my shotgun and said,

“Now, you wanna tell me what the heck just happened?”

I could see the little guy was irritated, but was startin' to calm down. He pointed at the hole in the vegetation.

“That was my still. You blew up my still!”

“Oh, I see. That was your still, boilin' away on my property. A still that almost sent me and my son in law to the Pearly Gates a little early. How long have you been runnin’ that thing?”

“Long enough to know that it’ll take me a week to fix things and brew another batch!”

He was an ornery old cuss. He didn’t smile and spoke his mind. I’m sure that if I didn’t have a shotgun, he would have tried to fight me. He was a ball of frustrated energy. I liked him.

“What’s your name?”

“Badger.”

The name fit. Dalton finally came out of whatever daze had gripped him and said, “He almost killed us! Aren’t you going to call the police?”

“Okay Dalton, I’ll get right on that.” I faced back down the trail and yelled, ‘Help police!’ Nothing happened, except that Badger started this high pitched cackle and said,

“Your son in law ain’t too bright. ‘Help police!’ That’s funny!”

I nodded in agreement. Twice today someone said Dalton was not too bright. Now that WAS funny and I started laughin’ too! Dalton looked confused.

“Dad, how can you laugh? We could have been killed!”

“It’s like this, Dalton. First, we wasn’t killed. Second, the only damage was to Badger’s still, some trees and maybe a grouse that you was about to shoot anyway. What am I missin’? No wait! You’re gonna tell me anyway, ain’t ya?”

Dalton just shook his head and sat down on the ground.

I turned to Badger and introduced myself. “Badger, the name’s Bill Legault. I’m figurin’ that you must be a neighbour. I also figure that the reason your still was here was in case the cops found it. Am I right?”

“Yep. I’ve had a setup here for at least twenty years. I’m surprised it took you this long to find it. I guess I’ll have to move my operation now.”

“I think so. I don’t mind you makin’ moonshine, but it’s only a few hundred yards from my place. I don’t want the police nosin’ around here either. Besides, you can see how it upsets the children.” I pointed at Dalton.

“Yeah, he don’t look well. Hey boy, you really should learn to relax. Since you was the one that shot it, you should help me look around for anything I can salvage. You don’t mind, do you Bill?”

“Heck no, but we’ll have to make it quick. The sun’s goin’ down. I gotta get Dalton back to the cabin before he turns into a pumpkin.”

The three of us walked over to where the still used to be. There wasn’t too much left, just some odds and ends that Badger put into a cheesecloth bag.

Badger said, “I guess I’ll be getting’ back to my place. There ain’t much left, but I might be able to throw somethin’ together. Nice finally meetin’ you, Bill. I expect we’ll run into each other again.”

“I think so, but no explosions next time!”

We both laughed and Badger headed into the bush. We turned back toward the cabin.

“Dalton, don’t tell Sam or her mother about this. I don’t want them worryin’. He’s cleaned up the mess and we won’t have no more problems with him. He’s an interestin’ guy, eh?”

“Interesting? We could have been killed! I cannot understand how you can remain so calm.”

“That’s simple. I’ve lived through worse when I was in the army. Besides, it wasn’t our time. Anyway, we gotta get back to the cabin, have somethin’ to eat and get ready for bed. I figure to be out tomorrow mornin’ early, so we’ll both need a good night’s sleep.”

Neither of us talked the rest of the way back.

Why I Don't Hunt with No School Teachers! Part 5
Copyright 2012 – Stephen Redgwell

Once we were at the cabin, I put away the rest of the food and showed Dalton where he was sleepin’. I also lit a kerosene lamp so he could see better.

“This used to be Sam’s bed. We put it here against the wall so she’d be closer to the stove. Sam loves this place. It’s a shame you guys don’t come up for visits. The girls can use the tire and we got acres and acres of trees!”

“I don’t know, Dad. It’s quiet here and the scenery is lovely, but I’m worried about your neighbours.”

“Don’t be. The law of the bush says that now he’s met me, he’ll keep his distance. Same as I won’t go nosin’ around his place without bein’ invited.”

I was makin’ the bed in my room when Dalton started screamin’ and carryin’ on. He wasn’t used to bein’ in the bush and something had obviously spooked him. He probably seen a mouse or something, so I took my time. Then, he stopped yellin’ and I heard the sound of something hittin’ the bed and the floor. I dropped what I was doin’ and ran in to see what was the matter. I didn’t want him smashin’ the oil lamp. A fire out here meant trouble.

“Dalton, what the heck...”

He was standin’ on the end of Sam’s bed, broom in hand, pointin’ at the floor.

“Down there! Down there! It’s a spider!”

He was terrified. Terrified of a spider.

“Sweet Baby James, Dalton, I thought you was dyin’! It’s a little black spider. He’s probably more scared than you are. Figure it out; you stole his bed!”
---

I woke up about four o’clock next morning and got ready for the day. Dalton was still asleep, but that was because of his encounter with the spider. It took a while for him to nod off, so I figured he could stay in bed for a little while longer.

Breakfast was cold cereal, made with powdered milk. I had chewy oatmeal bars to keep in our pockets for later. I was nice enough to fire up the Coleman stove and boil some water for instant coffee. Since we were only stayin’ a couple of days, I didn’t pack bother packin’ the fresh ground stuff.

At 4:45 AM, I yelled at Dalton to get up. I seen him move, so he must have heard me. Then I heard a voice from under the sleepin’ bag.

“What time is it?”

“It’s quarter to five.” I answered.

The sun is stirrin’
The day’s begun
Rise and shine
My little one!

“I used to sing that to Sam.”

“I’ll be sure and tell her that you sang it to me too.” Dalton replied.

“You do that. What memories! She would giggle, ‘cause I’d go over to the bed and tickle her through the sheets.”

I heard his monotone voice from under the sleepin’ bag again. Dalton did not sound impressed. “You’re not going to tickle me are you?”

“Only if you aren’t out of the bed by the count of ten! One, two, three…”

Dalton sat up straight and pushed off the covers. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Very much. I haven’t had kids around for years. You’re the closest thing I got. Now get up and eat your cold cereal and powdered milk!”

Dalton walked to the table and ate what was in the bowl. He didn’t even complain about the milk! He was still half asleep and never spoke a word. After he was done, he got up, walked back to the bed and started dressing. While he was puttin’ his clothes on, I told him about powdered milk.

“Hey Dalton, have you ever wondered how they make powdered milk? I got a theory.”

“Naturally...”

“Hush! I figure that they take fresh milk and boil it down until there’s nothin’ left but a hard scum what’s dried on the side of the pot.”

“Yummy…”

“Then they scrape it off, grind it up and we end up with all that powder in the bag. They make chocolate milk by addin’ cocoa flavourin’. You know why they done that?”

“No, I do not.”

“It was because of the war. They had to send milk and eggs overseas to the troops. The only way to get it there was in bags. When they took out the water, it made the load lighter and they could ship more. But what I don’t understand is if the Germans had sunk one of them supply ships, the ocean woulda turned into a big bowl of salty milk!”

“That’s disgusting!”

“Not really. It would have been a real boon to the companies that made clam chowder!”

“Please tell me you don’t actually believe that, and you’re just making up this story.”

“Of course I’m making it up, Dalton! I used to tell stories like that to the girls. Jeez, you’re a teacher. You must tell stories to the kids in your class too.”

“Yes, but not like that.”

Dalton didn’t seem to have a sense of humour. Poor guy. Can you imagine bein’ stuck with him at a restaurant or a school assembly? I remember thinkin’ that he must have a fun side, but it’s buried deep inside somewhere. It would be a lot of work to find it.
---

We gathered our gear and headed off to the treehouse stand that I built when Sam was small. It was close to the edge of a cedar swamp on one side, and the creek, a hundred yards away, on the other. The blind overlooked the path between their bedding and eating areas.

At first, it was just a platform suspended twenty feet up in a maple tree. Over the years, I added walls, a roof, windows, two small chairs and a propane heater. Sam coloured on the plywood walls with magic markers to decorate it. When she was in grade eight, she made a small box in wood shop for me to put inside our blind to keep our lunch or anything else. It was a special place!

We got to the stand at 5:30AM. I got Dalton to climb up first and lower the rope that was inside the stand, so he could pull up the rifles. After that, I climbed up and stuck my head through the door.

“Remember, don’t make no noise! If you gotta talk, whisper. You’ll notice that there’s a carpet on the floor to deaden any sounds we make, but it ain’t perfect. If you need something, pick it up! Do NOT scrape stuff across the floor. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“If you look at the window, you’ll see a wooden rifle rack beside it. That’s so you know exactly where your gun is when you need it. We’re going to load them, put on the safeties and place them quietly in the rack. From here on, all you gotta do is keep watch by starin’ out the window.”

“What’s my area?”

“Excellent question! Since you’re in front of the window on the right, you got the area in front and to the right of the stand. I’ve got the opposite side. It’s likely that both of us will spot a deer at the same time, regardless of whose side it’s on. Just remember not to get too excited when you see something and it’s in your area. Take your time. Pick up the rifle and find your target.”

“Okay, I understand. How long does it take before the deer come by?”

“There’s no real way of sayin’. They’ll be along when they get here. There was a full moon last night, so they were up durin’ the night feedin’. We’ll see them after they’re done eatin’. They’ll be on their way to bed. The likely place they’ll use is the trail since there’s a cedar swamp not too far on your side. The trail is marked with orange tape. It’s a little faded, but you can still see it.”

Dalton stared out the window at the ground.

“Okay, I see it. How far is it to the tape?”

“About fifty yards, but don’t worry about the distance. You remember when we checked the sights last week? They are zeroed for 100 yards. At fifty yards, you’ll hit what you’re aimin’ at.”

The first year I bought the land, I also bought two 30-30 levers for $120 each. My wife was ticked off, sayin’ that I didn’t need both, but I explained that her or Sam would need it. Although she disagreed, she never told me to take one back to the store. Ever since then, both levers have been used to harvest dozens of deer.

While we sat there waitin’, Dalton asked a bunch of questions about huntin’, what Sam was like when she was a girl and my old Ford. He was relaxed and not at all stuffy like at home. It was refreshing. Originally, I wanted to give Sam and her kids a break. Now it seemed that I might have a chance at changin’ Dalton’s behaviour. It would be nice to see him let his hair down and live a little.

Why I Don't Hunt with No School Teachers! The Last Part
Copyright 2012 – Stephen Redgwell

Dalton had never shot a deer and I figured to make the experience as enjoyable as possible. If one appeared on my side, I would let it walk past me and into his zone. Less than an hour after we got there, I got my wish. A nice buck came wandering up the trail. He wasn’t one of the deer we saw the day before by the bridge, but he was a nice six pointer.

I tapped Dalton on the shoulder and told him to get his rifle ready…

The deer got closer. You could tell that he felt safe. He was takin’ his time gettin’ to wherever he was headed.

Like the buck, Dalton was calm too. This was his first deer, but despite that, he didn’t seem nervous. I watched as he slid the 30-30 through the window and disengaged the safety. He wasn’t sweatin’ and his hands weren’t shakin’. The expression on his face was businesslike, with no sign of buck fever. He carefully drew a bead on the six pointer and got ready to shoot. I didn’t feel the need to say or do a thing. Everything was goin’ to plan.

Dalton waited until the buck was directly in front of him before he started squeezin’ the trigger. He wasn’t rushed. By the way he was actin’, you’d of sworn he had done this a million times.

The deer stopped and put his head down, about fifty yards out from the stand. You could easily see his right shoulder and front legs. There were no obstructions. It was a perfect broadside shot that all hunters dream of, but rarely get. I turned to Dalton and whispered,

“Now…”

Dalton made a slight adjustment to his hold and pulled the trigger. The rifle went “CLICK!”, but nothin’ happened.

The deer looked up and around, took a couple of steps and put his head back down again. If he heard the trigger, it didn’t faze him. He kept browsin’.

Dalton quietly pulled his rifle back into the stand and slowly cycled the action. All the colour drained from his face as he realized that the 30-30 wasn’t loaded! He looked at me as if to say, ‘What do I do now?’, but we didn’t have any time to waste. I motioned with my finger for him not to make any noise. I took my rifle off the rack, disengaged the safety and fired.

The forest echoed with the sound of the shot. The bullet impacted just where it was supposed to; what the gun writers call a classic heart/lung hit. The deer bolted and ran into the trees. From our vantage point, we could see the underbrush movin’, as he dashed away, searchin’ for an escape route. He went for about twenty or thirty yards and stopped. I looked at Dalton and said,

“We’ll give him a few minutes. It was a good hit. I’ve never had a deer stand in profile, almost beggin’ me to take a shot! Now that he’s down, I have to ask, what the heck went wrong?”

Dalton’s face turned red and he stared at the floor.

“I forgot to load the rifle…”

“I know that! Why?”

“I’m not really sure. When you told me about the window and the rack, I remember you saying to load it and put on the safety…”

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess I forgot to do that. I was asking questions about the stand and the trail. It must have slipped my mind.”

I should have been upset, but the whole situation was, well, it was funny. And maybe some of the blame was with me too. I should have checked his rifle. I started to laugh and told him that this would be a memorable hunt for both of us. In the end, Dalton didn’t suffer from buck fever; he simply forgot to load his rifle!

“Don’t feel too bad. I’ve seen a lot worse. One thing though, you can bet that when we go huntin’ in the future, I’m gonna ask if you loaded your gun!”

Dalton blushed and asked what we had to do next.

“We’ll…I mean…I’ll unload my rifle. I’ll climb down outta the tree and you can lower one of the levers to take with us. It’s important to reload it and put on the safety before we start walkin’ over there. We might need it in case he’s still breathin’. One other thing: There’s a bag in Sam’s storage box with some knives, ropes and other stuff to use to gut and haul out the deer. Toss it down to me, okay?”

I climbed outta the stand and did a quick inventory of what we were gonna take. Dalton asked if he could carry the rifle - loaded, of course - over to the deer. I winked at him and said “Sure.”

The rest of the hunt was uneventful. Despite it bein’ Dalton’s first time guttin’ an animal, things went smoothly. He wasn’t even squeamish about the blood. I explained the process, so it took about forty minutes to do. We was back at the cabin a couple of hours later.

At the side of the cabin, I got a wooden frame to hang deer, rabbits or anything else that needs hangin’. We secured the buck to the frame and admired our work. Dalton took his digital camera out and I snapped a bunch of pictures of him posin’ with his first buck. He even managed to get a few pictures of us together, usin’ a delay timer. Ain’t technology wonderful!

I said that I wouldn’t embarrass him too badly when we got home. Everyone has a story and you never forget your first deer hunt! From this day on, the little six pointer would be known as ‘Dalton’s almost deer’.

“Dalton, ya done good. Okay, so you didn’t actually pull the trigger, but there will be lots of other opportunities. What I want you to remember about this trip is that bein’ in the bush is a wonderful experience. You can have fun and learn somethin’ without havin’ your head buried in a book. Nature has a lot to teach us. Even after all these years, I still learn somethin’ new every time.”

Dalton smiled and nodded his head.

“You’re right, Dad. I had a good weekend. I got to see the fall colours, meet your neighbour, witness an explosion and be part of a deer hunt. Up until yesterday, I wouldn’t have believed it possible for all that to happen in a couple of days. I know when I tell my friends about this trip they won’t believe me - but I’ll know it’s true.”

“Yep, and you got years of adventures ahead of you. What you gotta do when you get home is talk to Sam about bringin’ the girls out here. I guarantee that you won’t get an argument from her! I know that she’ll want to come out to see the fall colours. They are amazin’, but the other seasons are great too.”

“I want to thank you for taking me along. This place is great. I had a magnificent time!”

“You can take that to the bank, Dalton - and it didn’t come from a book!”

“Just one thing, Dad. No more powdered milk stories, okay?”

“Agreed. Besides, I’ve never been a fan of clam chowder anyways…”

That story is pure brilliance combined with a lot of fun.

If anyone does not enjoy and appreciate the story, then they don't have a heart or an imagination.

Many thanks for a great story Steve.

(another) Steve

A good tale well told. Thanks!

Thanks guys. It was a little long, but fun to do.

Fun to read!

Thank you, sir.

Ed

Thanks for the story.