by John Jefferson
Hunting has been significant in my life.
It’s been an incredible journey. And fun. I’ve learned a lot. Others’ experiences, though, have turned into catastrophes. Lemme tell you about a few.
Two friends travelling through backcountry Colorado scouting for elk and trout in a pickup camper loaded with gear, stopped at the base of a mountain to grab a drink out of the back. They stood admiring the scenery before resuming their assent. Sometime later, near the summit, they wanted another drink. The other guy went to the back. He returned shortly, looking perturbed. They had forgotten to shut the camper door. Going uphill, their gear slowly migrated out. Five miles of it lay on the road just climbed.
But no one was hurt. On a duck hunt one frigid morning near Port Arthur, a hunting companion, unsteady on his feet following too late a night, was stepping into a johnboat to cross a canal when he and his shotgun unexpectedly took a dive. His teeth rattled for the rest of the hunt.
Another duck hunter was even less fortunate. He and three others were in their blind on a pitch-black morning before daylight. To eliminate coffee before shooting time, he climbed out the blind, stood in front of it facing away and proceeded with his mission. His buddies heard a “WHOCK!” and the 225-pound man fell back among them. It took time and effort to remove him and determine what happened. A flashlight explained the sound, the fall, and the blood. On the ground lay a wayward duck. It had flown into the big man’s forehead as he stood in the dark, knocking him cold. He had to be taken to the ER. We’re not told if the duck became part of their limit.
A friend named Ezma climbed into her deer blind one morning, coming face-to-face with a bobcat. My son and I sat in a dark deer blind near Alice when something hit my sleeve. Our flashlight showed it was a red wasp. We looked up. The entire 4×8 ceiling was COVERED in red wasps. We opened the floor hatch and evacuated without using the ladder.
The strangest was a bighorn sheep hunter who set his rifle and pack against the cabin while horses were being saddled. One mount spooked, ran across the compound, kicked his rifle, breaking the stock in half! With no back-up rifle and town too far away, he fitted the jaggedly broken stock together like a jigsaw puzzle, held it firmly against his shoulder and killed his fourth sheep of the Grand Slam.
One incident could have ended in mayhem. Two friends were dropped off by plane on a Canadian hunt. The outfitter NEVER dropped them promised food supplies. Hungry, they were about to “borrow” an Indian’s canoe to paddle to civilization when they caught a ride to a trading post on a freight canoe. Calling them “unhappy campers” was an understatement. They never heard from the outfitter or saw him again. He was lucky.
JJ
