Ten Points of Happiness

***WARNING***

If you're in any way offended by a deceased deer (no matter how impressive), you might want to skip this post.

As most of you probably know, modern gun season in Arkansas opened a couple weeks ago. To bring any newer readers up to speed, I'm still a pretty new deer hunter. I introduced hubby to fly fishing (and created a monster), and he in turn introduced me to hunting (in the process creating his own monster). I've never really had a problem with hunting, but just never participated. While always a lover of the outdoors, I always considered fishing the more "sophisticated" sport, using highly honed skill and the powers of keen observation to entice a wily and obviously intelligent fish into biting an artifical bait, while I admittedly saw hunting as something necessary for conservation, but an activity any old schmuck could do (mostly big guys with bigger egos and even bigger trucks) by donning camo, grabbing a gun, and sitting in a tree waiting for some poor critter to happen by. I ardently believed in hunter's rights, but didn't have much respect for the sport.

My opinons have drastically changed. Not only was I a hypocrite for my views on hunting while being an egotistical fisherman, but I had it all wrong. After trying hunting for myself, I found that hunting can be HARD. It does take a large amount of skill, know-how, and a huge dose of patience. But once you have tasted success, it leaves you feeling incredibly self-sufficient and confident, with a healthier respect and intense love for nature (which many self-proclaimed hard-core environmentalists will never have or understand). Not to mention the DELICIOUS results. Putting my own food on the table gives me a feeling of confidence that's hard to describe...like I can accomplish anything, and I can survive anything.

Well, despite the fact that I had beginner's luck on my first day of my first deer season with the 8-point buck two years ago, it's been rough going since. I was totally skunked last year, and this year things were looking to go the same direction. I had started to get concerned, since we've been out of deer meat for weeks, and frankly - I'm getting a little tired of pork. It seemed the harder I hunted, with or without hubby, the worse my luck was getting.

Until early Sunday morning...



Yes, that is one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, TEN points on that 'thar buck. Hubby stayed in bed for a much-needed rest, so I went out to the farthest tree stand from the house. One of my first solo trips out hunting on my own. I was actually looking to fill my doe tag, but after spending two solid hours with the only results being a very entertaining titmouse that was determined he wanted to perch on my stand (but he did not want me there), I gave up and climbed down. I decided to walk the perimeter of our property on the way back to the house, when I encountered this bruiser. In my short career as a deer hunter, this is the biggest buck I've seen, and when I was all of a sudden face-to-face with this guy I nearly had a coronary. I was informed that what I experienced was indeed a case of intense "Buck Fever." Long story short, I was luckily able to pull my wits together enough to focus on the task. Looking through heavy brush I had to take a neck shot, and the buck dropped instantly like a sack of bricks.

While deer hunting for me will still be much more about getting meat in the freezer than getting a trophy, it does feel pretty awesome to have an actual Big Buck under my belt. Even though my buck wasn't a "Buckzilla", it's big enough that I can now swagger around with the biggest ego-toting-big-truck-driving rednecks in the area. Yay me!