There were always plentiful, healthy-looking deer at Blair's Ranch. These were grazing on the trail, between the blind and the feeder.
The 37th Short Story
The Hunter-Gatherer, Part 2: The Ghost
"The Hunter-Gatherer, Part 2: The Ghost"
ANDY'S LESSONS FROM LIFE
My 37th Short Story
I hope you enjoy more of Andy's life experiences and the lessons that come with them.
"The Hunter-Gatherer, Part 2: The Ghost"
“Best laid plans can easily be foiled, when nature intervenes.”
--Andy Skrzynski
No matter what may have been going on in my life after 2013, the one activity that dominated all others was writing books. From 2013 through 2018, I diligently wrote my three science fiction novels, composing “The New World” trilogy. As such, I was totally absorbed with turning my conception of the future into a whole new world for upcoming generations to endure, near the turn of the next century.
Following the unanticipated birth as a published author of those first three books, I really had no plans to write any more, but a funny thing happened on my way to retiring from this endeavor. The wonderful people, from my hometown of Jackson and the surrounding area, convinced me that I needed to write my childhood story about life in the St. Joseph Home for Boys.
From the time I shared my first little story about my orphanage experiences, with a highly popular Facebook group about Jackson, Michigan history, I’ve been writing and publishing “Andy and the St. Joseph Home for Boys” and more than 35 short stories, about the rest of my life. While crafting my orphanage book or the trilogy, it didn’t really matter if I was fishing, hunting, or whatever tickled my fancy; scenes from any story I was writing at that time, inundated my thoughts –- day and night.
During the wee hours, early in the morning of one of my hunting trips in West Texas, my mind brainstormed while generating dreams for my final trilogy novel, “The New World: Crimson Winter.” The scene was so exciting and vivid I just had to get up and promptly put it to paper, before I lost my precious thoughts forever.
I quietly snuck out of bed so as not to awaken my hunting partner, who was sawing logs in the next bed. I quietly rummaged around in the dresser drawer, hoping to find some writing materials.
I found a pen, but no paper was to be had. Pondering for a moment, I grabbed my wallet and retrieved a receipt I had received from the restaurant, the night before.
This would have been a rare time, when one of those dreaded arm-length receipts you get from way too many stores would have been perfect, but no. This paltry piece of paper with faded ink was only about 3 inches long and a little over an inch wide.
I sighed. How am I ever going to write all these ideas on this puny thing?
Unable to turn on the light without disturbing my buddy, I flipped the switch for the porch light and stepped outside. A chill instantly filled my soul. Brrr, it’s cold out here!
Barefooted, I tiptoed and ever so slowly settled onto the metal folding chair. Normally, that wouldn’t have been much of a problem, but on this occasion, I was wearing only my underwear, so as not to make too much noise while looking for my other clothes.
As soon as my bottom hit that icy chair, I jumped off the seat. Oh my God!
With a bright, full moon overhead and millions of stars beaming across the vast sky, the temperature was in the high 30s. Standing there in my skivvies with goose pimples spreading like wildfire, my feet grew numb from the cold concrete.
I considered my plight but kept coming to the same conclusion. I don’t have any choice! I’ve got to write all these dreams down now or lose them for sure!
I grit my teeth, and once again, slowly lowered my rear onto the chair. Every fiber of my body shivered like the dickens, as a thick cloud of humid air escaped my mouth and nose. I’m a blooming idiot!
Fortunately, I was in the remotest place in the area, and my buddy and I were the only ones booked in the small motel, that day. I didn’t have to worry about any cars. Nobody drives out here in the middle of ten buck two at this hour.
Fighting off the chill, I began putting words to paper, like a possessed maniac. My wife would attest to my ability to write small, but in this case, I had no choice but to scribble the tiniest letters I could muster.
About 45 minutes later, I had written most of a chapter and ran out words and space on that scrimpy receipt. Faster than a rabbit with its tail on fire, I slipped back inside and under the covers of my lumpy bed. With only an hour before the alarm rang, I captured very little sleep, following my untimely interruption.
After Ed and I awoke and got dressed, well before sunrise, my hunting partner drove us down the windy road toward our hunting blind. Halfway there, the headlights flashed something white. I recognized the Great Pyrenees dog, lying in the tall weeds of the nearby ditch.
I glanced at my friend. “Stop! I want to say hi.”
He slowed the truck to a halt, and I hopped out. Not being all that creative when it came to dishing out names, the perfect moniker, befitting something bright white, appearing from nowhere in the dark, wormed its way into my noggin. “Hey there, Ghost. How are you doing this morning?”
His long, bushy tail wagged vigorously, as the friendly dog rolled over and bared his tummy. I rubbed his belly good.
After giving Ghost his fill, I chuckled, “I’ll bet you’d love me to pet you all morning, but we’ve got more exciting plans. We have to get to the blind before sunrise, my friend.”
I patted his head, then gave him a stern eye. “Make sure you stay off the road, so you don’t get hit. You hear?” The sheepish dog gave me that ‘I have no earthly idea what you’re saying’ kinda stare as I rose and climbed back into the brand new, black Chevy Silverado.
Usually, after such an encounter, we wouldn’t see Ghost for a day or two. He absolutely loved to roam freely, sometimes up to 20 or more miles at a time.
This particular morning, he must have had other ideas. I watched the big fluff of white fade in the rearview mirror, as Ed drove toward our destination.
Keeping my eyes peeled to the side of the road, I warily watched for any crazed buck or doe that might decide to dash in front of us. After a couple of miles, my friend hooked a right down a driveway and stopped in front of a white, iron gate with a sign that read, “Blair’s Ranch.”
I promptly hopped out and swung open the lengthy barrier, and my partner drove onto the ranch where we kept a hunting blind, ready for our annual treat. My buddy steered his brand-new pickup along the rugged trail between the scraggly reaches of the thorny brush and mesquite tree branches.
While staring straight ahead, he gruffed, “The brush sure is growing wild along the trail. I better not scratch up my new truck. I’ve only had it for a couple months.”
I laughed. “I brought some pruners along, so we can trim up some of this later, when we’re not hunting. Till then, you better be careful.” He didn’t smile the slightest after that remark. In fact, he looked rather grumpy.
I tried to cheer him up a bit. “It’s too dark to do anything about it now. Besides, nothing’s getting in the way of our hunting – right? We’d only spook the deer if we tried to mess with it, while they’re headed toward the feeder.”
Upon arrival, we kept as quiet as possible. The two of us loaded ourselves with rifles and gear and trudged up the long, rusty iron ladder to the double-wide blind. I felt confident we didn’t have to worry about any of those big, red wasps that loved to create their never-ending condos throughout the blind, during the hotter summer and autumn months.
It was always a special treat to slowly open the rickety door of the wooden structure for the first time each year, while warily poking my head around the corner to locate the nests. The prior afternoon, I performed my annual exercise of exterminating the terrifying pests I have always hated most.
With a spray can in hand, I began spraying the powerful insecticide while waving the can in circles, hoping to soak as many of the unwanted intruders and their homes as I possibly could. Despite the claims on the side of the aerosol, the spray rarely knocked the wasps down immediately.
On this particular occasion, one of the kamikaze stingers flew straight at me and hit me in the forehead, while another landed on my chest. I immediately danced and hopped up and down like a maniac, as I swiped and patted any semblance of the critters. Fortunately, none had a chance to sting me, before I slammed the door shut, after emptying the contents of the first of three cans, that I brought for such an occasion.
I quickly but carefully, descended down the ladder and stepped back as I watched the mayhem of wasps, zigzagging in search of their attacker. After the commotion died down, I reluctantly climbed back up the steps to check the results.
Peering into the darkness with a bright, LED flashlight shining along every crook and cranny, I found hundreds of the suckers – some deader than a doorknob, while others still squirmed in hopeless futility on the floor. As I was about to declare success, movement caught the corner of my eye.
I pointed the light in that direction and gasped. “What on Earth?”
A huge red ball of those hated winged terrorists had somehow avoided the spray's impact, while they continued to crawl over and under each other. I hollered to Ed below. “Toss me another can of that stuff!”
He lofted it toward me, and I commenced to soak the frightful ball of wasps, over and over again, until I emptied the second container. I quickly locked the door and carefully scurried down the ladder to the ground below.
“Whew.” I turned toward my hunting buddy. “You’re not going to believe it!”
I relayed what I witnessed, and he kept shaking his head. “You’re dang lucky you didn’t get stung!”
I sighed. “Yeah, tell me about it. I hate having to do this each year! It’s a royal pain in the butt!”
Being quite a bit cooler the morning after, I peeked around the door and lit up the blind with my flashlight. The dead wasps were so thick they formed a brownish-red carpet across the floor.
Nothing stirred inside, so I used a cutoff broom and brushed their brittle carcasses off the two plastic chairs and floor. Then, I flicked them out the door and off the deck, as they drifted to the ground below. I released a big sigh after not getting stung during the process. Whew, I must have got them all!
We settled into the blind and readied our weapons, as we awaited the sun’s rise. Off to our right, an orange glow grew brighter in the sky above the eastern horizon. The dawn’s meager light spread across the hills and the corn feeder, more than 100 yards away.
I looked through my powerful binoculars and found several shadows of long-legged creatures, mulling around the large metal container. They always seemed to have an internal clock, while anticipating the feeder to fling the tiny yellow morsels they craved.
Within minutes, the timer went off, and I heard the familiar clanking of some of the corn kernels striking the galvanized container. Most flew in all directions and tumbled to the trampled dirt below. As the morning’s glow grew brighter, I spotted cottontails, squirrels, and doves, gingerly dodging the hooves of the whitetail deer, chomping down their tasty meal.
A half hour later, I spotted something quite a way off. I turned my binoculars in that direction. You’ve got to be kidding.
I turned toward Ed. “Guess who’s walking along the road?”
He mumbled, “Who?”
“It’s hard to imagine, but it’s Ghost.”
“No way.”
“I’m serious. He just turned up the driveway. I’ll bet he’s headed toward Jerry’s place.” The ranch owner always left plenty of food out for the numerous dogs and cats he cared for. Ghost had been a guest for a couple of days, while the relentless roamer decided where to go next.
I figured he would wander off, so I gave it little thought. About 15 minutes later, I parted the curtains behind us and checked to see if any deer might be strolling in from that direction.
My jaw practically hit the floor. “Unbelievable! Guess who’s laying next to your pickup?”
Ed sneered, “Naw, it can’t be Ghost, could it?”
“Yep, that crazy dog must have somehow followed the scent of the truck for more than two miles.”
My buddy’s face grew serious. “He better not spook the deer!”
I bit my lower lip. “If he stays put, it’ll be okay. He’s downwind and out of sight. Let’s just hope he doesn’t budge.”
It couldn’t have been more than a minute, and the dumb dog rose and started trotting from around the cover of the cedar trees and directly toward the feeder. Every creature in sight spotted him and scattered in all directions.
If that wasn’t bad enough, the white furball continued to lumber along the trail in the worst direction possible. When Ghost reached the feeder, he did what all male dogs can’t resist. He lifted his left leg high and let a stream of yellow fly – up and down one of the legs of the corn feeder.
Dumbfounded, Ed and I stared at each other. Even though I’d grown fond of that stupid mongrel, my anger at that very moment tempted my better judgement.
I shook my head and grumbled, “Of all things! There ain’t no deer going near that feeder for the rest of the day! I could kill that stupid dog!”
I closed my eyes, and after a second, opened them. “We might as well go do something else for the rest of the morning and afternoon.”
Ed nodded. “Makes sense. Maybe, we can check it out, near that last feeding before sunset.”
“We can, but it may be a waste of time. We’ve got another day. Let’s just come back the next morning. Hopefully, his scent will wear off enough by then.”
After trimming the worst of the thorny brush and branches off the trail, we set out for breakfast, back at the motel. Later, we went on a little adventure to kill time, during the rest of the day.
The next morning, we climbed back into the blind before sunrise. Ed and I mustered hope that the deer’s hunger would overcome their caution from any lingering smell, from that pain-in-the-butt Ghost.
A small yearling and large doe cautiously sniffed the ground, while approaching the feeder, as dawn’s light slowly spread throughout the area. They were definitely suspicious at first.
When the feeder flung corn in all directions, they flinched but quickly regained their courage. Gingerly nearing the delectable kernels, they began to feast. It didn’t take long before other yearlings and their mothers emerged from the cover of cedars and joined the party.
Ed glanced at me and mumbled with his usual subdued and raspy voice. “We might get lucky after all.”
I peered into his eyes. “Now you’ve done it. You’ve probably jinxed us!”
He chuckled. “Probably, but let’s hope not.”
Several minutes passed before a halfway decent buck lowered its snout and followed the scent of the opposite sex, near the feeder. I smiled big. “Now, we’re talking. Maybe, you didn’t jin….”
Before I could even finish the sentence, the buck snorted, lifted its rack high, and raced off. Every other creature in the area scattered as well.
My buddy and I stared at each with puzzled expressions. With eyes the size of plums, he whipped, “What just happened? Why did they take off?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. Ghost better not have spooked them again. I didn’t see him; did you?”
“Naw, but he might be on the other side of….” Halfway through his reply, a chorus of gobble-gobbles filled the air. A parade of about 30 wild turkeys trotted up the trail, toward the feeders.
Totally stunned, I turned toward Ed. “I can’t believe this! Something spooks our deer two days in a row!”
He slowly shook his head and grumbled, “We are jinxed. With our crummy luck, we better not waste our time at any casinos for a while.”
Though my heart wasn’t in it, I couldn’t help but laugh. The feathered intruders kept pecking away at the corn until they scarfed up each and every one of the yellow kernels. They milled around for a while, as we watched in frustration.
All wasn’t lost, when two Tom turkeys began strutting their stuff and performing a kabuki mating dance in circles around each other. I grabbed my digital camera with a great zoom lens, that I always kept handy for such occasions.
While I mostly perceived wild turkeys to be a boring, brown or black color, I couldn’t help but notice the glistening colors of bronze, red, green, and bluish silver, which contrasted the brown in the brilliance of the sunlight. Their shimmery feathers were surprisingly more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.
The sight reminded me of just how amazing God’s creations could be, if we only took the time to observe them. Given the circumstances, such musings were the only thing keeping me from screaming at the stupid disruptors of our intended hunting experience.
After the big birds scampered off with bellies full, I sighed. “We might as well go and get some breakfast. The deer aren’t coming back after those turkeys ate all the corn.”
“Make sense. Let’s come back mid-afternoon. Maybe we’ll get lucky and a buck or two wanders across the trails.”
“I hope so, but luck doesn’t seem to favor us on this trip.”
Following a tasty omelet, filled with sausage, bacon, cheese and grilled onions, for brunch, we took turns taking showers and succumbed to a short nap. Refreshed, we returned to the blind around 3:30 p.m.
After observing the area for an hour or so, only a couple of quail and a few doves stirred. Hopes of a stray buck or two quickly vanished.
Suddenly, I felt something crawling on my left thigh. I glanced down and spotted one of those nasty, red wasps. Before I could swat it, the unwanted attacker curled up and stung me good. I yelled, “Ow!”
Ed perked up. “What’s wrong?”
“One of those stupid wasps stung me.” I smashed it to smithereens.
“I thought you got 'em all.”
I swung the door open and got down on my knees, while peeking under my seat. “I thought I had, but sure enough, there’s a nest under my chair.”
“Are there any more wasps?”
“Doesn’t look like it but check your chair and look around to see if there’s anything crawling or flying around.” Fortunately, we found no more.
As I cautiously settled back onto my seat, my fresh puncture burned like the dickens. I’d been stung by many a wasp in my life, but the most painful were those big, bright red wasps that flourished so well in much of Texas.
Before, I was simply bored, but now, the throbbing pissed me off and left me wanting to be somewhere, other than stuck in a blind with little hope of deer crossing our path. Even so, I gritted my teeth and toughed it out. We’re certainly due for some better luck.
Whether we were due or not, no such fortunes came our way that day. With our planned hunting days evolving into a total bust, we decided to book an extra night. Still enduring the frustration, I looked at Ed as we walked across the road from the office toward our room. “I sure hope this isn’t a waste.”
“Know what you mean. We’ve had the worst luck so far.”
I sneered, “You know what they say. Bad things come in threes. We better hope that’s not true this time.”
“That’s for sure.”
Tentatively hopeful, we returned to the blind before dawn the next morning. My mood improved as moving shadows milled around the feeder, while the orange glow slowly seeped upwards along the eastern horizon. I extended my binoculars toward my buddy. “Take a look. Maybe, just maybe, we will get lucky.”
Even in the dark of the blind, his teeth grew brighter as his smile spread wide. “That’s a lot better. I think there’s a couple of bucks up there, already.”
As eager as we both were, our desires had to be stifled until the sun peeked above the trees and provided the light needed for a clean shot. I grabbed my rifle, and quietly swung open the plexiglass window.
Setting my sock full of beans on the ledge, I positioned the barrel in place at just the right angle to eye the targets through my scope.
I leaned toward Ed. “Let’s be ready right at sunrise.”
He lowered his rifle. “Won’t be long now.”
Beside six does and four yearlings, two nice-sized bucks nibbled on the kernels of corn. It was still too dark to decipher how many points graced their racks.
I stared through the magnifying lenses. “Given how big these bucks are, I’ll bet they have at least 6 points. Why don’t you pick out the one you like and take the first shot?”
“Are you sure?”
“I guess. Just make sure you get a good shot. We can’t afford to miss any at this point.”
“No problem. I’ll get one.”
We stuck soft plugs in our ears, and my friend peered into his scope. Watching through my binoculars, I anticipated the boom as he positioned the crosshairs.
Suddenly, all the deer scattered to the winds. I gasped. “What happened? What spooked them this time? It better not be those stupid turkeys or Ghost again!”
Ed gruffed. “I can’t believe it! I was ready to squeeze the trigger, and just like that, they were gone. I can’t see what scared them yet.”
I scanned the whole area, looking for the slightest movement, but nothing stirred. About two minutes later, the long snout and horns of a black angus cleared the cover of the cedar trees in front of us. Before long, a whole herd of cattle moseyed along the dry creek bed below.
My earlier words, “Bad things come in threes,” haunted me. “Unbelievable! We’ll be lucky to see any deer for the rest of the day.”
The cows and steers grazed the area for quite some time. An aged tortoise could have crawled faster than this herd was moving.
Even though I couldn’t see my ears, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, steam must have been spewing from them. My gut churned as I watched another great opportunity evaporate quicker than the dew, as the sun’s warmth kept rising.
We both stared at each other while shaking our heads. I set the binoculars on a ledge. “Well, we might as well go get breakfast again. This day is another bust so far. Let’s plan on getting back out here, one more time before the feeder goes off before dusk.”
“We better hope something comes back, or we’ll be going home empty handed for the first time ever.”
I snarled, “I don’t care what shows up – doe or buck – as long as it has enough meat on its bones. I don’t want to see the look on Bonnie’s face, if we show up without any venison.”
Lacking any confidence that something wouldn’t ruin our plans, we returned to the blind at 3:30 p.m., well ahead of the feeder going off. Nothing, not even the birds or squirrels, came anywhere near the area.
What could be more boring than waiting and peering at the dry, rocky landscape without a sign of wildlife for hours? It didn’t help that our tiny portal was only 1.5-foot square. To make matters worse, the late afternoon sun turned our blind into an oven, as sweat dripped down my forehead and the side of my face.
Hoping for the slightest breeze, we opened four of the six tiny windows, but not a hint of wind provided any relief. Our disappointing adventure only grew moreso, as any hope of bagging one, let alone two deer, faded with the remaining time we had left.
Weary from our plight, I glanced at Ed. “If by some miracle two bucks or big does show up, we have no choice but to try to shoot them at the same time. We’ve only got about 20 minutes of light left, before we have to call it a day.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. If some miracle happens, I’ll be ready. Don’t you worry.”
Summoning the greatest optimism possible, I tried to rally my partner. “Okay. Let’s hope for the best. If two do show up, you shoot the one to the right and I’ll take the one on the left. Position your rifle now and be ready to squeeze off a shot on my word. I’ll count to three, and on the slightest sound of 'three' you fire. I’ll be firing at the same time. Maybe, we’ll witness a miracle.”
In my heart, I knew better. There's no chance in hell of anything sho....
Before I even finished my thought, two, hefty six-pointers slowly strolled halfway between us and the feeder. They lumbered along the same creek bed the cattle had taken earlier.
Totally amazed, I looked at Ed and he nodded. Miraculously, as if on cue, both beasts paused for no apparent reason. I whispered, “You ready?”
“Yep, let’s do it.”
“Okay. Remember what I told you. On the faintest sound of 'three,' you fire.”
As I steadied my rifle and lined up the crosshairs of my scope, I began to count. “One, two, thr….” Kaboom!
Both bucks dropped in their place, while our rifles filled the enclosed blind with the loudest explosion I ever heard while hunting. Even though I was wearing plugs, my ears wouldn’t stop ringing.
We whooped and hollered at the top of our lungs, “It’s a miracle! We got ‘em!”
Opening my eyes wide as possible, I turned toward my partner in crime. “I can’t believe it worked. We could never do this again in a million years!”
He chuckled. “That’s for sure. At least our wives are gonna be happy. We’re actually going to take some venison home.”
I couldn’t help but laugh inside while we quickly rounded up our gear and closed the windows and shades. As Ed climbed down the ladder, I quipped, “Hey, bud. Let’s not ever try that again! What do you say?”
He halted his descent and looked up at me. “I’m with you on that one. We were VERY lucky.”
*********
That's it for now! I hope you enjoyed my latest! I've got a couple more in mind, that I'll start working on in the coming days.
Thank you for your wonderful support!
Andy Skrzynski
ANDY'S LESSONS FROM LIFE
My 37th Short Story
I hope you enjoy more of Andy's life experiences and the lessons that come with them.
"The Hunter-Gatherer, Part 2: The Ghost"
“Best laid plans can easily be foiled, when nature intervenes.”
--Andy Skrzynski
No matter what may have been going on in my life after 2013, the one activity that dominated all others was writing books. From 2013 through 2018, I diligently wrote my three science fiction novels, composing “The New World” trilogy. As such, I was totally absorbed with turning my conception of the future into a whole new world for upcoming generations to endure, near the turn of the next century.
Following the unanticipated birth as a published author of those first three books, I really had no plans to write any more, but a funny thing happened on my way to retiring from this endeavor. The wonderful people, from my hometown of Jackson and the surrounding area, convinced me that I needed to write my childhood story about life in the St. Joseph Home for Boys.
From the time I shared my first little story about my orphanage experiences, with a highly popular Facebook group about Jackson, Michigan history, I’ve been writing and publishing “Andy and the St. Joseph Home for Boys” and more than 35 short stories, about the rest of my life. While crafting my orphanage book or the trilogy, it didn’t really matter if I was fishing, hunting, or whatever tickled my fancy; scenes from any story I was writing at that time, inundated my thoughts –- day and night.
During the wee hours, early in the morning of one of my hunting trips in West Texas, my mind brainstormed while generating dreams for my final trilogy novel, “The New World: Crimson Winter.” The scene was so exciting and vivid I just had to get up and promptly put it to paper, before I lost my precious thoughts forever.
I quietly snuck out of bed so as not to awaken my hunting partner, who was sawing logs in the next bed. I quietly rummaged around in the dresser drawer, hoping to find some writing materials.
I found a pen, but no paper was to be had. Pondering for a moment, I grabbed my wallet and retrieved a receipt I had received from the restaurant, the night before.
This would have been a rare time, when one of those dreaded arm-length receipts you get from way too many stores would have been perfect, but no. This paltry piece of paper with faded ink was only about 3 inches long and a little over an inch wide.
I sighed. How am I ever going to write all these ideas on this puny thing?
Unable to turn on the light without disturbing my buddy, I flipped the switch for the porch light and stepped outside. A chill instantly filled my soul. Brrr, it’s cold out here!
Barefooted, I tiptoed and ever so slowly settled onto the metal folding chair. Normally, that wouldn’t have been much of a problem, but on this occasion, I was wearing only my underwear, so as not to make too much noise while looking for my other clothes.
As soon as my bottom hit that icy chair, I jumped off the seat. Oh my God!
With a bright, full moon overhead and millions of stars beaming across the vast sky, the temperature was in the high 30s. Standing there in my skivvies with goose pimples spreading like wildfire, my feet grew numb from the cold concrete.
I considered my plight but kept coming to the same conclusion. I don’t have any choice! I’ve got to write all these dreams down now or lose them for sure!
I grit my teeth, and once again, slowly lowered my rear onto the chair. Every fiber of my body shivered like the dickens, as a thick cloud of humid air escaped my mouth and nose. I’m a blooming idiot!
Fortunately, I was in the remotest place in the area, and my buddy and I were the only ones booked in the small motel, that day. I didn’t have to worry about any cars. Nobody drives out here in the middle of ten buck two at this hour.
Fighting off the chill, I began putting words to paper, like a possessed maniac. My wife would attest to my ability to write small, but in this case, I had no choice but to scribble the tiniest letters I could muster.
About 45 minutes later, I had written most of a chapter and ran out words and space on that scrimpy receipt. Faster than a rabbit with its tail on fire, I slipped back inside and under the covers of my lumpy bed. With only an hour before the alarm rang, I captured very little sleep, following my untimely interruption.
After Ed and I awoke and got dressed, well before sunrise, my hunting partner drove us down the windy road toward our hunting blind. Halfway there, the headlights flashed something white. I recognized the Great Pyrenees dog, lying in the tall weeds of the nearby ditch.
I glanced at my friend. “Stop! I want to say hi.”
He slowed the truck to a halt, and I hopped out. Not being all that creative when it came to dishing out names, the perfect moniker, befitting something bright white, appearing from nowhere in the dark, wormed its way into my noggin. “Hey there, Ghost. How are you doing this morning?”
His long, bushy tail wagged vigorously, as the friendly dog rolled over and bared his tummy. I rubbed his belly good.
After giving Ghost his fill, I chuckled, “I’ll bet you’d love me to pet you all morning, but we’ve got more exciting plans. We have to get to the blind before sunrise, my friend.”
I patted his head, then gave him a stern eye. “Make sure you stay off the road, so you don’t get hit. You hear?” The sheepish dog gave me that ‘I have no earthly idea what you’re saying’ kinda stare as I rose and climbed back into the brand new, black Chevy Silverado.
Usually, after such an encounter, we wouldn’t see Ghost for a day or two. He absolutely loved to roam freely, sometimes up to 20 or more miles at a time.
This particular morning, he must have had other ideas. I watched the big fluff of white fade in the rearview mirror, as Ed drove toward our destination.
Keeping my eyes peeled to the side of the road, I warily watched for any crazed buck or doe that might decide to dash in front of us. After a couple of miles, my friend hooked a right down a driveway and stopped in front of a white, iron gate with a sign that read, “Blair’s Ranch.”
I promptly hopped out and swung open the lengthy barrier, and my partner drove onto the ranch where we kept a hunting blind, ready for our annual treat. My buddy steered his brand-new pickup along the rugged trail between the scraggly reaches of the thorny brush and mesquite tree branches.
While staring straight ahead, he gruffed, “The brush sure is growing wild along the trail. I better not scratch up my new truck. I’ve only had it for a couple months.”
I laughed. “I brought some pruners along, so we can trim up some of this later, when we’re not hunting. Till then, you better be careful.” He didn’t smile the slightest after that remark. In fact, he looked rather grumpy.
I tried to cheer him up a bit. “It’s too dark to do anything about it now. Besides, nothing’s getting in the way of our hunting – right? We’d only spook the deer if we tried to mess with it, while they’re headed toward the feeder.”
Upon arrival, we kept as quiet as possible. The two of us loaded ourselves with rifles and gear and trudged up the long, rusty iron ladder to the double-wide blind. I felt confident we didn’t have to worry about any of those big, red wasps that loved to create their never-ending condos throughout the blind, during the hotter summer and autumn months.
It was always a special treat to slowly open the rickety door of the wooden structure for the first time each year, while warily poking my head around the corner to locate the nests. The prior afternoon, I performed my annual exercise of exterminating the terrifying pests I have always hated most.
With a spray can in hand, I began spraying the powerful insecticide while waving the can in circles, hoping to soak as many of the unwanted intruders and their homes as I possibly could. Despite the claims on the side of the aerosol, the spray rarely knocked the wasps down immediately.
On this particular occasion, one of the kamikaze stingers flew straight at me and hit me in the forehead, while another landed on my chest. I immediately danced and hopped up and down like a maniac, as I swiped and patted any semblance of the critters. Fortunately, none had a chance to sting me, before I slammed the door shut, after emptying the contents of the first of three cans, that I brought for such an occasion.
I quickly but carefully, descended down the ladder and stepped back as I watched the mayhem of wasps, zigzagging in search of their attacker. After the commotion died down, I reluctantly climbed back up the steps to check the results.
Peering into the darkness with a bright, LED flashlight shining along every crook and cranny, I found hundreds of the suckers – some deader than a doorknob, while others still squirmed in hopeless futility on the floor. As I was about to declare success, movement caught the corner of my eye.
I pointed the light in that direction and gasped. “What on Earth?”
A huge red ball of those hated winged terrorists had somehow avoided the spray's impact, while they continued to crawl over and under each other. I hollered to Ed below. “Toss me another can of that stuff!”
He lofted it toward me, and I commenced to soak the frightful ball of wasps, over and over again, until I emptied the second container. I quickly locked the door and carefully scurried down the ladder to the ground below.
“Whew.” I turned toward my hunting buddy. “You’re not going to believe it!”
I relayed what I witnessed, and he kept shaking his head. “You’re dang lucky you didn’t get stung!”
I sighed. “Yeah, tell me about it. I hate having to do this each year! It’s a royal pain in the butt!”
Being quite a bit cooler the morning after, I peeked around the door and lit up the blind with my flashlight. The dead wasps were so thick they formed a brownish-red carpet across the floor.
Nothing stirred inside, so I used a cutoff broom and brushed their brittle carcasses off the two plastic chairs and floor. Then, I flicked them out the door and off the deck, as they drifted to the ground below. I released a big sigh after not getting stung during the process. Whew, I must have got them all!
We settled into the blind and readied our weapons, as we awaited the sun’s rise. Off to our right, an orange glow grew brighter in the sky above the eastern horizon. The dawn’s meager light spread across the hills and the corn feeder, more than 100 yards away.
I looked through my powerful binoculars and found several shadows of long-legged creatures, mulling around the large metal container. They always seemed to have an internal clock, while anticipating the feeder to fling the tiny yellow morsels they craved.
Within minutes, the timer went off, and I heard the familiar clanking of some of the corn kernels striking the galvanized container. Most flew in all directions and tumbled to the trampled dirt below. As the morning’s glow grew brighter, I spotted cottontails, squirrels, and doves, gingerly dodging the hooves of the whitetail deer, chomping down their tasty meal.
A half hour later, I spotted something quite a way off. I turned my binoculars in that direction. You’ve got to be kidding.
I turned toward Ed. “Guess who’s walking along the road?”
He mumbled, “Who?”
“It’s hard to imagine, but it’s Ghost.”
“No way.”
“I’m serious. He just turned up the driveway. I’ll bet he’s headed toward Jerry’s place.” The ranch owner always left plenty of food out for the numerous dogs and cats he cared for. Ghost had been a guest for a couple of days, while the relentless roamer decided where to go next.
I figured he would wander off, so I gave it little thought. About 15 minutes later, I parted the curtains behind us and checked to see if any deer might be strolling in from that direction.
My jaw practically hit the floor. “Unbelievable! Guess who’s laying next to your pickup?”
Ed sneered, “Naw, it can’t be Ghost, could it?”
“Yep, that crazy dog must have somehow followed the scent of the truck for more than two miles.”
My buddy’s face grew serious. “He better not spook the deer!”
I bit my lower lip. “If he stays put, it’ll be okay. He’s downwind and out of sight. Let’s just hope he doesn’t budge.”
It couldn’t have been more than a minute, and the dumb dog rose and started trotting from around the cover of the cedar trees and directly toward the feeder. Every creature in sight spotted him and scattered in all directions.
If that wasn’t bad enough, the white furball continued to lumber along the trail in the worst direction possible. When Ghost reached the feeder, he did what all male dogs can’t resist. He lifted his left leg high and let a stream of yellow fly – up and down one of the legs of the corn feeder.
Dumbfounded, Ed and I stared at each other. Even though I’d grown fond of that stupid mongrel, my anger at that very moment tempted my better judgement.
I shook my head and grumbled, “Of all things! There ain’t no deer going near that feeder for the rest of the day! I could kill that stupid dog!”
I closed my eyes, and after a second, opened them. “We might as well go do something else for the rest of the morning and afternoon.”
Ed nodded. “Makes sense. Maybe, we can check it out, near that last feeding before sunset.”
“We can, but it may be a waste of time. We’ve got another day. Let’s just come back the next morning. Hopefully, his scent will wear off enough by then.”
After trimming the worst of the thorny brush and branches off the trail, we set out for breakfast, back at the motel. Later, we went on a little adventure to kill time, during the rest of the day.
The next morning, we climbed back into the blind before sunrise. Ed and I mustered hope that the deer’s hunger would overcome their caution from any lingering smell, from that pain-in-the-butt Ghost.
A small yearling and large doe cautiously sniffed the ground, while approaching the feeder, as dawn’s light slowly spread throughout the area. They were definitely suspicious at first.
When the feeder flung corn in all directions, they flinched but quickly regained their courage. Gingerly nearing the delectable kernels, they began to feast. It didn’t take long before other yearlings and their mothers emerged from the cover of cedars and joined the party.
Ed glanced at me and mumbled with his usual subdued and raspy voice. “We might get lucky after all.”
I peered into his eyes. “Now you’ve done it. You’ve probably jinxed us!”
He chuckled. “Probably, but let’s hope not.”
Several minutes passed before a halfway decent buck lowered its snout and followed the scent of the opposite sex, near the feeder. I smiled big. “Now, we’re talking. Maybe, you didn’t jin….”
Before I could even finish the sentence, the buck snorted, lifted its rack high, and raced off. Every other creature in the area scattered as well.
My buddy and I stared at each with puzzled expressions. With eyes the size of plums, he whipped, “What just happened? Why did they take off?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. Ghost better not have spooked them again. I didn’t see him; did you?”
“Naw, but he might be on the other side of….” Halfway through his reply, a chorus of gobble-gobbles filled the air. A parade of about 30 wild turkeys trotted up the trail, toward the feeders.
Totally stunned, I turned toward Ed. “I can’t believe this! Something spooks our deer two days in a row!”
He slowly shook his head and grumbled, “We are jinxed. With our crummy luck, we better not waste our time at any casinos for a while.”
Though my heart wasn’t in it, I couldn’t help but laugh. The feathered intruders kept pecking away at the corn until they scarfed up each and every one of the yellow kernels. They milled around for a while, as we watched in frustration.
All wasn’t lost, when two Tom turkeys began strutting their stuff and performing a kabuki mating dance in circles around each other. I grabbed my digital camera with a great zoom lens, that I always kept handy for such occasions.
While I mostly perceived wild turkeys to be a boring, brown or black color, I couldn’t help but notice the glistening colors of bronze, red, green, and bluish silver, which contrasted the brown in the brilliance of the sunlight. Their shimmery feathers were surprisingly more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.
The sight reminded me of just how amazing God’s creations could be, if we only took the time to observe them. Given the circumstances, such musings were the only thing keeping me from screaming at the stupid disruptors of our intended hunting experience.
After the big birds scampered off with bellies full, I sighed. “We might as well go and get some breakfast. The deer aren’t coming back after those turkeys ate all the corn.”
“Make sense. Let’s come back mid-afternoon. Maybe we’ll get lucky and a buck or two wanders across the trails.”
“I hope so, but luck doesn’t seem to favor us on this trip.”
Following a tasty omelet, filled with sausage, bacon, cheese and grilled onions, for brunch, we took turns taking showers and succumbed to a short nap. Refreshed, we returned to the blind around 3:30 p.m.
After observing the area for an hour or so, only a couple of quail and a few doves stirred. Hopes of a stray buck or two quickly vanished.
Suddenly, I felt something crawling on my left thigh. I glanced down and spotted one of those nasty, red wasps. Before I could swat it, the unwanted attacker curled up and stung me good. I yelled, “Ow!”
Ed perked up. “What’s wrong?”
“One of those stupid wasps stung me.” I smashed it to smithereens.
“I thought you got 'em all.”
I swung the door open and got down on my knees, while peeking under my seat. “I thought I had, but sure enough, there’s a nest under my chair.”
“Are there any more wasps?”
“Doesn’t look like it but check your chair and look around to see if there’s anything crawling or flying around.” Fortunately, we found no more.
As I cautiously settled back onto my seat, my fresh puncture burned like the dickens. I’d been stung by many a wasp in my life, but the most painful were those big, bright red wasps that flourished so well in much of Texas.
Before, I was simply bored, but now, the throbbing pissed me off and left me wanting to be somewhere, other than stuck in a blind with little hope of deer crossing our path. Even so, I gritted my teeth and toughed it out. We’re certainly due for some better luck.
Whether we were due or not, no such fortunes came our way that day. With our planned hunting days evolving into a total bust, we decided to book an extra night. Still enduring the frustration, I looked at Ed as we walked across the road from the office toward our room. “I sure hope this isn’t a waste.”
“Know what you mean. We’ve had the worst luck so far.”
I sneered, “You know what they say. Bad things come in threes. We better hope that’s not true this time.”
“That’s for sure.”
Tentatively hopeful, we returned to the blind before dawn the next morning. My mood improved as moving shadows milled around the feeder, while the orange glow slowly seeped upwards along the eastern horizon. I extended my binoculars toward my buddy. “Take a look. Maybe, just maybe, we will get lucky.”
Even in the dark of the blind, his teeth grew brighter as his smile spread wide. “That’s a lot better. I think there’s a couple of bucks up there, already.”
As eager as we both were, our desires had to be stifled until the sun peeked above the trees and provided the light needed for a clean shot. I grabbed my rifle, and quietly swung open the plexiglass window.
Setting my sock full of beans on the ledge, I positioned the barrel in place at just the right angle to eye the targets through my scope.
I leaned toward Ed. “Let’s be ready right at sunrise.”
He lowered his rifle. “Won’t be long now.”
Beside six does and four yearlings, two nice-sized bucks nibbled on the kernels of corn. It was still too dark to decipher how many points graced their racks.
I stared through the magnifying lenses. “Given how big these bucks are, I’ll bet they have at least 6 points. Why don’t you pick out the one you like and take the first shot?”
“Are you sure?”
“I guess. Just make sure you get a good shot. We can’t afford to miss any at this point.”
“No problem. I’ll get one.”
We stuck soft plugs in our ears, and my friend peered into his scope. Watching through my binoculars, I anticipated the boom as he positioned the crosshairs.
Suddenly, all the deer scattered to the winds. I gasped. “What happened? What spooked them this time? It better not be those stupid turkeys or Ghost again!”
Ed gruffed. “I can’t believe it! I was ready to squeeze the trigger, and just like that, they were gone. I can’t see what scared them yet.”
I scanned the whole area, looking for the slightest movement, but nothing stirred. About two minutes later, the long snout and horns of a black angus cleared the cover of the cedar trees in front of us. Before long, a whole herd of cattle moseyed along the dry creek bed below.
My earlier words, “Bad things come in threes,” haunted me. “Unbelievable! We’ll be lucky to see any deer for the rest of the day.”
The cows and steers grazed the area for quite some time. An aged tortoise could have crawled faster than this herd was moving.
Even though I couldn’t see my ears, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, steam must have been spewing from them. My gut churned as I watched another great opportunity evaporate quicker than the dew, as the sun’s warmth kept rising.
We both stared at each other while shaking our heads. I set the binoculars on a ledge. “Well, we might as well go get breakfast again. This day is another bust so far. Let’s plan on getting back out here, one more time before the feeder goes off before dusk.”
“We better hope something comes back, or we’ll be going home empty handed for the first time ever.”
I snarled, “I don’t care what shows up – doe or buck – as long as it has enough meat on its bones. I don’t want to see the look on Bonnie’s face, if we show up without any venison.”
Lacking any confidence that something wouldn’t ruin our plans, we returned to the blind at 3:30 p.m., well ahead of the feeder going off. Nothing, not even the birds or squirrels, came anywhere near the area.
What could be more boring than waiting and peering at the dry, rocky landscape without a sign of wildlife for hours? It didn’t help that our tiny portal was only 1.5-foot square. To make matters worse, the late afternoon sun turned our blind into an oven, as sweat dripped down my forehead and the side of my face.
Hoping for the slightest breeze, we opened four of the six tiny windows, but not a hint of wind provided any relief. Our disappointing adventure only grew moreso, as any hope of bagging one, let alone two deer, faded with the remaining time we had left.
Weary from our plight, I glanced at Ed. “If by some miracle two bucks or big does show up, we have no choice but to try to shoot them at the same time. We’ve only got about 20 minutes of light left, before we have to call it a day.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. If some miracle happens, I’ll be ready. Don’t you worry.”
Summoning the greatest optimism possible, I tried to rally my partner. “Okay. Let’s hope for the best. If two do show up, you shoot the one to the right and I’ll take the one on the left. Position your rifle now and be ready to squeeze off a shot on my word. I’ll count to three, and on the slightest sound of 'three' you fire. I’ll be firing at the same time. Maybe, we’ll witness a miracle.”
In my heart, I knew better. There's no chance in hell of anything sho....
Before I even finished my thought, two, hefty six-pointers slowly strolled halfway between us and the feeder. They lumbered along the same creek bed the cattle had taken earlier.
Totally amazed, I looked at Ed and he nodded. Miraculously, as if on cue, both beasts paused for no apparent reason. I whispered, “You ready?”
“Yep, let’s do it.”
“Okay. Remember what I told you. On the faintest sound of 'three,' you fire.”
As I steadied my rifle and lined up the crosshairs of my scope, I began to count. “One, two, thr….” Kaboom!
Both bucks dropped in their place, while our rifles filled the enclosed blind with the loudest explosion I ever heard while hunting. Even though I was wearing plugs, my ears wouldn’t stop ringing.
We whooped and hollered at the top of our lungs, “It’s a miracle! We got ‘em!”
Opening my eyes wide as possible, I turned toward my partner in crime. “I can’t believe it worked. We could never do this again in a million years!”
He chuckled. “That’s for sure. At least our wives are gonna be happy. We’re actually going to take some venison home.”
I couldn’t help but laugh inside while we quickly rounded up our gear and closed the windows and shades. As Ed climbed down the ladder, I quipped, “Hey, bud. Let’s not ever try that again! What do you say?”
He halted his descent and looked up at me. “I’m with you on that one. We were VERY lucky.”
*********
That's it for now! I hope you enjoyed my latest! I've got a couple more in mind, that I'll start working on in the coming days.
Thank you for your wonderful support!
Andy Skrzynski
There were always plentiful, healthy-looking deer at Blair's Ranch. These were grazing on the trail between the blind and the feeder.
Whenever we went back to the motel between trips to the blind, we'd always find lots of deer in the park. Some were the nicest bucks we'd see on our trips. They weren't dumb, so they'd hang out in the park where shooting was off limits.
Here's some of the rascal turkeys that occasionally thwarted our hunting plans. Notice how colorful they are.
More of the feathered pests!
I never imagined wild turkeys sported such amazing colors!
My hunting buddy, Ed Hooten, sitting next to me in our blind.
My good friend, Ed Hooten, with a 40-year-old donkey in the background, on the right.
During each trip to Blair's Ranch, we always stopped by the house to drop off bags of corn and a box of yams, while visiting with the owner, Jerry Blair (on the right) with Ed Hooten. Jerry fed LOTS of dogs, cats, donkeys, and a couple of pot-bellied pigs, Thelma and Louise! He even had a feeder up near the house, where he'd sit with his pets and observe the deer each morning and night. In his later years, he preferred watching, rather than shooting! He was a great man and good friend. I lost both of these wonderful men, shortly after our last trip, hunting on the ranch. R.I.P Ed and Jerry.