A couple of crazy deer hunting stories follow.

“It’s the middle of hunting season, so let’s be hunters.” We got duffle bags out of the truck, put on orange vests, then threw bows behind the seat… The old Chevy looked like a thousand other deer hunter’s trucks, full of un-dumped stuff.

Endless Times series: Volume one: The Path of Kokopelli page 118

Oh yes, there’s always a true tale or two, and here they are.

I was deer hunting on a game reserve, without a license, and in a restricted area, but hey, who’s watching the boundaries anyway, right? My buddies dropped two deer, and while I cleaned one, they field dressed the other just over a little hill. Suddenly the silence was shattered by “I am the game ranger; put up your hands!” Crab-crawling up the side of the hill, my eyes beheld a very large conservation agent with an even bigger .357 revolver leveled on my friends. Sliding back down, I grabbed my deer, slung it over my shoulder and ran for my life. A mile later, covered in deer blood, me and my deer got to the truck. Other friends drove the venison away, and no good deed ever goes unpunished. I never got one taste of that venison.



Did I quit going to that game reserve? Oh no, back I go, and this is after we all got caught for hunting without a license, which cost me forty dollars I did not have. I’m sitting against a tree and phsst, bam. A second later, the rifle goes off a mile away. So, I’m a hard learner, I left that reserve for good that time, and it’s been forty years now.