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Saturday, February 5, 2011

The Mall Incident and Aiming Fluid

The Mall Incident and Aiming Fluid

Last night, after an evening of deer hunting, or should we say driving through the woods drinking homemade corn whiskey, we arrived back at deer camp only to find our firewood supply had somehow depleted itself during the hunt. It has long been known that whiskey can be used as a type of aiming fluid if you're driving in the woods. It actually helps keep you between the trees. The assumption was made that it would help aim a splitting mall as well. The splitting mall is a highly technical piece of equipment consisting of an 8lb block of razor sharp steel at the end of a 3 foot wooden handle. Apparently after too much aiming fluid you need to use a mall with a shorter handle.  I slightly overshot a block of wood using the standard length handle on our splitting mall. Keep in mind this is after splitting several cords of wood, I was winded and my hands were cold. When the wood handle of a splitting mall encounters an opposing, larger and more solid block of wood at velocities created only by an expert in the art of wood splitting, an interesting thing happens. The handle of said mall will actually snap into several long pieces, in the process numbing the hands and fingers of the individual holding it. The numbing process serves only to allow time to find duct tape and bailing wire to put the handle back together. After which time the fingers and hands un-numb, much to the discomfort of the former holder of the mall. The aiming fluid itself serves as a number of sorts. Unfortunately those effects also wear off. That being said, I'm typing this today with some very sore digits.
The other two campers, my brothers Marc and Toad, were delighted with my display of manliness. They were thinking only a superhuman could work with such mangled hands and fingers and such incredible pain. They watched in awe as I repaired the handle of the mall so we could finish chopping wood. As the younger of the two grabbed the newly refurbished mall from my now tingling hands he grinned, let me show you two how this is done. He had a little more aiming fluid than I had, so I was sure he'd be fine. Apparently the more aiming fluid you have the shorter the mall handle should be. After a few swings at a particularly stubborn block of wood he too overshot the block. This time the handle, now much stronger due to the mass of bailing wire and duct tape holding it together, refused to break. The raw energy created by an 8lb chunk of steel at the end of a long wooden handle swinging at speeds somewhere near that which sound travels, has to go somewhere. A properly aimed mall directs that focused energy into a solid block of wood having the desired effect of splitting the intended target into smaller and more manageable pieces. A wayward mall however has other, less desirable effects. That ominous amount of energy just referred to has to go somewhere when the solid steel head of the mall misses the intended target. Toad found out where. I would imagine he hurts today too.

ONLY CHILD - As told by one of five children

ONLY CHILD
As told by one of five children


When I make the statement that I’m an only child it usually elicits a negative response.  Mainly from my siblings, but often from others that know the family.  Before you pass judgment you should know I may not have been an only child in the physical sense, but in my mind I am the only one that matters.  This is not a selfish look at life.  Let me explain.  You see, being the oldest I watched my mother and father toil and care for the other children.  Time they could well have used on other pursuits if it hadn’t been for the others.  Think of the countless hours and hundreds of thousands of dollars spent on rearing five children.  Had the other four not weasled their way into our happy little family my parents would have been very different people.  You do the math.  How much time and effort go into teaching the boys to hunt and fish?  Educating a girl on the fine art of girl stuff is a daunting task as well.  Parenting the right way takes energy and time beyond comprehension to those without children.

Without the others I could sit around the campfire and tell stories to myself.  Without the others I could drive through the woods alone looking for something to shoot, or blow up.  Without the others life would be a little more boring.  I guess it’s not so bad to not be an only child.

Hunting Stories

HUNTING STORIES

Hunting stories have a way of getting out of control.  Like a three year old in Wal Mart they can take on a persona not at all resembling their former selves.  How or why this happens is largely a mystery to those who frequent the woods in pursuit of game.  While a hunter may mislead intentionally when it comes to the exact location the game was taken, I was up No-Tellum Creek at the tree line…an ethical hunter will not actually lie as to the details pertaining to the animal taken.  For example, that monster buck was at a dead run at 180 yards, through the trees.  I shot him mid jump.  Boy that was a difficult shot.  To the ethical hunter that is how the details played out in his head as he raised his rifle to his shoulder to bring down his trophy.  In actuality that particular rather small buck was 35 yards away and had twitched his ear giving the impression that at any moment he might break into a full run.  The seasoned hunter knows that the time it takes an agile buck to run 145 yards is…well let’s just say the details in his mind were pretty darn accurate. 

Let’s get back to the how and why this happens to even the most discriminating hunter.  My theory is, this is a defense mechanism that dates back to prehistoric times.  In the camps of the prehistoric man only the families of the best hunters ate.  It was only the hunters with the best stories that had families to feed, if you get my drift.  You see the prehistoric ladies liked to hear the hunting stories as they prepared the fresh kill their man had brought home.  So who do you think had the ladies at his hut when the hunt didn’t go so well and the entire hunting party had only a hand full of dead bugs and a rat or two?  Todays modern hunter is simply running on instinct when the stories begin to flow.

Deer Camp

Deer Camp
Setup and First Day

    Of all a mans pursuits in life there’s hardly another that compares to the yearly trek to deer camp.  While there are almost twelve full months since the end of the last deer camp until the start of another the preparation usually begins days if not hours before the trip begins.  Yearly the question is asked, ‘why is it that while we knew this was coming we wait until the last minute to get things together”?  That being said this is how the preparation goes.  Keep in mind that while the word ‘preparation’ is used it is really not as prepared as the word might suggest.  Preparation starts with the customary question ‘what do you want to eat’?  The answer from all parties is standard from year to year and goes something like this ‘I don’t care, whatever you want’.  Thus it is implied that everyone will bring what he wants to eat.  The result is 73 coolers full of every imaginable food on the face of the planet.  Of which approximately 1-½ coolers will be emptied in the course of the hunting season.  That is with the exception of beer coolers, which are kept separate from the food coolers for obvious reasons.  Beer storage consist of another 73 coolers which are intended to get all four campers through the first weekend at which time a beer/ice run will need to be made.  For you non-hunters the beer is kept separate from the food so a person doesn’t accidentally mistake a biscuit tube for a fresh cold beer.  Understand?  Can you imagine the surprise on the face of an unsuspecting hunter after opening a biscuit instead of a beer?  Not to mention the difference in carbs.  We still like to keep an eye on our middle.  Maybe because that’s what we see when we look down, but that’s a different story entirely.  How did we get so far off track?  Back to deer camp preparation.  After shuttling several pickup loads of food and beer to camp living arrangements begin to arrive.  Tents, camp trailers, awnings and all manor of modern comforts are shuttled hurriedly in anticipation of the opening morning of deer season. 

As midnight arrives half erected tents and un-level camp trailers become sleeping quarters for the weary hunters.  As the hunter-gatherers of our family we are expected to bring home a winter’s worth of meat.  We take this responsibility seriously.  No hunter wants to be known as a vegetarian, as hunters know that is in Indian word meaning ‘bad hunter’.  A good night rest is imperative for a successful daybreak hunt.  The setup crew staggers off to bed after emptying the first batch of beer coolers in full support of the first beer run.  Camp looks good.

Dawn arrives much too early, catching the campers unaware.  About five hours later the first bleary eyes begin to open.  ‘Oh my, it must be almost six o’clock by now’.  It’s actually 10:45.  The hunters decide it’s too late for an early morning hunt, besides the deer were up feeding all night and had bedded down at dawn.  A late hunt would be much better.  ‘Great’ some say, this will give us time to finish setting up tents and leveling camp trailers.  Others are thrilled to sleep a little longer and spend some time in a good book.  As the work progresses it becomes vividly plain the campers were not as prepared as they would have liked.  Where are the tent pegs?  Who brought blocks to level the camp trailer?  Have you seen the propane cooker?  Are the propane bottles in the trailer?  Well at least we have plenty of food.

Goose Hunting - Another Deal Altogether

Another Deal Altogether

Goose hunting is another deal altogether.  Grown men lying in a field of stubble trying to make themselves invisible to the keen eyes of a Canadian Honker is a comedy routine in itself.  While the birds are still tiny dots on the horizon the call goes out “BIRDS IN THE AIR!!”  The next few seconds turn into a mess of burlap sacks and brandy bottles as several hunters attempt to disguise themselves as stalks of grain.  The hunters wait in anticipation as the designated caller coaxes the birds within shooting range.  Honk! Honk! the hunters hear as they squish their bodies even closer to the ground.  Suddenly the tension is broken “who farted” is heard from one hunter…..”crap, I can’t find my shells from another”.  The wait for the birds to arrive seems like an eternity.  When the hunters feel like they can’t wait another second they hear the long awaited “TAKE ‘EM” from the caller.  All at once the air comes alive with gunshots.  Wads are flying everywhere.  The sound of thousands of bb size steel balls racing through the air is exhilarating.  After 6 shooters finish expending approximately 200 rounds, the group raises up to retrieve the fallen birds.  It’s at that moment they realize they have only a few tail feathers to show for all that powder burned.  The brandy is passed again.  Shell boxes are retrieved from the pickups and burlap sacks are re-arranged until again they hear “BIRDS IN THE AIR” and the sequence is repeated.