I have a few, but I'll start with the most memorable.
My Dad and I were sitting in a 4x8 elevated blind. The date was December 6th, 2006. It was cold.
We're scanning, chatting, scanning, chatting, then Dad taps my shoulder and says, "Deer."
Me‐ Where?
Dad- Over there.
Mr- Where?
Dad- Over there.
Me- *looking and looking...
Me- Okay. I see his rack.
Dad- Rack?
What we were seeing was a buck tending a doe. This was about 8:30am.
The pair was about 200yds away and Dad advised that I wait because they were bound to come closer.
It was a heck of a show we watched as the buck was constantly running off smaller bucks.
We kept watching, but all of a sudden, I had a sharp pain in my gut. I told Dad I had to crap. He told me to climb down and poop under the blind. I said I wasn't about to scare that buck off. Dad insisted I could do it without running him off. I said nay.
Another 30 minutes goes by and they (the deer) are getting closer. Now, I'm shaking. Dad feels the blind shaking and looks at me. "You okay?" I told him I was cold, but I definitely had buck fever.
That's when it hit me again.
I told Dad that I'm about to shit myself. He tells me to shit in the empty Folgers can we brought the corn in with. This was before the days of the automatic feeders. We would "corn up" every couple of weeks and on the days we would hunt, we would bring either a gallon bag or a Folgers can full of corn to "freshen up" the pile.
I was apprehensive, but Dad said to go ahead, he wouldn't look.
So I start shedding layer after layer of cold weather clothing, place the cold plastic can to my ass, and let it rip. Of course, I look around and Dad is looking right at me. WTF? He says he was trying to figure out how I was going to manage.
Luckily, I was wearing chemical resistant gloves (from work) under my regular hunting gloves. So, I just pulled off my hunting glove, ran my fingers through my ass with the special gloves and put the lid on.
Around 10am, the doe had brought the buck to within 35yds of the blind. A perfect broadside shot that led to me ripping a round out of a Winchester model 70 featherweight in .30-06. DRT.
We climb down from the stand and Dad walks away to get the four wheeler. He has a small shovel on it and I get it to dig a hole for my poop. I dump the contents of the can in the hole and all Dad sees is the fingers of the glove and asks if I'm okay.
We load up the deer and the rest is history.
The deer.
The blind.
My son was home sick and was able to share in the celebration.
My Dad and I were sitting in a 4x8 elevated blind. The date was December 6th, 2006. It was cold.
We're scanning, chatting, scanning, chatting, then Dad taps my shoulder and says, "Deer."
Me‐ Where?
Dad- Over there.
Mr- Where?
Dad- Over there.
Me- *looking and looking...
Me- Okay. I see his rack.
Dad- Rack?
What we were seeing was a buck tending a doe. This was about 8:30am.
The pair was about 200yds away and Dad advised that I wait because they were bound to come closer.
It was a heck of a show we watched as the buck was constantly running off smaller bucks.
We kept watching, but all of a sudden, I had a sharp pain in my gut. I told Dad I had to crap. He told me to climb down and poop under the blind. I said I wasn't about to scare that buck off. Dad insisted I could do it without running him off. I said nay.
Another 30 minutes goes by and they (the deer) are getting closer. Now, I'm shaking. Dad feels the blind shaking and looks at me. "You okay?" I told him I was cold, but I definitely had buck fever.
That's when it hit me again.
I told Dad that I'm about to shit myself. He tells me to shit in the empty Folgers can we brought the corn in with. This was before the days of the automatic feeders. We would "corn up" every couple of weeks and on the days we would hunt, we would bring either a gallon bag or a Folgers can full of corn to "freshen up" the pile.
I was apprehensive, but Dad said to go ahead, he wouldn't look.
So I start shedding layer after layer of cold weather clothing, place the cold plastic can to my ass, and let it rip. Of course, I look around and Dad is looking right at me. WTF? He says he was trying to figure out how I was going to manage.
Luckily, I was wearing chemical resistant gloves (from work) under my regular hunting gloves. So, I just pulled off my hunting glove, ran my fingers through my ass with the special gloves and put the lid on.
Around 10am, the doe had brought the buck to within 35yds of the blind. A perfect broadside shot that led to me ripping a round out of a Winchester model 70 featherweight in .30-06. DRT.
We climb down from the stand and Dad walks away to get the four wheeler. He has a small shovel on it and I get it to dig a hole for my poop. I dump the contents of the can in the hole and all Dad sees is the fingers of the glove and asks if I'm okay.
We load up the deer and the rest is history.
The deer.
The blind.
My son was home sick and was able to share in the celebration.
