My bro was in town over the weekend. On Saturday we went out to an undisclosed east Norman location (deer hunters are like FBI agents when it comes to their hunting spots — all business, and sworn to secrecy) to find some deer-dense spots.
My brother is hoping to come up Oklahoma-side for some hunting this fall to escape the confines of the Concrete Jungle.
And really I'm hoping he bags another brute this season. Those deer steaks from last year's buck were darn tasty.
Happy hunting, bro. This season as you shiver in the tree stand in the early a.m., I'll be snuggled delightfully in my warm sheets.
Looking for signs of deer activity. Methodically The Hunter surveys the terrain, hoping his scouting will pay off in the months to come. He sniffs the air. He likes what he smells.
Fresh tracks. The Hunter is delighted, but knows his task to bring down the evasive bucks won't be easy. He is nervous but driven.
A good trunk from which to anchor a stand is crucial. The Hunter knows this and chooses his tree like he does his wine and his women — carefully.
To maximize deer traffic in the intended areas, one must methodically clear the kill zone. The Hunter knows this and goes about his plight dutifully and with resolve.
After clearing the area and picking a tree, The Hunter moves into position. His tree climbing prowess is remarkable. He moves into position, like the stealthy leopard.
Reaching the preferred height, The Hunter surveys his area of destruction.
He squints his eyes with suppressed delight and a smile breaks at the corners of his mouth.
He speaks for the first time and the woods quiet. Creatures lie still. Fear drips from nature's brow. He is concise and assertive. Hear him. The Hunter.
"John. Give me the saw. I need to clear these branches."