I tell you, sitting in the freezing snow in the morning while its still dark can change a guys attitude. It wasnt even daylight yet and I was already doing the hunters toe curls, trying to warm my cold toes. It seemed like hours before the sun came up. I couldnt imagine seeing a deer in that weather, and I didnt. It was terrible! My sharp hunting method of being constantly ready, and perfectly still, were abandoned quickly. By mid-morning I was fidgeting around and thinking about every story of amputated frostbitten body parts that I had ever heard. As I sat there, I wondered if anyone ever had their frostbitten butt amputated. I could just imagine going to the emergency room with that problem.
About noon, Dad finally came to get me for lunch. Did you see anything? he asked in a hushed tone. I looked at him for a moment before it occurred to me that he was talking about a deer. I told him no, and we walked back to the camper. Dad was grinning and I thought he must have been out in the cold too long, and couldnt handle it as good as me.
Back in the camper, I looked into the small can and swallowed hard. I finally summoned the courage to ask what it was. Potted meat, Dad answered, while happily smearing some of the same stuff from his can onto a piece of bread. I looked down into my can one more time. Man, thats about as potted as you can get But I was hungry and I ate it. I tell you, theres nothing like an ice cold can of potted meat after sitting in the snow for five hours.
After an afternoon of freezing in the snow we were back in the camper. Earlier it had been potted meat out of one of those little tin cans. Tonight it was vienna sausage. I guess Dad thought those little cans with the pull tops were really neat and had bought an entire grocery bag full of them. Im glad he never went grocery shopping with Momwho knew what we would have been eating? Speaking of good ol Mom, I wondered what she had cooked that day.
Boy, this is fun isnt it Jack? Dad said, grinning again. We didnt get em today, so well get em tomorrow! I felt kind of sorry for the old man; he must have had an awfully hard life if he thought that this was fun. Why should we spend money on a motel when we can stay in this? He said it for the fiftieth time, grinning and gesturing around the metal coffin we were sitting in. I made up my mind that if he said that one more time I was going to hit him with one of those cans of potted meat. That night I was willing to risk it with the kerosene heater, but Dad wouldnt leave it on. I was so cold trying to sleep that I looked forward to going into the woods the next morning to warm up.
I was more mentally prepared for my second day of deer hunting, and about thirty minutes after dawn I saw what I guessed was about a half dozen does down the side of the hill. They were about seventy-five yards away and walking in a thicket. They looked like large dogs to me; somehow I expected a deer to be about the same size as a horse. Dad saw them too and later confirmed that they were does. The season was buck-only, so neither of us could shoot. (Not that I would have even tried at that distance.) After the does passed by I did everything short of jumping jacks to try to stay warm. All the moving seemed to help a little, but for some reason I didnt see any more deer.
By noon it had warmed up to about zero. After we ate lunch (guess what) we went to another spot and scouted around. Tomorrow would be our last day. We planned to hunt in the morning and then drive home, and we decided to come back to the new spot for that last morning. On the way back to the camper we met our friends from Port Clinton. They hadnt got any deer either. They kept asking how the camper was working out and if we were staying warm in it. We kept saying yes, that it was really nice.
The next morning Dad led me to the new spot and left me sitting in front of another big tree in the dark. It was a new spot, but the hard tree I leaned against and the frozen ground I sat on felt strangely familiar. Around mid-morning a big turkey burst out of the thicket on my right and ran across the clearing that I was hunting, and then disappeared into the thicket on my left. It kept looking back and forth as it ran, like it was scared half to death. Now Im no mind reader, but I tell you, that was one worried gobbler. It must have seen a bunch of giant orange pumpkins walking around on the other side of the hill. Im glad they werent in season because I couldnt have shot it if Id wanted to. It had scared the daylights out of me.
It was about a half-hour later that I would have my first close encounter with a whitetail deer. I was about as prepared as any beginner, after hunting for two and a half days in freezing temperature. I was sitting against the tree with both hands buried deep in my pockets, with my shotgun slid down to somewhere around my knees
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