I’m kinda getting stoked as bow season approaches, about hunting this year. Maybe it’s the herd of deer I see every morning as I’m driving to work, or maybe it’s because I’m in a new state where wind and cold won’t affect my deer hunting enjoyment.
More likely, it’s about the yet unnamed guy in Greenwood Township, very close to where I lived in Michigan, who while hunting for porcupine, claims to have been attacked by a black bear while sitting in a tree.
The Michigan DNR checked out his wounds, and said they were consistent with what a bear would cause. He said he fought off the bear by stabbing the bear with his hunting knife. His gun might have been a more appropriate weapon, but hey, it worked. He escaped with only minor injuries.
This kind of story, believable or not, and I pretty much think it to be the latter, gets me fired up for hunting season. I know my opportunity to put down a black bear is very unlikely in Alabama, but hey there are plenty of deer, and if I want to go exotic, I can always go south, and do a little gator hunting.
I’ve never hunted for black bear, nor have I been on an alligator hunt. Heck I only once hunted for whitetail deer. That was when I was 16. I remembered it being so cold, I thought I had frostbite. No way I could have pulled a trigger with my hands so numb. It didn’t matter anyways. I was out in the woods for three days and never spotted a deer. Yet on the way home, I remember distinctly, seeing several shootable deer on the side of the road.
Just a few years ago I had finally gotten over the fear of frostbite when I was asked by a group of businessmen to join them on a pheasant hunt. I hadn’t shot a rifle in years, but one of the guys offered me a rifle with the proper ammunition and away we went. We followed our trained dog, with his guide ( oops I think it’s the other way around) looking to bag us a few pheasants.
I soon learned shooting in the air at a small bird flying away from you is a whole lot more difficult than shooting a bear 100 feet away. I had ample chances to shoot down my first bird, but my aim just wasn’t up to par.
A better opportunity came when I was walking back to our truck. There within three feet of me was a pheasant rustling in the weeds. Man was I excited. Finally I had my pheasant. I aimed, I shot, and whoosh the pheasant took flight. Shoot I was closer to shooting off my foot, than hitting that pheasant.
I’m all about the right to bare arms, but I’m one dude that shouldn’t be allowed a gun. To this day I keep thinking about the one that got away. On second thought maybe I will postpone that hunting trip. Fishing sounds a whole lot safer to this guy.