Wherein I prove that the worst day hunting is still better than the best day working

I’ve heard it said that the worst day hunting is better than the best day working and I think I proved the true over the first December weekend.

I took a day off so that I could trek down to Iowa and spend two days deer hunting with my dad and my brother.

When we were planning the trip we hoped for good weather. In the week before the trip we watched the forecast and sprayed water proofing on all of our clothes and boots. The day before we left I said a fervent prayer to the higher powers that control meteorological patterns and asked them to push the storm just a little bit north.

It is not an exaggeration at all to say that none of that did any good.

We woke up at 5:30 a.m. on Saturday, the opening day of Iowa’s shotgun deer season, in hopes of getting out into the field to see the sun rise, only to see gray skies and a quarter inch accumulation of ice on everything outside our windows.

We went out for breakfast, and then sat around for three hours. As my hunting party could tell you, I was less than happy that I had driven seven hours to sit in a hotel lobby and comment on the weather.

It was around noon that the rain weakened and we decided to try our luck. We went to the best land we had permission to hunt on. In years past, this three mile strip has yielded hundreds of trophy bucks and heavy does. That day our party of 17 people shot a single six-point buck.

I knew things were going to go poorly as we got to our starting positions for the drive. Five minutes after we arrived at our positions, the rain came back as if it wanted to make up for lost time.

Not only was it a lousy push, but the lack of sun meant that the walkers didn’t have a reference point to judge their position. Along with the rolling hills and dense brush, this set us up for disaster as practically everyone going through the timber got incredibly lost.

I myself ended up in a position that was about an eighth of a mile away from where I should have been when I made it to the end of the push. Other members of the party (my dad being one) got so turned around that they made circuits around the property’s two ponds.

Luckily, the lack of visible deer helped keep us from tragic accident, even with so many wayward hunters.

The walk, which usually takes an hour and a half, began at 1:15 and ended at 3:30 p.m. It took us an hour after that to round up our lost companions.

We were all soaked to the skin and the closest to miserable that I’ve ever seen a party of hunters who haven’t seen the injury of a fellow hunter.

Meeting back at the machine shed where we hang our deer before processing, it was generally agreed that one outing was enough for the day. It was time to go get dry and spend some time at our favorite bar.

Usually the tavern time is a chance for us to exchange stories about the massive amounts of deer that we saw but didn’t shoot. This time, however, it was a chance to complain about the weather and exchange anecdotes about how lost we had become during the push.

And wouldn’t you know it, the atmosphere was just as cheerful as it would have been if we had shot 100 deer.

What makes hunting worth the effort isn’t the actual hunt or the meat in the freezer afterward, it’s the camaraderie of
the shared experience.

In the tavern, we did one of the things we do every year–ordered shots of peppermint schnapps and toasted to my grandpa who passed away a number of years ago.

He was one of the original members of the group that I join to hunt the hills and woods of Southern Iowa, and the few who are still around from his time remember him fondly. Hunting with those guys gives me a feeling of connection to the past, a tie to a legacy that is greater than myself. Well, that and a freezer full of three months’ worth of delicious venison steaks every year.

Luckily for us, Sunday was a better day. The weather was warm enough to hunt but cold enough that I didn’t get overheated walking through the woods and over hills. The party had collected 10 total deer by the time my dad, brother and I had to leave at noon.

Driving back it seemed that all was right with the world. We were tired, two of us smelled like deer guts, but we were generally happy with the weekend and the time we had spent together.