A Hunting Trip… Lost

It was easily the hottest I had ever been while hunting.  Even with my vest and jacket shrugged off and laying on the ground beside me, the sun beat down with a steady directness.  I had already forsaken the still-hunting that usually frames my days in the November woods.  Now, just sitting quietly with my back against a tree was an uncomfortable chore.  And although in all my years of hunting I had never once carried pain killers into the woods with me, I couldn’t get my mind off the bottle of Ibuprofen tablets I had back at camp, and the relief they might hold.  Every muscle in my body ached.

Another hour went by, the day slowly wending towards mid-afternoon.  And it was then that I suddenly realized it was all for naught.  If I killed a buck there was no way I could drag it all the way back to camp.  Just the thought of it made my fevered brain hurt.

Reluctantly donning the jacket and vest, I began trudging back.

.

That was Monday, the first day of what was supposed to be my week-long deer hunt.  Back at camp I drank several bottles of water and took a couple of those Ibuprofen tablets, then climbed into my sleeping bag.  When I was no better the next morning, I packed up my gear and headed on home.

The week that was supposed to be enjoyed in camp, in the woods, ended up being spent, instead, in bed at home.

The Camp at Bolar Draft

The Camp at Bolar Draft

This shot was from our 2005 camp.  A handful of additional images from that camp can be found here, under ‘Rod & Gun’.

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