It Ain't Fair
The first couple of days before opening day, we set up camp and were out late and early doing some scouting.
It was raining cats and dogs so Lin decided to stay in camp while I took a little cruise. A few hundred yards from camp I found a nice bull chomping veggies in a creek. I called Lin and she drove down to see him. I'm not sure why the bull stood around with that loud music blaring, but he did. She was also singing at the top of her lungs as she watched him, even saying "Hi" to him. He was so engrossed that he stumbled and fell into the creek.
I always sneak along keeping as quiet as possible and how she gets away with THAT, is something I'll never understand??
The first day was uneventful with a hoard of "road hunters" rumbling up and down the road like a bunch of lost ants.
The second morning broke with a fresh coat of frost and the crisp bite of moose season in the air.
We were out early and had not seen much. Just before we were back to camp she insisted that I take a ride up a skid trail that only went a quarter of a mile. Rather than deny the futile trip, I gave in and drove up the muddy trail. Half way was a big mud bog. I drove on through it so she wouldn't have a reason to pout.
The end of the road was soon in view and I was looking for a place to turn around when she said, "BULL"! I looked off to our right and sure enough there was a yearling bull standing there.
Why he was just "standing" there looking dumb, is another mystery.
We got out and I glassed him to be sure he was legal, and he certainly was.
Lin grabbed her 300 Mag., chambered a round; and dropped him with one well-placed shot through the ticker.
I hooked on to him with my Arctic Cat Prowler, and pulled him out to the trail where we field dressed him and winched him up into the trailer.
I am very careful during "field dressing", not to cut anything dangerous, such as the main stomach. However she was boasting about how she had me skunked, and I was paying too much attention to her ranting, that I made a careless move with my knife blade. The sad result was a three inch slash in the ponch, which exploded with an enormous spray of green stuff. Needless to say, since I was bent over the ponch, it sprayed my face a nice bright green. I couldn't even "see" through my glasses.
Instead of being the sweet little helpful wife and getting me a piece of paper towel, she found it in her heart to roll with laughter.
Picture this, poor old Bubba can't even see, and all she can do is carry on with that volley of bouts of ridiculous belly laughs. The reason I said "volley", is because every time she would try to help, she would go down again holding her stomach with another five minutes of joy.
Finally, I can't say how long it was, she got me something to wipe my glasses clear enough to see.
I hadn't brought any water, so it was much later before I was able to wash my face.
I am glad I didn't have my mouth open when it happened...then again I may have...That could be the reason for my attitude the rest of the day. Lunch did taste kind of funny that day.
I wish the story stopped there, but it hasn't! She has called everyone under the sun to brag about how she skunked me, and the knife incident gets bigger every time she tells it.
Aren't some things suppose to be kept secret between hunting partners?
The only reason I'm giving this up is I wanted you to hear it from me, instead of hearing it from her.
We will be off for a month in a couple of days. It is our annual moose camp. I will be trying hard to protect my "moose calling" reputation.
Her last words today were, "I don't teach moose calling seminars, or compete in World Champion Moose calling contests. I don't even get invited to do moose calls on the Jay Leno Show. I just go out there and bring home the winters meat".
It's going to be a long cold winter if I don't score.