Mrbowdeadly
Senior Member
People I have met on Woodys. A short story.
One day, Chicken little, Super Ethics man, Mr. Money, Baitmaster, and Non-resident hater man all went on a deer hunt. It was a beautiful evening cool and crisp and the scent of pine filled the air. Mr. Money suggested that he drive, as he had a new Ford crew cab, limited edition, king ranch, leather interior, four wheel drive, super charged, diesel to drive. Super ethics man was a little worried about the footprint of the big aftermarket mud tires Mr. Money had put on his truck, he didn’t want it to be obvious to anyone that a truck had actually been in the deer woods. Baitmaster felt the idea was grand, as the huge payload of the monster truck was perfect for his fifty bags of yellow acorns he had purchased from Wally World. Chicken little complained that if the anti’s found out about the corn that they may try some kind of naked corn embargo, and might possibly tie themselves to the front of combines all through the Midwest. “What affect would that have on the price of grits?” he whined as he rubbed his hands together worriedly. Non-resident hater quickly chimed in. “Don’t worry chicken little. Just think, we could easily raise the price of our grits for non-residents. The laws of supply and demand would tell us that we would have more grits for ourselves!” This seemed to calm Chicken Little down a bit and the boys settled in for the short trip to the woods.
Upon arriving, Mr. Money felt nature calling. He opened the fly on his carbon impregnated super water proof thins late heated and cooled battery powered gps coveralls and relieved himself along side the truck. Well Super Ethics man just about had a fit. “How do you think the deer will taste after he eats the acorns off the tree whose roots you are a tinkling on there buddy?” Chicken little had to agree. “I am sure after the antis get some covert pictures of you a peein in the woods that will be the demise of hunting as we know it.” Think about the negative publicty and our image. Mr. Money apologized, and assured them that he would build a complete bathroom right on this very spot with hot and cold running water, a shower, and a steam room. He felt like this would be a step in the right direction. With all the chit chat, nobody had noticed that Baitmaster had already put out ten bags of corn around the truck. Baitmaster felt that if he could draw the deer off of other properties that it was quite possible they could listen to the race in the truck as they were hunting the yellow acorn food plots. Super ethics man was absolutely disgusted and insisted that if the deer didn’t eat all that corn before tomorrow that Baitmaster better clean up every kernel. Super ethics loved deer and didn’t want them to get a belly ache from rotten corn before he could slam them with his Winchester Short Mag. Non-resident hater man politely requested everyone sign a petition before they went to their hunting areas. He explained that if they could get enough signatures on this petition, they may actually be able to annex Florida and Alabama. This would be the first steps to a unified Georgia front and more deer for you and me. “We could just throw everyone out, send em to someplace nobody wants to hunt deer anyhow, like Detroit or Chicago.” Again he reminded them that would mean more deer for us, and many of the people from Florida would be going home anyway.
Each man headed off to his respective hunting area. Baitmaster had a wheelbarrow full of batteries to place in his multi feeder circle of death. He happily whistled a tune as chugged along the worn trail to his stand. Mr. Moneys John Deer Gator carried him swiftly to his box stand, and he was very careful not to scratch the paint on his miniture F350 custom fiberglass body he had modified to fit the Gator. It was a short elevator ride to the top floor of the box stand where he poured himself some wine and plopped into his camo lazy boy recliner. “What a great hunt this will be!” he thought to himself. Non-resident hater man carefully inspected the trail to his stand, as only a native Georgian could. “Much less sign today than last week,” He thought. “I am sure if these out of staters keep coming, we will run out of deer soon.” He climbed into his blind as thoughts of barbed wire and border patrols raced through his mind. Chicken little was deep in thought wondering what he would do after hunting was outlawed. He was so busy thinking that he tripped on an old root. “Oh my, if the insurance company finds out that I have tripped on this root, they will drop our insurance for sure.” He quickly broke out his titanium folding tree saw with the diamond tipped teeth ( a Christmas gift from Mr. Money) and removed the root. He pressed on and made it to his loc-on to settle in for the evening hunt. Super ethics man was the last to his area, as he had carried a Hefty sack and was picking up anything that remotely looked like trash on the way to his stand. He made a mental note that he would have to bring in a tractor to remove the rusty door of the 1955 ford he had unearthed when his metal detector went off. “If only everyone loved deer and the woods like me”…..he thought as he eased into his environmentally friendly “eco-blind”. With the camo on it, you couldn’t tell he had constructed it entirely from empty Natural Light beer cans he had found in the woods.
Mr. Money saw some nice does and a few young bucks. The bucks were much smaller than the 190 class monster he had killed on the fly in hunt to Alberta. He looked up at the buck hanging on the wall of the box blind and smiled as he made his way down at last light and remote started his Gator. On the way out he decided to pick up the others, as he had installed additional seating for just such an occasion. He arrived at Super Ethics mans stand. Super ethics man had a nice fat doe. It was a perfect shot and the doe had only gone 20 yards. Super ethics man asked Mr. Money to say a prayer with him to the deer gods for this blessing. They finished and Mr. Money used the Warn winch in the bed of the gator to load the doe. Super ethics noticed that Mr. Money did not have on his blaze orange, and happily offered his extra vest. Now the two pumpkins, er, I mean hunters, continued on to retrieve the others. They located Baitmaster easily, as one of the feeders went off unexpectedly and they followed the ding ding dingin all the way to Baitmasters location. He had shot a nice eight point that was big and healthy. Mr. Money suggested a full body mount, and even Super ethics man could not contain his smile, as he was happy for his friend. He still wanted Baitmaster to stop baiting, but didn’t want to ruin the moment, as it was not ethical. The Gator easily handled the buck after Mr. Money adjusted the air bag suspension in the rear for the heavy load. On they traveled in the failing light to Chicken Littles area. He was waiting for them impatiently, as he did not want anyone to suspect him of hunting after dark, which he was sure he could lose his license for. His apprehension turned to cheer as he congratulated the other hunters. He told them of the Great Woodpecker he had watched for the better part of an hour, and the Coyote that had passed near dusk. He had passed on the coyote, just in case it was a neighbors dog. “No point in shooting the neighbors dog” he said “ I am sure the antis would use that against us.” So with much back patting and laughing they made their way to pick up their last buddy. Non resident hater man was waiting with a huge buck. It was a fine ten point, the kind that most dream of. He was quick to point out that his efforts in keeping non residents out of the state were paying off big. Surely he would never had killed this buck otherwise. Super ethics congratulated him on his “harvest”, and checked to make sure the buck was properly recorded in the harvest log. The story was a great one, and they all enjoyed it more than once that evening. Mr. Money took everyone out for steak (it was a great write off you know), and the memories made that night were wonderful and lasting.
The moral of the story is……
The common bond between hunters, is hunting. In my “story”, a good time was had by all. While you may not agree with the way others choose to pursue our great sport, don’t let it ruin the meaning. The comaraderie and excitement, the stories and the heritage are unique to our past time, and something few others will be lucky enough to know. Keep it legal there “bait master” and lets keep a united “hunter” front against the antis, regardless of our differences.
Mrbowdeadly
One day, Chicken little, Super Ethics man, Mr. Money, Baitmaster, and Non-resident hater man all went on a deer hunt. It was a beautiful evening cool and crisp and the scent of pine filled the air. Mr. Money suggested that he drive, as he had a new Ford crew cab, limited edition, king ranch, leather interior, four wheel drive, super charged, diesel to drive. Super ethics man was a little worried about the footprint of the big aftermarket mud tires Mr. Money had put on his truck, he didn’t want it to be obvious to anyone that a truck had actually been in the deer woods. Baitmaster felt the idea was grand, as the huge payload of the monster truck was perfect for his fifty bags of yellow acorns he had purchased from Wally World. Chicken little complained that if the anti’s found out about the corn that they may try some kind of naked corn embargo, and might possibly tie themselves to the front of combines all through the Midwest. “What affect would that have on the price of grits?” he whined as he rubbed his hands together worriedly. Non-resident hater quickly chimed in. “Don’t worry chicken little. Just think, we could easily raise the price of our grits for non-residents. The laws of supply and demand would tell us that we would have more grits for ourselves!” This seemed to calm Chicken Little down a bit and the boys settled in for the short trip to the woods.
Upon arriving, Mr. Money felt nature calling. He opened the fly on his carbon impregnated super water proof thins late heated and cooled battery powered gps coveralls and relieved himself along side the truck. Well Super Ethics man just about had a fit. “How do you think the deer will taste after he eats the acorns off the tree whose roots you are a tinkling on there buddy?” Chicken little had to agree. “I am sure after the antis get some covert pictures of you a peein in the woods that will be the demise of hunting as we know it.” Think about the negative publicty and our image. Mr. Money apologized, and assured them that he would build a complete bathroom right on this very spot with hot and cold running water, a shower, and a steam room. He felt like this would be a step in the right direction. With all the chit chat, nobody had noticed that Baitmaster had already put out ten bags of corn around the truck. Baitmaster felt that if he could draw the deer off of other properties that it was quite possible they could listen to the race in the truck as they were hunting the yellow acorn food plots. Super ethics man was absolutely disgusted and insisted that if the deer didn’t eat all that corn before tomorrow that Baitmaster better clean up every kernel. Super ethics loved deer and didn’t want them to get a belly ache from rotten corn before he could slam them with his Winchester Short Mag. Non-resident hater man politely requested everyone sign a petition before they went to their hunting areas. He explained that if they could get enough signatures on this petition, they may actually be able to annex Florida and Alabama. This would be the first steps to a unified Georgia front and more deer for you and me. “We could just throw everyone out, send em to someplace nobody wants to hunt deer anyhow, like Detroit or Chicago.” Again he reminded them that would mean more deer for us, and many of the people from Florida would be going home anyway.
Each man headed off to his respective hunting area. Baitmaster had a wheelbarrow full of batteries to place in his multi feeder circle of death. He happily whistled a tune as chugged along the worn trail to his stand. Mr. Moneys John Deer Gator carried him swiftly to his box stand, and he was very careful not to scratch the paint on his miniture F350 custom fiberglass body he had modified to fit the Gator. It was a short elevator ride to the top floor of the box stand where he poured himself some wine and plopped into his camo lazy boy recliner. “What a great hunt this will be!” he thought to himself. Non-resident hater man carefully inspected the trail to his stand, as only a native Georgian could. “Much less sign today than last week,” He thought. “I am sure if these out of staters keep coming, we will run out of deer soon.” He climbed into his blind as thoughts of barbed wire and border patrols raced through his mind. Chicken little was deep in thought wondering what he would do after hunting was outlawed. He was so busy thinking that he tripped on an old root. “Oh my, if the insurance company finds out that I have tripped on this root, they will drop our insurance for sure.” He quickly broke out his titanium folding tree saw with the diamond tipped teeth ( a Christmas gift from Mr. Money) and removed the root. He pressed on and made it to his loc-on to settle in for the evening hunt. Super ethics man was the last to his area, as he had carried a Hefty sack and was picking up anything that remotely looked like trash on the way to his stand. He made a mental note that he would have to bring in a tractor to remove the rusty door of the 1955 ford he had unearthed when his metal detector went off. “If only everyone loved deer and the woods like me”…..he thought as he eased into his environmentally friendly “eco-blind”. With the camo on it, you couldn’t tell he had constructed it entirely from empty Natural Light beer cans he had found in the woods.
Mr. Money saw some nice does and a few young bucks. The bucks were much smaller than the 190 class monster he had killed on the fly in hunt to Alberta. He looked up at the buck hanging on the wall of the box blind and smiled as he made his way down at last light and remote started his Gator. On the way out he decided to pick up the others, as he had installed additional seating for just such an occasion. He arrived at Super Ethics mans stand. Super ethics man had a nice fat doe. It was a perfect shot and the doe had only gone 20 yards. Super ethics man asked Mr. Money to say a prayer with him to the deer gods for this blessing. They finished and Mr. Money used the Warn winch in the bed of the gator to load the doe. Super ethics noticed that Mr. Money did not have on his blaze orange, and happily offered his extra vest. Now the two pumpkins, er, I mean hunters, continued on to retrieve the others. They located Baitmaster easily, as one of the feeders went off unexpectedly and they followed the ding ding dingin all the way to Baitmasters location. He had shot a nice eight point that was big and healthy. Mr. Money suggested a full body mount, and even Super ethics man could not contain his smile, as he was happy for his friend. He still wanted Baitmaster to stop baiting, but didn’t want to ruin the moment, as it was not ethical. The Gator easily handled the buck after Mr. Money adjusted the air bag suspension in the rear for the heavy load. On they traveled in the failing light to Chicken Littles area. He was waiting for them impatiently, as he did not want anyone to suspect him of hunting after dark, which he was sure he could lose his license for. His apprehension turned to cheer as he congratulated the other hunters. He told them of the Great Woodpecker he had watched for the better part of an hour, and the Coyote that had passed near dusk. He had passed on the coyote, just in case it was a neighbors dog. “No point in shooting the neighbors dog” he said “ I am sure the antis would use that against us.” So with much back patting and laughing they made their way to pick up their last buddy. Non resident hater man was waiting with a huge buck. It was a fine ten point, the kind that most dream of. He was quick to point out that his efforts in keeping non residents out of the state were paying off big. Surely he would never had killed this buck otherwise. Super ethics congratulated him on his “harvest”, and checked to make sure the buck was properly recorded in the harvest log. The story was a great one, and they all enjoyed it more than once that evening. Mr. Money took everyone out for steak (it was a great write off you know), and the memories made that night were wonderful and lasting.
The moral of the story is……
The common bond between hunters, is hunting. In my “story”, a good time was had by all. While you may not agree with the way others choose to pursue our great sport, don’t let it ruin the meaning. The comaraderie and excitement, the stories and the heritage are unique to our past time, and something few others will be lucky enough to know. Keep it legal there “bait master” and lets keep a united “hunter” front against the antis, regardless of our differences.
Mrbowdeadly
