hunt

This was our perch for the big hunt. We sat up there for four hours, silently watching, listening and smoking. Brent brought us hot chocolate, sandwiches and venison sticks. All the comforts of home, really, plus a big damn gun. We quietly watched the sun rise and the forest unfold beneath us. It was amazing, all the things that went on down there. As the darkness gave way to light we gazed down on squirrels, a couple mice and three grouse who came and went at will. It was strange; we watched them go about their business and none of them knew we were up there. It felt sort of god-like, maybe even a tad voyeuristic. As the morning progressed and our patience waned, we began talking openly and moving about more freely. It was a beautiful morning and I was just glad to be watching from above. The plan was one more cigar, then call it a day. At that point I heard it: hooves. Big animals coming our way, crunching in cadence. The doe walked through first, followed by two fawns. A mom and her kids. I'd like to give a harrowing account of leveled cross-hairs and a furious heart beat at the moment of indecision, but I can't. We watched them come through the shooting lanes slowly and clearly. Mom stayed in the brush and the fawns screwed around in the open like dancing bulls-eyes. Brent handed me the gun, but I knew I wasn't going to shoot. There was simply no point. For a second all five of us stood looking at each other, eyes locked in a mix of fear and question. Then, with their power and breath still intact, they were gone. Six strides at most.