Stooge Blunders
by S. Marks

I thoroughly enjoy every opportunity to take my bow into the woods during Oregon’s late season Blacktail hunts. Of course tagging out in September is also a blessing but I do so with a clear sense of……. “That’s it for you buddy”.

If success were measured only by meat in the freezer, I haven’t been particularly successful. If however, I factor in the quality hunts, pure enjoyment and winter wilderness experiences, well that more than makes up for any unused tags.

As the seasons come and go, I’ve compiled a truck load of fond memories which includes learning to enjoy the underlying humor of my own blunders.   Realize too, that in the spirit of fair play, I’d certainly be reluctant to rule out any quality opportunities for poking fun at a good natured friend. Seriously though, sometimes it’s just a good idea to not take yourself too seriously. It could come back to bite you.

One clear December morning just after day break, my buddy Tom and I were headed high into the Cascades in pursuit of a worthy Blacktail buck. Ours were the only tracks in 10 inches of fresh snow and we preferred to not get out the tire chains. Travel on the overgrown skid road became increasingly difficult, but fortunately the trail ended in a safe place where I was able to turn the old Toyota around before heading into the woods.  Although Tom didn’t have a tag, he was more than willing to handle the rattling antlers and show me some new spots.

No sooner had I shut off the engine than a really nice four by four buck materialized, standing less than 25 yards away at the edge of a sharp cut in the steep hillside. We were totally unprepared for such a rare, quick opportunity. However, that ol boy was full of the rut and had something other than survival on his mind. He just stood there with ears turned forward and starred at us. So I eased open the door and slipped out to get my bow from the back. Turning the handle and lifting the canopy door I could still see him, like a statue, thru the canopy slider window, thru the cab window and then the windshield. The old shocks that hold the back, canopy window open were acting a bit tired in the frigid weather and this required that I spend a couple of precious seconds to manually lift it to the top of it’s stroke before leaning in over the tailgate for my bow.

My quiver always includes one arrow tipped with a judo point for practice shots and small game. I keep that arrow at the back of my quiver and upside down to avoid accidentally grabbing it in a big game situation. This is intended to decrease the likely hood for any embarrassing blunders.

Remember the phrase, "embarrassing Blunders".

On this particular day my bow was snuggled up in a big, red, wool, blanket to insure it’s safe arrival. I reached into the blanked, grabbed my arrow slinger by the riser and pulled it toward me. The blanket also came and I couldn’t separate the two. The spring steel wires of the judo tip had caught in the blanket. In attempting to separate my bow from it's bulky burden I got the wires imbedded even more deeply. After a while Tom turned around and saw me ridiculously waving a red blanket like I was some sort of deranged matador. In impatient tones that should have spooked that buck off into the next county, Tom said “Sid Hurry up! He’s not gonna stand there all day!”

Eventually, In a moment of brilliance, I reached into the blanket and sorted through the various folds of material to locate the offending arrow. Removing it from the quiver, I left it inside the canopy, still very securely attached to the blanket.   Once the bow was finally freed I still had a good view of that magnificent buck through three different layers of glass.

Amazed that any opportunity still remained, I glanced down at the string and started to nock an arrow. At that precise moment I was dealt a crisp blow, dead center to the back of my head. The surprising jolt dropped me to my knees in the snow. Those tired old shocks on the canopy window had decided to take a break. This left me all teary eyed with my nose on the tail gate, starring directly into the “Y” of TOYOTA. Batting my eyes, I looked up and saw a camo hat which only moments before had been perched on my noggin. Now however it hung in defiance between the tailgate and canopy window. Taunting without mercy….. and insulting my bald head.

At this point Tom could once again be heard questioning the wisdom in his selection of hunting partners as he squirmed around looking out various windows, wondering where I might have gone……What on earth I was up to…… And why?

At this same point in time, I however was feeling like our fat cat acts when He knows he has just blown yet another stalk. But being well accomplished in the art of denial, he tries to maintain his cool cat persona, pretending that it’s all part of his strategy and the game is still on.

So, taking a page right out of Fat Cat’s play book, I picked the arrow up out of the powdery snow, nocked it on the string and slowly stood up. Up past the tailgate…… past my hat……. looked through a dirty, back canopy window…... through the canopy slider window….. through the back cab window…….. past a frantic Tom…….and through the windshield. My pulse rate spiked in as a surge of adrenalin reached the veins in my temples, and I simply couldn’t believe my eyes! Not only was that big fella still there, but as I began to draw and step out from behind my newest, high tech, hunting blind which I affectionately call “Truck”, he actually came a few steps closer.

That rut crazed Blacktail had waited for me through a full length, uncut episode of the Three Stooges, but right about then he got bored with my second rate comedy routine and remembered that he should be out looking for a date with Mrs. Blacktail.  In one quick lunge, he disappeared down into a nasty, exceptionally steep Rhododendron and fir thicket, without even looking over his shoulder for an encore.

Now if by chance you see some humor in all of this, well you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet. Tom’s version of these events brings tears to my eyes when he describes me as rolling around in the snow in futility, like a crippled matador, with a concussion, desperately trying to lure a record book monster close enough to wrap him up in my big red cape.

It‘s all good though. My theory is this:

                           It’s okay to brag on our accomplishments from

                            time to time, if we are also willing to enjoy a good

                            healthy laugh at our own embarrassing blunders.