His name was Mishka Woodson, but he preferred to be called Montana Boone. I later learned that his clients referred to him by all sorts of creative names, most of which I will not repeat, but many of them are similar to the names used to refer to Vermont Fish and Wildlife Board Members, I have noticed. He was a small and slender man and couldn’t shake his hipster style of clothing that went with his given name. What he lacked in stature he solidified in character. He was without a doubt the strangest guide I’d ever had.
Molly the cow broke out of her pen and found the food plot 1/4 mile away and in the woods. Based on the trail camera photos from the scene of the crime, she enjoyed herself quite a bit before her absence from the pen was noticed. This is bad news for my friend, Christian, who recently spent a good amount of time tilling ground and replanting this falls bait, attractant, habitat enhancer for the local venison herd. It's also bad news for me because my rank of number one moocher has been replaced by a cow. I haven’t even met this cow and already our relationship is off to a bad start.
This Saturday, July 23rd, will be my eleventh wedding anniversary to my beloved wife. In lieu of this celebration of love, I decided to ask my lovely wife a few question about how she has matured as a result of being married to a hunter. What has she learned, I wondered? She is clearly a better person for it, but I had never asked for specifics. Until now…
I’ve killed a bear. Just one. And it wasn’t very big. Actually, even inserting the word big into the previous sentence doesn’t seem right because it causes one to think that there was some bigness to the bear. There wasn’t. Unless, of course, you are telling your one and only bear story to your almost five-year-old just before bed. Then the bear is big.
“Hey Bud, wanna hear a bear story?” I ask before leaving his side.
“Yeah!” he says as he picks his head up off his pillow in the darkness of his room. He’ll listen to anything in order to delay bedtime, so I oblige.
This woodchuck had tormented me for weeks. Ever since I received the text that said a woodchuck had been spotted at the office, I’ve amounted to next to nothing. His stomping grounds were within sight of the window next to the printer, and I made an above average number of trips to it to see if I could catch Woody out basking in the sunlight. He was a wary critter – the type that make the hunt challenging and drives a guy insanely unproductive. Twice before he had avoided certain death, but not this time. Not this time.