It began as a typical opening morning of the Missouri deer season. Dad, Ralph and I, on our stands, at the "Old Bob Thompson Place".
I think the year was 1982 because... I had just bought Edwin Earls' 1967 Chevy Chevelle. This is a very important piece of information and very germane to this story.
We had hunted the Old Bob Thompson Place for many years and all three of us had our "stands" or special places that we hunted year to year. On the west end, if you walked north from the county road, you immediately dropped down into a big hollow. My stand was at the west end of this hollow, near the east fence line of Droop Harris' Place. Ralph's stand was at the east end of the hollow where it emptied out into another big hollow that led north, down to Gunters Valley.
If you continued to walk north from this hollow, you would cross a big ridge and then dip down into another hollow that was not as steep and much wider than the south one. This is where Dad had his stand.
It was good daylight, the squirrels were scampering and barking, the woodpeckers were pecking, the chipmunks were "clicking", there had been several shots in the distance, when a loud KA-BLOOM! interrupted nature's sounds.
The sound of the shot came from the area where Dad was hunting, so I said to myself, "Well, sounds like Dad got him one!"
This thought had not fully escaped my mind when there was another KA-BLOOM!... KA-BLOOM! from the same direction
My thought then? "That can't be Dad. He would never shoot that many times." While I cogitated on this perplexing situation...and after a short pause...
KA-BLOOM! KA-BLOOM! KA-BLOOM! KA-BLOOM!
My thoughts then turned really serious... Was Dad trying to get our attention? The old "Three shots in the air" signal??
I got up and gathered my stuff and started making my way down the hollow toward Ralph. When I got within his range of hearing, I whistled our special whistle and then I saw him working his way up the hollow toward me.
His first question... "Was that Dad?"
Me: I don't think so. He wouldn't shoot THAT many times.
Ralph: You reckon he's in trouble?
Me: Could be. We might need to check it out.
We started climbing up the ridge to the north and about the time we made it to the top, Dad met us walking south. We asked if it was him that shot and he confirmed that it was. So it just followed that we jokingly asked;
"How many did you get??"
Dad's answer was classic... "Well... I don't really know, Maybe we need to go see."
I know if you could have seen our faces at that moment, our jaws would have been very close to touching the ground!
With Dad leading... And Ralph and I following in a stupefied, barely cognizant state, We started back down into the north hollow. After we had taken a few steps, the "conversation" went somewhat like this:
Dad: There's one over there!
R&R: Silence
Several more steps...
Dad: There's another one over there!
R&R: Silence - Utter Silence
A few more steps...
Dad: Well, there's another one over there!
R&R: Silence ( by this time we are in shock)
Another hundred feet or so...
Dad: There's one right over there!
R&R: Silence....Stunned Silence....
In case you haven't been counting, that's four. Count'em... FOUR DEER!
If you knew my Dad at all, this would shock you. He was one of the most deliberate, careful, calculating persons that I ever knew. The word "impulsive" was not in his vocabulary (I thought!) This was COMPLETELY out of character for my Dad.
When Ralph and I came out of our shock and found our voices, our first question was short and to the point...
"WHY?!?"
It seems that, early that morning, he had found a big, limby post oak tree to climb up in for his stand. A little while before his first shot, a herd of eight to ten deer moved into the hollow by his stand. He watched them for a little bit, picked out the one he wanted, and KA-BLOOM, he dropped it.
At this point, things kinda went south (for the deer at least!) and temporary insanity descended upon my Dad.
Dad said when he shot the first deer, the rest of the herd just milled around and acted like they didn't know what to do or where to run. He related his next thought; "I'm just gonna keep shooting and see how many I can kill."
Whooboy!!!
After the next KA-BLOOM - KA-BLOOM, the deer ran off
But evidently, they didn't catch sight of the temporarily insane hunter in the post oak tree because they CAME BACK!!!
Dad shot four more times until he had emptied the magazine in his Marlin 30-30. (Two thoughts: Thank goodness he didn't have a rifle with a high capacity clip and... As good a marksman as he was, How did he miss with three shots???)
Dad began to field dress the deer (with Ralph and I helping in a dazed, glassy-eyed stupor). The deer were very small, actually just yearlings or slightly older, and none of them had antlers. But it was still quite a chore to drag them up on the ridge, down into the big hollow and back up the hill to the county road. After we had them all up to the road, but out of sight, we faced another problem.
This was before the day of limitless any-deer tags.
You had to put in your name to the Conservation Department to be put in a drawing for a limited number of any-deer permits. It so happened that that year, Ralph and I had both drawn a permit. But that was only two tags and we had four antler-less deer. The math didn't add up!
So... We loaded up two of the deer, left two hid beside the road, and drove home... With me sitting in the back with both any-deer tags in hand, ready to tag the deer, just in case we were stopped by the Game Warden.
When we made it home, we realized we needed a safe hiding place for the purloined deer until we could skin and process them later that night.
Remember the 1967 Chevy Chevelle???
Yep... We loaded the two deer into the trunk of my Chevelle, which was in our shop building, while I was getting it back in running condition.
After checking to make sure the coast was clear, we headed back to the Old Bob Thompson place to retrieve the other two deer. We repeated the process of me riding in the back with the tags and got them safely stored in the trunk of the old Chevelle! This should give you a clue to the size of the deer, if all four of them would fit in a car trunk - even one as big as an old muscle car trunk!
Later that night we skinned and cut up deer.... and skinned and cut up deer... and skinned and cut up deer... And then we skinned and cut up deer... Until we didn't care if we EVER saw another deer!
I think Dad did put the "hex" on us though. If I remember correctly, we didn't even see another deer the rest of the season. Our any-deer tags were wasted!
It wouldn't happen again though...
The next year, when we all went out deer hunting, we presented Dad with ONE SHELL And informed him that it would have to last him through the entire season!!!!!
