Dead Doe Redemption, Part 3: Jägers Afield.

The day was here.  Up at the butt-crack of dawn (actually well before, but I love that phrase).  Hunting drag on, blaze orange a-blazin'. We took off for a spot on the north side of the island, where a burn occurred earlier because of a deadly small plane crash.

Honestly, I'm going to let the photos speak for themselves.  I've already said this to several people, but if they put stuff like this up on the Conservancy website, they'd book out for the year in a heartbeat.

The morning was a beautiful struggle.  The sun was blinding when it cleared the marine layer.  Up hill and down, out on several ridges, we stalked and glassed and waited.  George was to have the first shot.  Nothing was near, nothing was easy.  Although he is slightly younger than I am, George has very shaky hands, and said he was uncomfortable with taking any shot over 150 yards because of it.  Without dragging the story out too much, Charlie tried his damnedest to get something for him.

Finally, like many things do, the chance came right up.  We had just parked the truck, and were easing out to walk on a ridge.  Charlie and George were scanning different sides as I was getting my rifle out.  George let out a low whistle that caught Charlies attention.  I was hanging back, trying to quietly observe and waiting on direction.

I'd be lying if I said I remembered everything that happened in the next minute exactly, but basically I saw Charlie direct George to get set up.  I remember a lot of agonizing (probably lasted 10 seconds) and then George shaking his head no.  Charlie motioned me to come up low along the ridge.  He told me to get set up.  I put down the bipod and it was too high.  I tried to work with it but Charlie adjust the legs for me.  Charlie kept whispering I was looking for the biggest deer that was going to come out from behind a certain oak.  I saw a little dip in the rock that would make the height of the bipod work, and I crawled over to it.  The deer came out. A yearling was behind the big doe I was supposed to aim at, I couldn't shoot because I knew that copper bullets almost always come out the other side.  Just like that, she was clear and perfect.  I eased the trigger.

Again, the world blew up.  I'm more used to it now, and quicker that I knew I could I was focused on the deer again.  It was falling down the slope.  A painful moment, not deadly painful as for the deer but painful none the less.  Grandma doe, the Queen Mother of this little valley, broken, falling, dying, down into the draw, out of our sight.  The others of the group milling, regrouping, looking down, running, looking. 

But then the guilty elation of the kill, of hoping (but still doubting) it worked, that its done, that the animal, the meat, its down there and hopefully dead as stone, but still, that it worked (probably)!

Hope I'm not being too flighty with this description, but its close to what I remember thinking at the time.  Charlie made a plan and after a short time we walked down into the cool, lushness of the wash.  Charlie spotted her first, she was down and still, right where she landed.  The old .270, bought with the money from my Great Aunt Mary's estate, had done its job flawlessly. 

The Queen Mother lies in state.  How we found her.

Charlie carrying a large percentage of his body weight.

OK, so tomorrow is the conclusion.  Should have warned you I was splitting it up into this many parts, but there is still some coolness left for Part 4.

Modesty screen.  Ladies need their privacy for undressing.