Dead Doe Redemption, Part 4: Afterward.

We got Queen Mother back to Middle Ranch.  We weighed her, 100 lbs field dressed, so maybe 145 or so lbs on the hoof?  Charlie got her skinned out pretty quickly.  I won't go into gory detail of how we found the shoulders, but don't let anyone tell you a copper bullet doesn't have plenty of knock-down power.  Afterward we went up to the bunkhouse, and laid out for naps.  I crawled into the tent for a nice, warm hour.

When I came in, Charlie and George were talking.  They both had what seemed like a slightly embarrassed look, like I'd be annoyed about something.  George had decided that he did not care to kill a deer.  I was a little confused for a second since this trip was his idea, but I definitely had no qualms about his decision.  We three talked and confided and realized relief, to be honest, since it made our next day and a half a lot easier. 

Charlie decided to take us scouting (scope, not rifles) down a ridge later that afternoon where he originally would have taken us hunting.  The result caused some mixed emotions for me.  Since I had an either sex tag, and had I not killed that big old doe that morning, I may well have had a shot this guy:

Eh, I'm sure he was tough.  And sour.

I know, the meat may not have been as good, and I would have had to deal with transporting that rack, but still, you know?  Oh well.  I found another quite cool and much smaller trophy earlier that day, an old .45-70 casing from who knows how long ago.  I've decided it was shot from an old trapdoor Springfield, and nobody is going to ruin that delusion with proof.

Farther up the ridge, past the big-ass buck.  Crossing fingers for a green flash at the sunset.

Some cooking tomorrow, special Bunkhouse edition!