The Hunt (405 hits)
Category: GeneralRating: -1.16 on 6 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Espo (View user info) at 2006-04-11 12:39:21 EDT
*Author's Note* - This is pretty long, but if you have the time and the patience while bored at work, I'm confident that it's worth your time. Enjoy.
Adam's father walked into his son's dark room, the leaf-like browns and greens of his large camouflaged form blending into the pre-morning twilight, and sat for a moment at the foot of the boy's bed. He noticed the innocent look of peace on the 12-year olds face as the boy's eyes darted back and forth underneath his closed eyelids. Adam dreamt of those things that only a boy on the cusp of adolescence dreams - of firemen and pirates and lost crusades.
His father, Bill, reached over his son's body and gently touched his shoulder, saying, "It's time to get up, Adam." Adam, still groggy and doused in the remnants of his dream, stretched his arm straight over his head with a yawn. But almost before his mouth closed, he realized his father was sitting there, and what this morning was, and what that meant for him. And his excitement nearly exploded through the sheets.
"Are you really gonna take me with you today, Dad?" said Adam, as his stiff torso leaned forward and his hands wiped the sleep from his eyes.
"You're darn right I am," said his father, as he ruffled Adam's wavy brown hair. The morning grey began its slow, steady climb through the surrounding trees and into the bedroom window. Adam jumped out of bed and stumbled towards his dresser, ravaging the neatly folded clothes in the drawers in search of his camouflaged pants and bright hunter orange jacket.
As Adam danced with his stiff hunting pants, the durable material not letting his legs slide through without a fight, he glanced over at his father, whose fatherly grin seemed to reflect the morning grey even brighter than before. Bill turned to leave Adam to donning his clothes while he went to the kitchen to heat up a pot of coffee.
Soon Adam was fully dressed and glowing in his vest like a misshapen tangerine. He promptly seated himself at the kitchen counter and began to devour a bowl of Cocoa Puffs. His father, standing a few feet away, sipped his coffee and stared out the window in the grey mist of Pennsylvania autumn.
Bill cleared his throat before saying, "We've got to hit the road soon, kid." Adam, drinking the remaining milk in his cereal bowl, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and dutifully went to carry his gun case out to the truck. Within five minutes, the pickup was fully loaded: Bill's .20 gauge, Adam's smaller .410, ammunition for both, one eager son filled with cereal, and one father brimming with pride.
Adam stared out the window as his father pulled out of the driveway, and a sense of accomplishment came over him. This was it, he was finally going with his dad on a hunting trip. Adam remembered the weekends when he would wake up to the sound of his dad's car pulling into the driveway. It would only be 8:30 or 9:00 in the morning, but his father had already gotten in a good three hours of hunting and almost always came back with a full bag. Adam thought of how, one day, he would be the one to come back, and everyone would eat his pheasant on Sunday nights, and maybe one day his father might give him his .20 gauge to hunt with.
As the pickup chugged along the foggy dirt roads of Pennsylvania woodland, Adam knew that his father was taking him to a relatively close and spacious public hunting ground. Although Adam had never been there himself, he guessed that the birds would be well stocked this time of year, and reasoned that there would be a good chance both he and his father would be bringing something back with them. As the road curved, Adam noticed the outlines of a narrow bridge up ahead.
His father eased on the brake, making sure that no one was coming the other way, as the bridge was wide enough for only one car to pass at a time. Adam gazed uneasily out of his passenger window, leering at the corroded metal supports that looked as though they could give way at any moment. He found little solace as he averted his gaze from the bridge and looked to the depth below, a chasm covered by a swirling grey mist that seemed to go down, down forever.
"Don't worry, son, this bridge is Pittsburgh steel. It could probably hold a 20-ton truck," said Adam's father. The kind words did nothing to ease Adam's pensiveness, but he did appreciate his father making it over the bridge quickly. Adam tried hard not to breathe his sigh of relief too loud when the rear wheels of the pickup rattled their way onto the solid ground of the other side.
***
"Well, here we are." Adam felt his father's heavy hand clasp his shoulder and pretended to listen intently as he droned on about hunter etiquette and rules. Adam remembered most of what he had learned over the summer and felt that he knew the basics: never point your gun at anyone, keep the safety on, don't shoot until after sunrise, and know your target and beyond.
Adam noticed a few other vehicles, mostly pickups, in the gravel parking lot. Soon, more pickups began to wade their way through the gravel moat, kicking up a thin film of dust and sending tiny pebbles shooting out from beneath their tires. Adam stared out the passenger window as truck after truck filled with bright orange occupants armed with coffee cups and NRA memberships arrived. Adam wondered if every one of them was as eager as he was to make the jump from civilization to the wilderness,
And the there were the dogs. Adam had never seen so many dogs - so many kinds. They seemed to pour out of the beds of the pickups and hit the ground like demons - barking, jumping, and sniffing as if they could already smell their enemy - the birds. The dogs were all shapes and sizes, some familiar, and some alien - curly-haired quadrupeds from another world. As their eager barks filled the early morning air with a palpable anxiety, Adam glanced around to see his father standing alongside the pickup filling his vest with ammo.
Adam noticed that his father was very quiet as he loaded his vest with slugs. Adam, who wasn't quite sure what to do, found comfort in copying his father and placed the small "cigarette" shot for his .410 into the pockets of his vest. With his vest heavy and full, his camoflage hat and matching gloves donned, and still twenty minutes before sunrise, Adam followed his father past the rows of pickups and through the narrow opening in the treeline that bordered the parking lot. He kept his eyes focused on his father's back and never looked back.
"Stay close, now," Bill said to Adam, as he turned to make sure that Adam was following him. "These grounds take up almost two thousand acres, so just stick by my side and you'll be fine." Adam nodded as his eyes wandered from side to side, his head on a swivel, trying to take in every new tree, every new branch, all at the same time.
As Adam followed his father along the narrow dirt path that wound its way past fields and hedgerows, his father continued, "The state usually stocks this part of the grounds pretty well, so keep your eyes pealed." Adam noticed other hunters standing at the edge of fields, waiting for sunrise. Even the dogs seemed to sense that this was a time of peace and patience - the lull before the storm.
Adam kept his eyes pealed, but he wasn't quite sure where to look. If I were a pheasant, he thought to himself, where would I go? Would I try and hide in the hedgerows? Or would I stick to the ground, stay low, and try to hide in the brush? Adam started to wonder if the birds could sense their fate, if there was some powerful force in every living thing that told it death was near. While Adam was pondering, he failed to notice that his father had moved ahead and was shaking the hand of a lanky man clad in similar hunting apparel further up the path.
Adam snapped out of his reverie as his father's soft voice cut into the pre-morning silence.
"How the hell are ya, Pete?" said Bill, slightly louder than a whisper. Adam figured that his father did not want to disturb any of the other hunters or birds nearby.
"I'm good, and yourself?" said the tall, spindly man standing next to him, his .20 gauge hanging idly from the crook of his elbow, the barrel sagging towards the ground.
"I'm out here with Adam. It's his first time bird hunting," said Bill. Adam could sense the pride in his father's tone and smiled when he felt the familiar touch of his father's arm wrap around his shoulders.
Adam knew Pete. Pete was an old high school and college buddy of his dad's. They had both played football together. Adam thought he remembered that Pete had to stop playing college football because of a leg injury, one of those terrible sports injuries that makes a stadium go dead quiet, and that's why he walked funny now. But he couldn't remember any of the particulars. No one talked much about it. Pete had been at the house many times, mostly for football games and grilling, and Adam found some solace in greeting this friendly face in this strange new world of the wilderness.
"Well, isn't that something," said Pete quietly. "I remember when my old man took me on my first hunt. That's something I'll never forget."
Just as Pete was about to turn on his good leg and make his way along the path, Adam notice another orange-clad figure appearing through the mist in the distance. It was making its way towards the trio of hunters.
"Hey there, fellas," said the man, who quickly identified himself by way of his badge. Adam squinted in the grey light and read: Department of Fish and Wildlife. "I just wanted to take a look at your licenses - make sure that everything is squared away before you start shootin' on this fine morning," said the inspector.
Adam, not sure what to do, glanced up at his father who quickly responded with a, "Sure thing," and turned to show the inspector the license hanging from the loop on the back of his vest. Pete nodded and turned his back in the same fashion and Adam, noticing the quick replies of both adults, thought that he had better do the same.
Adam dutifully stood with his back to the inspector, his head turned around as far as it could go so that he could see exactly what the man was checking for. The inspector's badge gleamed softly through the misty air as he went from Pete, to Adam and finally to Bill, where he stopped.
"Uh...there seems to be a problem," said the inspector as he looked at Bill's back. "You do have a license, don't you, sir?" he asked, as Adam saw the confusion grow in his father's face.
"Sure I do - I've had one every year since I was twelve," said Bill matter-of-factly. Adam had turned around again to face the inspector and get a better view of the confrontation between this strange authority and his father.
"Well," said the inspector, "you seem to have misplaced it because there's nothing on the back of your vest here."
"What?" Bill said as he quickly took off his vest to have a look for himself. Adam saw the look of disappointment creep over his father's face when he realized that the inspector was right, and that there was no license on his vest. "I must've left in it in the truck."
Adam watched as Bill glanced at the inspector, then to the Fish and Wildlife badge that seemed to glow through the mist like a thick white ember.
"Give me a few minutes and I'll come right back," said Bill. "I know I just must've left it in the car. I never hunt without it."
Adam had never heard his father use that tone of voice before. He sounded like he was pleading, like he was unsure of himself, and it didn't sit well with Adam.
"Alright," said the inspector with a sigh, "but I'll come with you, just to make sure that there's no funny business."
"No problem, inspector. No problem at all," said Bill. Adam looked over at his father and realized that he was about to be left alone with Pete.
"Dad, can I go with you?" he asked, his eyes pleading with his father.
His father shook his head. "Stay here with Pete. Me and the inspector are going to leave for a few minutes, but I'll be back as soon as I can." Adam, who didn't like the idea of being left alone in the woods without his father, began to pout until his father knelt down on the path next to him and looked him straight in the eyes.
"There's still ten minutes 'till sunrise," said Bill. "I'll be back before then, I promise, and then we'll have plenty of time to go find a nice open field and get you a bird. Ok?"
With hands in his pockets and eyes glued to the ground, Adam muttered a solemn, "Ok, dad." As much as he was upset with the situation, he knew that the little hitch in the morning's plans had probably hurt his father more than it hurt him. But as his father and the inspector disappeared down the path, Adam realized what he wanted more than anything, more than getting his first bird, was to see his father return as soon as possible.
"Well, I guess it's just you and me, kid," said Pete, who had moved his shotgun up to his shoulder, pointing the barrel behind him. "Don't you worry, though. You're dad'll be back soon." Adam stared down at the worn path and made no attempt to respond.
After an awkward silence, Pete slung his gun over his shoulder. "I was gonna head over that way," Pete said, pointing the in the direction the Fish and Wildlife officer had come from. Adam glanced up from his sulking to follow Pete's finger, which was pointing down the path. "There's a pretty good field over there - me and your dad hunt there all the time. You wanna head over there and see if we can't find you a decent line to walk once sunrise hits?"
"I'd like to," said Adam, "butI think I better just wait here for my dad to come back."
"Well, I don't know," said Pete. Adam could tell that he was very wary about leaving him all alone in the woods and jumped in before Pete could make his argument.
"Don't worry, Pete. We're not that far into the woods, and there's only one path here. I'm not going to get lost and my dad's coming back real soon. I'll just stay here."
"I guess that's all right," said Pete. "You're a big boy, now, Adam." Adam watched as Pete shrugged off his uncertainty and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a stained, half-empty pouch of chewing tobacco. Pete dipped his hand into the pouch and pulled out a sizable pinch of the near-black, stingy contents and promptly shoved half his hand, tobacco and all, in his mouth. He grinned sheepishly at Adam, and Adam knew that Pete's wife couldn't stand his chewing tobacco and Pete took full advantage of his hunting time to indulge in his vice.
"Your dad...he'll be back...no time," said Pete, as his tongue and gums struggled to hold in the tobacco. Wiping the small drivels of greasy spit from his lips, Pete big his goodbye to Adam, said he would see him soon, and made his way down the dirt path until he disappeared from Adam's view.
***
Adam, now totally alone, let his eyes wander. He realized that ever since he entered the woods with his father, he had been looking at the new surrounding, but he had not really been seeing anything. Before, he was so overtaken by a sense of new-ness that all of the maples and pines and sycamores seemed to blend together. All of the bare branches seemed to coalesce into one brown background while every grass covered field looked the same. It was not until Adam was alone that he truly saw what was around him.
And that's when he noticed the blind. He had remembered overhearing his dad and Pete talk about the tree blinds out in the woods. About how the old hunters had found the best spots after years of hunting, how they were almost invisible to the eye from the ground, and how they had hammered the makeshift seats into fat tree trunks with precision and care. There was many a tale Adam could recall his father telling about certain blinds that would almost guarantee a perfect shot, a perfect kill. And Adam had spotted his first one, the wooden boards and rusty nails washed almost grey after years of torture from the weather, but just out place enough to draw his eye's attention.
Excited by his new discovery, Adam veered off the path and into the woods, brushing aside the thin, low-level branches and making his way towards the blind. He knew he shouldn't risk climbing the tree and sitting up in the blind. His father wouldn't know where he was, and there was no guarantee that the blind itself was still functioning. The wood could be rotten and a fall from thirty feet certainly wouldn't do him any good. But Adam was confident. If his dad could climb up in these blinds, then he saw no reason why he couldn't do so as well.
A few minutes later Adam was up in the blind, wiping the last bits of bark from his rough pants and peering out among thick branches and the vast expanse of virgin Pennsylvania woodland that surrounded him. It was beautiful. The first rays of sunlight were still struggling to break free of the earth's curve and enlighten the woods, and the intensity of the coming daybreak was almost palpable. And there was the bird. It's ringed neck, with iridescent reds and purples sparkling through the last remnants of the pre-morning mist, flew towards Adam and landed without a sound on a solid branch a few feet away.
Adam didn't breath. He didn't move. He was even afraid to move his eyes. The pheasant scratched its head against its wing, smoothing the bright, errant feathers back into place. Adam had never seen such a large wild animal up close like that before. His mind was running, trying to grasp concepts so deeply rooted in nature that mere words do not do them justice. He gazed at the pheasant, admired it, admired nature for the first time. It cocked its head slightly and stared directly at Adam. And then there was that terrible sound, like a cannon, and it was gone. A few feathers flung slowly twisting above the branch were the only remains.
The next sound Adam heard was the pellet-filled pheasant hitting the hard ground of the forest floor. And that's when the tears came.
"What the hell? Adam? Adam, is that you up there?"
Adam looked down from the blind and saw his father standing at the base of the tree, angrily glaring up at him.
"What the hell are you doing up in that blind? Get down here right now!"
Adam, wiping his tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, made the slow climb back down to the ground where his father was waiting for him. But instead of yelling at him and cursing his idiocy, the first thing his father did was give him a huge bear huge.
"Jesus, you had me scared there for a minute, son. Why the hell were you up there in that damn tree blind? You could've been shot up there - you know better than that. Christ, I was just on my way back to find you and got here and figured you went on with Pete to find a good field. And then the bird flew right overhead and landed on that branch and I couldn't pass up a gorgeous shot like that, you know? I didn't even see you up there. I could've shot you, Adam. Thank God you're ok."
"I...I was just looking at it," said Adam, between sniffles as he brought his tear-soaked sleeve up to wipe his nose.
"Alright, well I think that's enough hunting for today," said his father as he put his arm around Adam. But Adam didn't want to be held. He wanted to mourn the bird's death, wanted to know about what it had done, where it had been during its life. He shrugged off his father's arm and marched up the path, putting a few feet between him and his father. Bill did not give chase, and let Adam have his space.
As the sun's rays dissolved the remaining mist, the two hunters strode down the narrow path separately, leaving the corpse behind, cold and alone in the forest.
User Reviews
Submitted by Beano312003 (user info) at 2006-04-11 14:26:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
This was longers than a string of spunk hanging from a crack whore prostitues smelly cunt.
I'm not reading all that. Have a 0 on faith.
Submitted by Confuzitron (user info) at 2006-04-11 14:07:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-04-11 13:56:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Besides being FUCKED-UP!, leaving any animal to waste away, after you've shot it is the best ammunition you can give to any and all of the anti-hunting groups and is probably the worst thing you could teach your son, or daughter about hunting.
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agreed - this story was pretty bad.
The moral is, make sure you get your technical details correct - otherwise, no one will read your work.
Submitted by gonefiguring (user info) at 2006-04-11 13:33:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
For what Wildman said and for this: "the first thing his father did was give him a huge bear huge."
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2006-04-11 13:16:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
what wildman said.
Submitted by Wildman (user info) at 2006-04-11 13:07:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
The man didn't need a hunting licence until he actually killed something so I would have told the warden to go fuck himself.
In most states, pheasant hunting starts at 8am, not at sunrise.
Hunting pheasants out of a tree blind is...........insane.
Besides being FUCKED-UP!, leaving any animal to waste away, after you've shot it is the best ammunition you can give to any and all of the anti-hunting groups and is probably the worst thing you could teach your son, or daughter about hunting.
Mourning?........I think I'm going to stop right now.