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Monster Media 1993 #2
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VICTORY.TXT
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1990-07-03
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4KB
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73 lines
Victory in the Snow
(c) 1990 Chester Ceille
This is a true story which I must tell you . . .
I peered out the window at a swirling snow spectacle. Snow
blew around relentlessly as a north wind moved it at will.
I wondered if any whitetail deer in its right mind would get
out of its warm bed - and was I in my right mind to go
hunting for one this morning?
It was four a.m. and a full moon cast its weak but welcome
light over the dark, northern Wisconsin pine forest. I
grabbed my pack and rifle and left the cabin's warmth
heading into the zero degree temperature. I ignored the
cold of the snow on my face as I jumped into the jeep,
started it, and took off slowly on the snow packed but
passable road.
Our hunting party had little success over the last two days,
taking one fat doe. We badly wanted to take more deer - we
hadn't done well in previous years - but the main reason was
we knew this could be the last hunt for all of us. Our
friend and hunting leader lay back at the cabin gripped by
cancer. He heroically struggled just to make the trip and
be among us.
He always told me to walk into the stand quietly before dawn
and keep my eyes peeled during the productive early morning
hours. He had taught me to hunt and was certainly expert
having taken deer almost every year for the last 30. Deer
hunting magically captivated him. It was this magic and
mystique that he spread to all of us, and it helped sustain
us throughout the rest of the year. Would the magic die
with my friend? Would we care about hunting or for that
matter anything else?
I parked my jeep along the sand road near the trail leading
to my camouflaged stand and headed along the last visible
traces of the snow covered path. My compass guided me more
than the path which seemed often to veer in many dark
directions. The snow continued to swirl ominously although
more quietly under the protective overhead blanket of the
pine branches. At last I reached and entered the stand.
The wind and blowing snow stopped suddenly and more quiet
came to the dawn woods; the temperature seemed to get colder
as I remained still in my stand trying to will my body to
stay warm. My .308 Winchester lay across my knees ready. A
wood pecker's dull tapping on a frozen tree was the only
sound of life.
Without breaking the silence a huge buck suddenly appeared
advancing majestically through the pine thicket about 75
yards upwind. It wore its antlers regally like a king's
jeweled crown. Indeed it was a master of the wild, and, at
that moment, I shared this magic force in my pounding
heart. My rifle spoke once and the deer slumped immediately
into the bloodied snow.
I raced over to the now lifeless deer and watched it for a
moment admiring its vibrant, wild mystique which somehow
remained. I knew then this magic excitement always endures
as long as hunters hunt. It survived the deer now dead at
my feet, and it easily defeats any peril no matter how
great.
The deer and I sat victorious in the snow. That day also my
friend's son helped him into a truck, and he joined us
hunting prevailing over the cancer.