The Arrival

By Raeanne O’Meara

Hunting season, while always a constant that I look forward to, is slightly different from year to year. Sometimes I have hiked my feet off, chasing deer through the hills behind our place, with nary a legal buck to be found and not much more than a measly bowl of tag soup to get our house through the winter; other years, the hunt has been over before it even had a chance to get started and the majority of the season seems to be spent cutting and wrapping a year’s worth of meat for the freezer. Taking stock of the last decade all averages out to, well, something quite average for our household – some bird hunting, maybe a deer or moose early on and chasing big bucks in November. Cascading events over the last couple months have meant this year has been slim pickings for chances to get out into the bush.

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As a bit of a wild game enthusiast in the kitchen, I arguably have a little more pep in my step come late October when my partner has already put some meat in the freezer and taken the pressure off me to do so. If one can hope for anything, I personally hope for a fall like last year, which was filled with days of perfect, silent snow to follow hoof tracks in the white and see where they might lead. An internal catalogue of the various locations of buck rubs on willows was logged in my head, daydreaming of which deer might have made his mark on the area. Aside from shooting my first buck several years ago, last year was, hands down, one of my favourites, despite ringing in the arrival of darkness on Nov. 15 with an uncut tag. With said pressure off, many hours were spent just being in the bush with the deer, learning how to read the wind and sneaking up upon bedded bucks close enough it seemed as though I could reach out and touch them. Nineteen-year-old me never thought she would pass up a four-point buck, but 10 years later and there was a first time for everything.

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Now, this year I would like to put my hands on a deer, preferably a solid four by four or perhaps even the one that got passed on last year – although he is another year older and wiser and thus will most likely outsmart me this time – but the arrival of November and a little more time free of work obligations has me giddy with excitement. Getting out to spend some quality time with my hunting buddy, the deer and, of course, the squirrels and birds that chatter and chirp incessantly while we try to slip through the woods undetected, I can’t wait to see what the next few weeks bring.

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