amazing flying bowhunter...
this happened a few years back....
It was a nice crisp fall morning. as i headed to my stand in the pre-dawn darkness visions of big bucks passed through my mind. the stand was a homemade jobber, nestled in the crotch of an old hickory tree about 15 feet off the ground. i was pretty excited about hunting it today, it just felt good.
i climbed my steps and hoisted my big as$ up onto the platform. fanny pack goes on this hook, quiver on that hook, nocked an arrow and hung the bow on the hanger. it's still dark out, and i heard a wierd noise. it was faint, and i kinda blew it off. i was pretty beat from working the night before, and since i had a safety belt on i felt comfortable enough to close my eyes, just till the sun started its trip up, you know?
well, just as the sun started warming my face i heard the wierd noise again. sounded like a big red squirrell, kinda chittery. i was leaned back against the tree, head tilted back. i open my eyes ( looking up) just in time to see a SERIOUSLY p-o'd raccoon sliding down the tree head first at me. you can almost guess what happened next.
Being the big, tough woodsman that i am, i did what you'd expect. yep, i screamed like a little girl who lost her barbie. this did nothing but further enrage the 'coon, apparently, because he picked up speed. without thinking, i jump..
keep in mind that back then we didnt have fancy "body harneses'. ". Nope. my safety belt was about 6 feet of cotton rope cinched around my waist. do you know what it feels like to get hit with Tysons best shot in the guts? I DO.
So here we are. Me, wind knocked out, dangling 9 feet off the ground like a bloated Italian Pinata. Racoon, sitting on my platform, still pretty mad that this screaming (i got my wind back) human is disrupting his day. Still thinking like a champ here, i whip out my Western blade and free myself. Free myself for a quick trip to a stone-wall fence face-first. Ok , that sucked but I AM ALIVE!
I "regroup" on the ground for a while...
now, i kinda need my bow. the 'coon, however has other ideas. he is eyeballing me, daring me to come get it. i throw rocks and sticks, but he is not affected. He is super -coon! i'm yelling, whistleing (not too well, remember the smashed diapragm) to no avail.
after 2 hours of this i figure he's not coming out while i'm there, (maybe never for that matter) so i'm going to go home and come back for my gear later. Just before i crest the ridge i looked back and all i could see were his beady little coon -eyes, watching me go. Now , i dont have to tell you what happened on the way back to the truck. yep, a nice little buck , 2 does and a fawn all watched me walk by, bowless. He was only a forkhorn but would have done just fine. i briefly debated hucking my knife at him but decided to cut my losses and go home.
I returned several hours later, hopped up on painkillers and limping like a pirate with a peg leg to collect my gear. I CAREFULLY scanned my tree, the satanic coon nowhere in sight. Slowly (i was hurt, had no choice in the speed dept), i climbed to my platform. there, neatly deposited on my hot-seat was a big pile of berry and crayfish-filled racoon excrement. As i gathered up my equipment i swear i heard that rotten racoon gleefully chittering from a few trees over. I got all my stuff except for the hot-seat. That , apparently, was now his. and so was the tree. i never had the nerve to climb into it in the dark again.
true story.
merry chrismas!
moose