Buck fever still raging on

With winter close upon us and the Rainy River starting to skim over with ice, the topic at the debating table in the Bakery in Rainy River has changed from lunker walleye to the big buck.
The finesse carbon fibre rod and reel tension have been forgone in favour of the best ammo, accurate sighting techniques, doe scent, and tree stand etiquette.
“Had to make a major purchase this week. I don’t know if I can afford toast this morning,” remarked Pickle, his nervous twitch emphasizing the serious nature of parting with hard cash.
“Don’t tell me, was it a new snowmobile? A new rifle? A chainsaw?” I wondered aloud. The topic required further investigation.
“Oh goodness, no!’ gasped Pickle, shocked at such flagrant excesses.
“I had to buy a rifle bullet for this year’s hunt.”
“One bullet?” I asked, holding my cup out for my fourth refill.
“And what’s the rush?” I added. “You never fire at anything until the end of the season, and then it’s usually too late.”
“Elliott, I thought you were going south? When are you leaving?’ chided Pickle, slopping a bit of scalding coffee on my fingers.
“Besides, I only have one tag so I only need one shot,” he reasoned.
“You should have seen the herd of jumpers running around out by Sleeman,” cut in Moose, who had just come in after the usual morning patrol of his rural estate, running off trespassers.
“Must have been 20 of ’em,” he vowed.
“Twenty! Why there was at least 30. You weren’t checking close enough,” cut in Hardrock, who recently joined the debating table after deciding to retire here from the mines in the Sudbury area.
He’s spent so much time underground that everything in the above ground world now looms larger than is natural. Sort of like a groundhog early in the spring amazed at the wide open spaces.
Like the rest of the gathering, he knows a lot about everything and since he is approaching retirement, he has the time to tell us about it.
He’ll fit right in.
“There you go, Moose. You’re trumped again,” observed The Runt, who, unlike Pickle, does not hesitate to splurge on an order of toast.
Big buck tales continued for the next hour, which might best be described as high fiction.
An extensive list of necessary supplies for the season also was reviewed. This included a fairly fresh set of antlers likely from a road kill (the most reliable source), a hack saw, and a tube of Gorilla glue.
It seems the rack on many a buck has mysteriously vanished just after the trigger has been squeezed, and you may need it to grow and attach a new set before the game warden shows up.
Proper furnishing of the hunting shack also was covered. A newer, comfy couch to replace the mouse-infested relic from past years is a good idea (after all, you may need to spend the night due to post-hunt dizziness).
Also, saunas and hot tubs are gaining popularity, although both carry the added liability of not only scaring off the deer, but also the chance of being mistaken for—and bagged as—a Sasquatch.
Personally, I think I stick to hamburgers and walleye. And I’ll even head south.

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