Since the beginning of recorded history, men have hunted to provide meat to their tribes, families and loved ones. I finally undertook this great journey and I learned a lot. Not anything useful, but a lot.
My wife told me my father-in-law and uncle-in-law (I think that’s how you say it) were going hunting. I had discussed it in years past, so I decided to join in. I called the Ohio Department of Natural Resources, like the cavemen did, to find out what I needed. “I’m calling about a hunting license, but it’s on my father-in-law’s land.” “You need a license, it’s not your dad!”, she snapped. A little aggressive. “Do I need the antlerless or either sex permit?” “Unless you want to be poaching.” “Even before I shoot one I need a tag?” “Go ahead and poach and see what happens.” Well, screw me for asking questions on the first shot. I guess I was supposed to know the entire wildlife law from birth.
Side note: I left the permit and tag at home, so after all that back and forth, it was for nothing. Ohio law won’t let you reprint or access the license either, even when paid for. I love government.
I take that picture caption back – I saw a TON of deer shit. Just no deer. Not one. I saw bark stripped off trees, hoof prints, two salt licks devoid of activity and a bird. Five hours of walking around. I did find a small cemetery with a Revolutionary War vet gravestone, so that was cool. Not five hours walking into thornbushes cool, but not bad.
I then realized that was probably the best scenario. Here’s the other options – I shoot a deer, have to gut it, drag it all over the hills and get busted for poaching since I forgot the sheet of paper I already paid for, even though 7000 deer get hit by cars every hour in Ohio and no one needs a license for that. Option B – some drunken redneck fires a slug into my ass and I have to walk around for the rest of life using a colostomy bag. I think next year I’ll focus on this –
I found this in the off road vehicle. Shotgun shells and Busch Light double deucers. That’s next year’s plan.