Just returned from an awesome hunt in Georgia. I hunted the Cedar Creek WMA with friends and we really had a good time. You will notice in the picture above our Saturday night supper being prepared. We are in camp 4 nights but we only plan 3 meals. We traditionally eat deer meat on Saturday night, that is if someone kills the supper. Otherwise we are forced to eat leftovers. J.T. Russom in this picture has a few miles under his boots. He has killed multitudes of deer and many, many wiley bucks have fell before his barrel. One of the greatest things I have ever witnessed was J.T. hunting through a swamp or over a hardwood hillside. The way he slips through thickets, listens, smells, and watches for deer is masterful. I listen to his stories. Many would call him crazy but he speaks a language only buck hunters can understand. True buck hunters, that is. Not the ones who believe the bigger the antlers the bigger the trophy. Not the ones who scoff at a little buck on the ground. The ones who understand a trophy is what makes you happy. It is what brings you joy. On this hunt, J.T. now in his seventies, slipped through a wet, difficult beaver swamp looking at signs and tracks left behind by his prey. Glancing up he saw a deer sneaking out of the swamp. He watched it as it left. He thought in his mind what the deer was thinking. By the deers actions he knew it was not spooked. He knew the deer left because it heard something. He also knew the deer didn't know what it was. He figured out over the years where the deer's tendency was to go. He knew these woods. He knew the deer would be headed to the "Rock Pile" and would be there by this evening. Putting the wind in his favor, he slipped around the swamp moving quickly to get to the "Rock Pile" before the deer arrived. Never letting his mind rest, continually figuring where the deer would be, and what his options were, he arrived at the hallowed pile of rocks and sat just below them watching and waiting. His thoughts were correct. The deer arrived. A spike buck appeared with some does. Another hunter in the area had put them on alert. Working feverishly to level the cross hairs, he found an opening. A pull of the trigger sealed the deal and another successful hunt was in the books. Back at camp J.T. was very happy. He told his story, louder each time. He smiled a lot. He laughed all night talking about the old times and other deer he and others had killed. Every year he retires from cooking breakfast but the next morning he was up singing and banging pots and pans. He was happy. As I watched him make jokes and talk about those who had not killed a deer yet I hoped that in my seventies I could be as happy over a spike buck as he is right now. I hoped that I would never loose my will to hunt one down. I hoped I would never loose the ability to walk through a swamp and be a true hunter. Lord, may I never scoff at a young buck, killed by a lucky hunter. What is a trophy? Is it a deer you sit in one spot and look at finally determining, well I guess it is big enough, never looking at the land or figuring his actions. Is it climbing into a box and having a guide tell you to shoot or not to shoot. Or is it walking through the acorns, looking at sign, finding his haunts, thinking as he does. J.T. has spent hours lost in the woods because he just couldn't leave a trail. He has been cut, twisted, injured, ran out of batteries, lost a hat, ran out of shells you name it and he has done it. He does it to hunt a buck. He did and does what makes him happy. At seventy plus years he is still happy and he killed an exceptional trophy. Congratulations J.T.!
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