11\30 The making of a legend

  • by Rick Hill
  • November 30, 2010
  • 286
                        
The making of a legend When he got to the cabin in Jackson he was known as Cowboy Jon. Now he will be known forever more as Buck Berger when we tell the story of Mondays hunt. It may sound a little dramatic to most folks, but in our mundane little world we give titles to significant events. There are certain requirements that have to be met before a title can be given to an occurance. It can't be something we have heard of before, and it helps if it is outrageous enough that no one believes you when you tell the story. Some of the named situations that have occurred in the past are the James Bond Affair, the naked strangers encounter, and one that will be known forever as just “the incident”. The story of Buck Berger isn't just about killing a nice whitetail, it also involves a harrowing retrieval. We got to the property in Jackson mid afternoon on Sunday. After setting up a few tree stands we made the traditional trip to Wal Mart for provisions then played cards, and reminisced about past hunts. We were in the field before first light, and hunted until lunch. The only thing we had seen all morning was a bunch of does, not an antler in the bunch. As a group of testosterone filled middle aged men, none of us was willing to be the first to shoot a doe. We were buck hunting, and anything less would incur more teasing from the others than it was worth. At least on the first day. After lunch we did a few drives, that produced more does. Then we went to our stands to wait for some deer to wander by. About 4 pm I heard Cowboy Jon shoot, then he shot again, and again for a total of five times. With the time in between shots, and the fact that they were getting closer, I knew we were in for a good story. I stayed in my stand until dark then drove my polaris ranger over to pick up Randy the French Hater, he said that Cowboy was visible across the creek on the neighbors property before it got dark. He called on his cell phone and said he had a deer down, and that we should come get him. I knew we were in for trouble driving down into the deep ravine that led to the creek, it would be difficult in daylight, but now it was pitch black. Going down turned out to be the easy part. After knocking down a dozen 2 inch trees we slid with the brakes locked up 200 yards to the bottom. We found hunter, and deer then got the story. The buck woke Cowboy up as it walked by. He thought he had made a good shot, but got concerned as the deer kept going. He shot four more times “because that's all the shells he had with him” as it proceeded about a quarter mile down the creek where it laid down, and died. Upon inspection it was discovered the first shot was fatal. Good thing because he missed with the next four. Now the real fun began. We spent the next two hours trying to get out, getting stuck on huge rocks, sliding sideways, and cutting down 6 inch trees with a 3 inch saw. At this point the debate started as to how we would describe this deer. It was bigger than a little buck, but a long way from being considered a monster. Beings it was the biggest buck he has shot we deemed it necessary to classify it with an adjective. While checking it in, the guy at the Liberty Store called it a “nice buck” The way he said it seemed to irritate Cowboy enough that we were satisfied this would be the best way to describe it. In years to come when the story of Buck Berger comes up, for me it will bring back fond memories of good times with good friends. Catch you later Rick


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