No one has posted since the close of hunting season, so I thought I would break the boredom by telling a funny, but true hunting story.
Up until a few years ago, any deer killed in Kentucky had to be taken to a Fish and Wildlife check station to be registered. In the early 1980s, I was invited to hunt with my partner, David and his brothers. David's family had always lived in rural Kentucky and since it is farming country, they knew dozens of farmers. David and his brothers had eight farms they regularly hunted (before the farmers realized they could make money leasing their land for hunting). Since they drove deer the way we do in the Adirondacks, I felt right at home hunting with them. Kentucky has a large population of farmland deer and the farmers were losing a lot of money in crop loss and damage, as they still are. The farmers, whose land we hunted on, wanted us to kill all the deer we could.
The first year I hunted in Kentucky, David and I took the whole 10 day season off from work. Opening morning, I was placed on a watch and told to kill anything that came out to me. The boys drove a large 10 pointer and a doe past me and I killed them both. Altogether on that first drive of the season, we killed two bucks and three does. Most of the guys were going to sneak their deer home without registering them, but I was not going to take a chance of getting caught and losing my job. I thought my hunting season was ruined since I had no tags to hunt the rest of the season.
David said that he had the solution to my problem. He said that for a case of warm Sterling beer (real rot gut stuff!) his uncle Howard would tag the deer. We loaded the deer and went over to Uncle Howard's. David went into the house and came out leading this old crippled, 90 year old man whose eyes were white with cataracts. Uncle Howard was blind as a bat! I gave David one of those, "What kind of shit is this?" looks and David whispered, "Trust me." We loaded Uncle Howard into the Blazer and headed to the check station. I was certain we were all going to end up in jail with David and me fired from our jobs to boot.
We got to the deer check station and David led Uncle Howard in with me following. The conservation officer greeted us and Uncle Howard told her that he had killed a couple of deer.
She replied, "Lucky again this year, huh Howard?" Uncle Howard said that he surely was.
The lady went out, checked the deer and came back in and filled out the registration form for Uncle Howard. She had to place his hand on the form where he had to sign and he signed with a X because he couldn't read of write. After we dropped Uncle Howard at his house, I asked David how in hell he managed to pull that one off. David asked me if I had noticed the bulge in the back pocket of Uncle Howard's bibs. I hadn't. David said that the bulge was Uncle Howard's .32 and no one messes with Uncle Howard when he's packing his .32.
A while later I was having breakfast with the captain of our local State Police post. Since we were pretty good friends, I asked him about Uncle Howard without telling him about the deer. Capt. Mort told me that Uncle Howard had been notorious when he was young. The captain said that he had been told that Howard had been involved in several shootouts in the old days which was not at all uncommon in Kentucky. He said that the old timers who knew Howard said that he was no one to "trifle" with.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Uncle Howard - Funny but True!
Since there have been no posts since hunting season, I thought I'd tell you all a funny story that happened to me when I first started hunting in Kentucky.
Until a few years ago, if you killed a deer in this state, you had to take it to a Fish and Wildlife check station and have it registered. I was invited to hunt with my partner David and his brothers. We had about eight farms we could hunt (before farmers discovered they could make money leasing their land to hunters). David and his brothers drove deer the way we do in the Adirondacks. We would start hunting about daylight and have enough places to hunt to last us until three or four in the afternoon. Because there was a large population of deer in Kentucky and they were doing so much damage to crops, the landowners wanted us to shoot all we could.
David and I took the whole ten days of deer season off to hunt. Opening morning, I was on a watch and was told to shoot everything that came out to me. A big ten pointer and a doe came out and I killed them both. Altogether, we killed three bucks and two does on that first drive. For me, I thought the hunting season was ruined because I had nine days left and no tags. David spoke up and said that for a case of warm Sterling beer (rot gut) his uncle Howard would tag my deer.
We drove over to his uncle's house and David went in to get Uncle Howard. He came out of the house leading a ninety year old man, whose eyes were white with cataracts. Uncle Howard was totally blind! I gave David one of those, "I don't believe this shit," look, and he whispered, "Trust me!"
We loaded Uncle Howard into David's Blazer and took him to the check station. David led him into the station with me following. I knew we all were going to jail and be out of work to boot. The conservation officer looked up and Uncle Howard told her he had some deer to check in. She said, "Got some again this year, Howard?" "I surely did," replied Uncle Howard. The officer went out to the Blazer and looked over the deer and came back in for Howard to sign the paperwork. The lady had to take Uncle Howard's hand and place it on the form for him to sign. Uncle Howard signed with an X, since he couldn't read or write. After we dropped Uncle Howard off, I asked David how in the living hell we pulled that one off. David said, "Did you notice the bulge in the back pocket of Uncle Howard's bib overalls?" I said that I didn't. David said, "That was Uncle Howard's .32. Nobody messes with Uncle Howard when he is carrying his .32." Several days later, I was having breakfast with the Captain of our local State Police post. I asked him if he had ever heard of Uncle Howard. Captain Mort told me that Howard was notorious when he was young and had been involved in several gun fights which was not uncommon in rural Kentucky in the old days. Capt. Mort said that the old timers say that Howard was not one to "trifle" with. Judging from the way the conservation officer handled the deer registration, I'd have to say that the Captain and David were telling the truth.
Until a few years ago, if you killed a deer in this state, you had to take it to a Fish and Wildlife check station and have it registered. I was invited to hunt with my partner David and his brothers. We had about eight farms we could hunt (before farmers discovered they could make money leasing their land to hunters). David and his brothers drove deer the way we do in the Adirondacks. We would start hunting about daylight and have enough places to hunt to last us until three or four in the afternoon. Because there was a large population of deer in Kentucky and they were doing so much damage to crops, the landowners wanted us to shoot all we could.
David and I took the whole ten days of deer season off to hunt. Opening morning, I was on a watch and was told to shoot everything that came out to me. A big ten pointer and a doe came out and I killed them both. Altogether, we killed three bucks and two does on that first drive. For me, I thought the hunting season was ruined because I had nine days left and no tags. David spoke up and said that for a case of warm Sterling beer (rot gut) his uncle Howard would tag my deer.
We drove over to his uncle's house and David went in to get Uncle Howard. He came out of the house leading a ninety year old man, whose eyes were white with cataracts. Uncle Howard was totally blind! I gave David one of those, "I don't believe this shit," look, and he whispered, "Trust me!"
We loaded Uncle Howard into David's Blazer and took him to the check station. David led him into the station with me following. I knew we all were going to jail and be out of work to boot. The conservation officer looked up and Uncle Howard told her he had some deer to check in. She said, "Got some again this year, Howard?" "I surely did," replied Uncle Howard. The officer went out to the Blazer and looked over the deer and came back in for Howard to sign the paperwork. The lady had to take Uncle Howard's hand and place it on the form for him to sign. Uncle Howard signed with an X, since he couldn't read or write. After we dropped Uncle Howard off, I asked David how in the living hell we pulled that one off. David said, "Did you notice the bulge in the back pocket of Uncle Howard's bib overalls?" I said that I didn't. David said, "That was Uncle Howard's .32. Nobody messes with Uncle Howard when he is carrying his .32." Several days later, I was having breakfast with the Captain of our local State Police post. I asked him if he had ever heard of Uncle Howard. Captain Mort told me that Howard was notorious when he was young and had been involved in several gun fights which was not uncommon in rural Kentucky in the old days. Capt. Mort said that the old timers say that Howard was not one to "trifle" with. Judging from the way the conservation officer handled the deer registration, I'd have to say that the Captain and David were telling the truth.
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