The Deer Hunting Trip George Whitlow Captain George, the Smoke Master General Never Will Forget- December 28, 2014

Boy Howdy, it all happened today Sunday, December 28, 2014, a few days after Christmas, on the Ouachita River near Luna, Louisiana, where all the Lunatics bark at the moon all night every June. Its Howdy Doody time. I was on the river bank about 8 miles from Phil Robertson’s doublewide house trailer as seen on the Duck Dynasty TV show. Not sure if Phil may have something a other to do with this phenomena but I would not put it past him. I tackled him a time or two When he was a Rebel and I was a Tiger.

First of all it was a miserable day to be outside for a beat-up retired, retarded, old cojar fart like me.   Boy Howdy, let me tell you what, it was colder than a well digger’s ass in China and there was a gray sky and light cold all day long rain. Florida calls it liquid sunshine. I was wanting to take my golf cart, which I was told was created for Outdoor Magazine as a woods mobile. I wanted to take old Betsy but the problem is- it ain’t no 4wheel drive. Know what I mean, Vern. Hey Jack, the last time I went deer hunting on somebody’s property, the golf cart got stuck. I had to find out whom the landowner was and ask him to pull the cart out whenever he had the time. It is still there parked in his side yard- unplugged from the electricity, which keeps the battery charged. No battery charge- no go. I wanted to use the golf cart because it is silent and the deer can’t hear you or see you and bingo. At least I wasn’t night hunting and shot somebody’s propane tank. It was momma’s propane tank and gee wiz, she was madder than a chicken in a hen house.

It’s Howdy Doody time. So I was forced to take the mule, even though she has been very sick. The mule was sick because my employees drive it, and apparently do not know how or when to put gasoline in it unless the tank is dry. I love my employees, but sometimes they are like my kids and forget things. No fuel or low fuel destroys the carburetor. Hey it is not theirs and they did not pay for it. Know what I mean, Vern. So I loaded up the mule on the trailer and pulled it with my 4-wheel drive Chevy picking up truck 10 miles down the road, opened the gate and entered somebody’s property to get to the Louisiana School Board property along the river bank.

I have hunted there 3 years and last year I saw a great big mean really mean Black Bear about 25 feet tall. I was sitting in my deer house stand box house, which I made on a boat trailer. A giant thurdy pointer buck stepped into the logging road to eat at my pile of deer corn right at dark thirty. I scoped in the deer with my 30-06, oozy, howitzer, machine gun- I was Clint Eastwood, Dirty Harry, John Wayne and G I Joe all rolled into one in my camo woods mobile with the TV, stereo, and central heating. I believe in roughing it. I even have an 8 track in there. I found out deer just love classical music like Beethoven and Bach. Fiddler on the rooftop.

Any who, here comes out this thurdy pointer and I am going to put it in his coffin, because he was created by God just for Outdoor Magazine, when this big mean hungry bear strolls out of the thicket wanting his share of my corn. I was afreared the mean ugly bear was going to eat my beautiful trophy thurdy point buck. They will put you under the jailhouse for shooting a bear around here, but I had this dilemma.  So I took out a hand grenade, pulled the pen, and lobbed it about 12 feet from the Bear. Well that noise big bang scared the bojesus out of the thurdy pointer, and he showed the white flag,  and there he was- gone.  The big bank made the big mean nasty black full grown 32 foot tall bear mean as a whole herd of bumble bees, and he come after me with a vengeance. I had put a rock under the trailer wheel, but it wasn’t quiet big enough. Next time I mean a rock.

The mean mad nasty black bear was really mad with me. He was snorting roaring growling and showing his big, shiny, really sharp teeth. He had big giant claws too, and he grabbed me by the jacket through the open window faster than I could shake a stick. Nobody knows how scared I was accepting the laundry man. Next time I’m gonna wear my brown underwear. I guarantee.

My guns fell out of the window, so I picked up another grenade and the bear knocked it out of my hand and it went off by his feet and blew a hole in the dirt that you could bury a backhoe in. All this displaced dirt ended up in the bear’s eyes and mine to boot. Boy Howdy, its Howdy Doody time. The rock came out from under the boat trailer and the box deer stand house, me and the bear tumbled down the levee into the Ouachita River. The bear grabbed me and rescued me. Then we sat and shared a peanut butter sandwich and reminisced. We are friends now and we spend time deer hunting together. True story. Ninety eight percent of everything I say is true, absolutely. Hey Jack, Uncle Si and me are brothers.

And that brings us down to today. I haven’t taken the time to hunt this year, because I been really busy with my beautiful fiancé, Pamela Kennedy. I am going to be very famous I am marrying Kennedy. Boy o Boy is she beautimus with her perfect body, long thick curly brown hair, beautiful baby blue Paul Newman eyes, and a smile that wins wars. Pam is French Cajun which means she say what she thinks and has somewhat of a temper. She laughs a lot and can’t talk without moving her hands always gathering here and there at somebody or the other, even on the telephone.  She talks a lot with her eyes. This was only my second time to hunt and the season is nearly almost over already.

So, even though Pamela asked me not to go by my lonesome, I had to.  You know it, had to go. The mule was sick and sputtered and backfired all the way 3 miles down the red clay road from the truck. I was almost on my spot along the river when I saw it. I ain’t never seen anything like it except in the funny papers, but there it was as plane as the nose on your face. It was a giant bunny wabbit 24 feet tall, with giant antelope horns. I was so shocked, I took my eyes off the road and stopped texting. I went careening off the clay road into a giant ravine and a ditch, nearly landing in the river again, the cold, cold river, yet again, in about the same exacta spot as the bear and I.  The jacolope was startled at first, then just started laughing out loud. Then he hopped on over and lifted out a horn for me to grab and pulled me and the mule up the ditch. Now the mule was really sick. I tied a rope to the jacolope’s horns and he pulled me up the road until we saw someone walking in the woods with a carbide light. We said goodbye and promised to visit again next year. I hiked the rest of the 2 miles out of the woods in the dark and finally made it to the truck and then home. And that is the rest of the story.

 

 

 

 

 

Lets go Pilgrim,

we are burning up daylight.                            

 

 

Uncle G Artie Whitlow
 
My Novel A Smoke School Prize worth keeping. 

 

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