HUNTING WITH MARION

I KNOW A LOT OF YOU HAVEN'T ENJOYED MY DEER HUNTING POSTS, BUT YOU HAVE ONE MORE TO READ. ACTUALLY, THIS IS THE LAST OF MY MEMOIRS, THIS COMPLETES EVERYTHING I HAVE INCLUDED IN "THE LAUGH & TIMES OF MUSHY". FROM HERE ON...IT'S JUST THE HERE AND NOW!

Marion Henry is a friend of mine, but we rarely see each other anymore. He still works and I’m retired, and our lives have gone in different directions. However, I miss him, as I’m sure he does me, because we will always share the memories of our deer scouting and hunting days together.

I must tell you up front that Marion is a black man, a very muscular and handsome black man that always turned women’s heads. I only tell you this because of the circumstances of this story. It was never important to me that Marion was black, because, truth be known, I rarely thought or cared about it.

The fact is that Marion and I scouted and hunted deer in Tennessee counties that have a history of not being very tolerant of “black folks!” However, we did not let that stop us. We would often go into these areas and the woods there well before daylight and come out only after dark.

I did not realize until Marion and I was on our first outing that Marion had never been to most of the areas we visited. He explained that black people just do not get out and roam the back roads of the south, but especially where it is known they were not historically welcome.

Cumberland and Scott Counties are two of those areas in East-Tennessee. As a small child I remember my dad pointing out a sign at the city limits of Crossville, one of the "sundown towns", that plainly stated, “N--ger, don’t let the sun set on you here!”

I felt so sad for Marion not being allowed to enjoy the countryside that I took for granted, and I felt very ashamed. However, he has a great sense of humor and seemed to feel comfortable as long as I was with him. I remember him telling me once, as we sneaked into and out of Oneida, on our way to Big South Fork, that “You know J. Paul, if they catch us, they’ll hang me!”

I had never given that much thought, but realized it was never far from his mind. “Well, if they do, I’ll hang with you,” and I meant it!

The whole thing was just something I had never thought about, and I hated that I had to then. But, I did enjoy my time with Marion and teaching him the “ropes!”

I remember encouraging him to buy a Ruger .270, and then inviting him over to try it out. I warned him about how the rifle would recoil and about how to hold the rifle and position the scope so that it did not hit him in the forehead. Unfortunately, he forgot and the powerful rifle “half-mooned” him right between the eyes! After that, I think he was a bit “gun shy” and anticipated the recoil by pushing forward as he shot. Therefore, his aim was not quite what it should have been.

This habit would come back to haunt him later.

Marion loved the woods, dressing up in camo, and spending the day traipsing around looking for deer sign. After pointing out several things he had never noticed, he began calling me “Kemo Sabe!”

He patterned his hunting after me, sitting very still behind camouflaged netting, and the results thrilled him. One day I heard a “whoop and holler” coming from his direction, so I quickly made my way to his stand. A doe had come to his netting, looked him in the eye, and poked it with her nose. Marion could not believe it! “You were right Kemo Sabe!” He would not have been happier had he actually killed a deer!

It turned out that when I told him the story of a doe sticking her head over my netting and into my blind that he did not believe me. He never again questioned my advice.

Then there was the day I will always regret. I was almost asleep in my blind when Marion touched off a round about 100 or so yards away. My heart leaped with excitement, anticipating that he had downed his first deer!

When I arrived where Marion stood pacing back and forth, he was beside himself. “He was right here J. Paul! He was right here and had a rack…must have been 12 points!”

“Did you hit’em? Which way did he go?” My heart was beating as if I had shot at the buck myself.

“I don’t know…he ran…he ran that way,” he said pointing!

I combed the area, asking again and again where the buck was standing when he shot. I looked and looked, even down on my hands and knees, but I could not find a blood trail, or the first drop.

Suddenly, I spotted a tuff of white hair and right over from it, in line with Marion’s stand, was a bullet hole in the base of a small tree. My heart sank. I knew immediately what had happened. Marion had anticipated the recoil and pushed the weapon forward, causing the bullet to rake the buck’s underbelly, taking only hair!

“How did you find that Kemo Sabe?”

“I don’t know…but man, I sure am sorry.”

I got an email from Marion the other day and this was how he remembered that event:

“J. Paul,

You took this picture during one of our scouting trips. It was a cool damp rainy Sunday. I remember you telling me to stand by the tree and blend in.

This was also the general location that I missed that deer that to me looked like a moose. It stomped and snorted from behind me (I was in my camouflaged fabric blind) and I was afraid to turn around for fear that I would spook him. My heart was pounding hard and loud. I am surprised that the pounding of my heart didn’t spook him. All that I could do was turn my head as far as possible and peek out the corner of my eyes to get a look at this beast. He was probably an eight or ten pointer. Then I heard him move on, so I slowly stood and turned, trying to make as little noise as possible and scanned the area, the beast had disappeared. I repositioned myself on my hunting seat and began to relax again, and then out of nowhere the beast reappeared, no more than twenty yards from my stand. My heart began to pound loudly again. I was unable to control my breathing. I watched as the beast of a deer with antlers that looked more like moose antlers walked into an opening directly in my line of sight not more than 20 yards from my blind. I slowly raised my Ruger M-77 Bolt Action .270 (newly purchased) and found the beast in my Charles Daly scope. Buck fever had yet another victim! I could not steady my weapon. My heart was pounding even louder now; my breathing was very erratic and uncontrollable. Knowing that I only had seconds before the beast would move out of the opening and into the wooded area, I aimed slightly behind the right front shoulder and without hesitation squeezed off a round.

Well you know the rest of the story, we found some fur but not blood…I guess I was unable to time my shoot between the erratic breathing and heat pounding. But as you can tell, it was an experience that I will always remember and cherish. I have many experiences that we spent together and they will always be very special to me.”

Anyway, on the out chance the round had passed through the deer without leaving blood, we scouted the area in ever enlarging circles for over an hour, but my first conclusion was exactly what had happened.

However, Marion had a deer tale he could tell his friends, but I don’t think it was ever as important, or as exciting, to him as the doe’s nose!

I miss our time my friend. I love ya!