Me and Other Great Hunters: A Humorous Look at True Events in the Sport

My father had a hunting companion whose name was Hill and I don't believe I ever heard him called by any other name. In any event, I never knew him by any other name and I was present on many hunts with him.

In the early 1960'a, the three of us drove up South Cottonwood just before sun up and I took off walking and worked my way up into the timber. My dad and Hill drove a couple of miles further up the road and positioned themselves so that they could watch the ridge in case I happened to spook something out.

I was still in the heavy timber above the ridge and working my way toward their position when I heard two or three shots and then silence. I continued on and it was a good thirty minutes before I cleared the timber and could observe the ridge. I noticed Hill near the ridge and he was just finishing field dressing a two point buck. I was still two hundred yards away when he stood up, slung his rifle over his neck and across his chest. Hill was a tall man with an athletic build and very agile for his age. He had the deer's head laying slightly downhill and as I watched, he backed up to the antlers, grabbed one in each hand and started straight down the hill, pulling the deer head just behind him.

The terrain was very steep and as they descended, Hill's feet were slipping and his momentum was increasing. It was obvious that Hill was losing control and he was breaking into a run when the inevitable happened. Hill's feet both simultaneously went out from under him and the deer's head came forward with the end result of his being impaled on the horns. Hill let out a bellow, characteristic of a man who had been gored, and then turned the air blue with profanity as he struggled to regain his feet. He failed to get up until he had rolled sideways and with both hands, he pushed the horns backward until he was disengaged.

I started picking my way down the ridge toward Hill and in the morning air, I could plainly hear him half moaning and cursing while he flailed around on the ground. I was still some fifty yards uphill when he regained his feet, grabbed the deer by the back legs and resumed his downhill trek moving a great deal slower and with a noticeable limp.

In the meantime, my Dad had moved the car down the road to intercept Hill at the nearest accessible point and by the time I arrived, Hill had already dropped his pants to show off his wounds. It was obvious that Hill had received the full impact of all four points, two on each side of his buttocks, and they appeared deep.

It was suggested that maybe medical assistance should be sought and Hill quickly vetoed any thoughts of a doctor. He continued to complain and curse the day of birth of the dead two point and refused any offers of assistance.

I managed to limit myself to only a few snickers but finally couldn't control myself any longer and told Hill that he probably would live since it was a long way from his heart. He was pulling up his pants while glaring at me and I added, 'Besides, it could have been worse. It could have been a six point'! Hill murmured something about wise guys and gingerly climbed into the front seat. I assisted my Dad in loading the deer in the trunk and we headed for town. I did mention to Hill that he should consider this a great hunting trip since he had a nice buck and a great tale to tell but I could tell from the anguish on his face, he was not in the mood for compliments. The thought also occurred to me that it was fortunate that it wasn't a unicorn, but I kept this to myself with a great deal of difficulty as I tried tosuppress my laughter.