Luke's Way Part 2

�How�s it going?� my freind from Kentucky inquires. �Great� I reply, aware that in that moment I might have wasted the last ounce of contrived optimism I may somehow have still been in possession of, and would be utterly bankrupt of positive thoughts when I get to my stand this afternoon. �What�s up?�

�Well, you know, Luke has been talking about wanting to hunt, and I don�t hunt, so I was wondering if you would take him hunting?� My friend Rob is not an avid outdoorsman, preferring to heap his genius upon more predictable and controllable things than nature, such as computers. I have considered the wisdom of his choices while freezing in my deer stand and have found them to be admirable, especially admirable this deer season.

�Has Luke ever been deer hunting?� I ask.
�Not really. We shot his .22 a few times together, though.�
�At what?� I ask.
�Cans, mostly.�
�Uh-huh.�
�See, all of his friends are starting to go hunting with their Dads or uncles, you know, everybody hunts down here.�

�Well, I�d love to see you guys, and I think it would be great to get Luke out hunting. Maybe we could go for squirrels.� I was thinking it might be better to postpone this hunting expedition idea until after deer season was over, so I could finish my languishing campaign in peace. There was only a week to go.

�Were you thinking in a few weeks� I asked?

�Well, we could do it next weekend�� I did the mental math. That would be the last weekend of deer season. But, for goodness sake, I had better at least see a deer by then.

�That will work just fine. Make sure Luke brings warm clothes and good boots. We have snow. Should be great hunting weather.� I can never pass up an opportunity to share the hunting tradition with a youngster. Besides, if I have wrecked my deer karma, maybe this will help.

The days passed by much like the preceding days of deer season, though I did at least get a fleeting glimpse of a doe or two, and even a handsome buck passed by out of range. The weather got colder, the ground squirrels seemed to disappear, and the snow deepened by the time Luke and Rob arrived. Shots were infrequently heard now, and my musings were muffled in the snowy quiet of the winter woods. I heard the dogs barking back up at the house and guessed that my hunt for the afternoon was over, that the Squirrel Hunting Expedition had begun. As I lowered my gun to the ground and climbed out of my tree stand, I heard the alarm chirp of a gray squirrel. I noted his location, and thought �Now don�t you guys all disappear too, Mr. Gray Squirrel.�

I made the hike back to the house quickly. It was easier now that I didn�t carry the back pack loaded with rope and knives and other sundries needed in the event one slew a deer. Now I just carried my gun and a handful of shells. Luke and Rob were standing on the steps, hands on hips, looking at the frozen lake, while my labs entreated the new arrivals to heed their wagging and whining. I felt my spirits lift a little from the heaviness I was beginning to suffer from the battles with self-doubt in the deer campaign.

We entered the house where my wife had a cozy fire going and delicious smells to greet our guests. Both Rob and Luke were immediately under the spell of our little piece of heaven, and by dinner time, Luke was being regaled by stories of �Myself as Great Waterfowl Hunter.� He listened enthusiastically to my tales, and my labs wagged their tales where appropriate. Rob also indulged me and encouraged me to continue with laughter and questions. As I was pouring a wee bit more wine into my glass, Luke deadpanned: �What about the deer?�

Waxing nostalgic about hunting aesthetics is one thing, but it should not be forgotten that hunting has its origins in a fairly straightforward requirement to put meat on the table. Leave it to a child to do so well what most adults have an increasingly more difficult time of. Ask the hard ones. Cut to the chase, get to the bottom line, and don�t equivocate. So there it was, the question laid before me. �Meat, or no meat?� �Success, or failure?� I looked into this aspiring hunter�s eyes and I could see that no flowery talk of �enjoying nature being the point of hunting� was going to fly. I think he understood the point was to hunt, which is more than to kill, and he was asking just how I was faring in that department. I cleared my throat, breaking the silence. �This is the year of the buck� I said flatly. �I have hunted hard for him, and he has eluded me. I haven�t seen many deer at all, and I have killed none.� I took a gulp of wine and swallowed. More silence.