Prose and Poaching: My Hunting Adventure

At 0700 this morning I awoke to the sound of my alarm in anticipation of an eventful day of hunting. An hour and a half later I got out of bed. I then loaded up my transport and ventured out into the great beyond.

My destination: Potlach, Idaho. My mission: Sustenance. My target: The Ring-neck Pheasant.

By all indications, it appeared to be a fine day for the hunting and pursuit of wild game. On the open road I passed broad fields harvested this autumn for their exotic bounty of wheat and lentils. I maneuvered my vehicle aptly and was confident in my preparations.


At last, I arrived at my destination. I nimbly exited my four-wheeled carriage and took in the vast and open vista around me. I inhaled the crisp, cold Idaho air and began my trek out into a snow-covered windswept oat field. Alas, I was not the first to make my way across the rugged land, nor would I be the last. Not more than a day before had a hunter and his canine companion traversed the same field as I in pursuit of cock and quail. Ah, but the able hunter is never deterred in his quest for nourishment. I kept on.

With the sun on my back and the wind in my face I made way through dense cover and over frozen ground. The first signs of the elusive bird! A half dozen or more of the female variety, too pure to be taken with my 12 gauge weapon. I need only wait a moment more, I told myself, as the excitement welled up inside of me like warm brandy and the musical stylings of Tony Bennett.

But the day wore on. I tired. My bones began to ache and a chill had come over me. Had I come too late? Was all my effort and toil for naught? My fear of failure engulfed me. What lies ahead for the woeful hunter with an empty stomach? Soon, survival and the warmth of my cottage entered my mind. A long journey northward awaited me and my prospects were dim. Defeated and broken, I retreated to my four-cylinder vehicle.

The weary hunter's lonely and humble walk

As my body warmed and my spirit brightened, I realized not all hope was lost. Thoughts of kin and Christmas tidings were in my future. A fortnight of holiday cheer and companionship were on my mind. Even the signs for lost travelers reminded me that I am surrounded by great minds and inspiration. Unbeknownst to me, I was nearer to my lawyering brethren than I had realized. The Ivy League is for weak minds and simple hearts, I am a Vandal!

Let's just say if I was hunting for survival, I might have needed to eat Tippy for dinner tonight.