Pass The Ammo

Found this. Apparently it was a real conversation.

Allegedly the German air controllers at Frankfurt Airport are renowned as a short-tempered lot. They, it is alleged, not only expect one to know one’s gate parking location, but how to get there without any assistance from them. So it was with some amusement that we (a Pan Am 747) listened to the following exchange between Frankfurt ground control and a British Airways 747, call sign Speedbird 206.

Speedbird 206: “Frankfurt, Speedbird 206 clear of active runway.”

Ground: “Speedbird 206. Taxi to gate Alpha One-Seven.”

The BA 747 pulled onto the main taxiway and slowed to a stop.

Ground: “Speedbird, do you not know where you are going?”

Speedbird 206: “Stand by, Ground, I’m looking up our gate location now.”

Ground (with quite arrogant impatience): “Speedbird 206, have you not been to Frankfurt before?”

Speedbird 206 (cooly): “Yes, twice in 1944, but it was dark,…… and I didn’t land.”

At last someone has heard our call
We, left behind, we left to fall.
Our views no longer meet the test
Of what is true and right and best.
Was good enough for our father founders,
But not for multicultural bounders,
Who snidely slide us to the side,
Who denigrate and sly deride,
Dismiss us who would celebrate,
Our beliefs, traditions on this date.

So now we’re truly grateful all,
For Speaker Hastert’s Protocol.
Which says for those who truly see
That giant spruce as a Christmas tree.
Not a tree for some vague holiday,
But a tree that truly lights our way,
And signifies for us a season,
That makes us ponder, makes us reason,
And recognizes a spiritual nation,
With a founding Christian orientation.

So Speaker Hastert speaks for me
When he says that is a Christmas Tree;
Not a tree for some vague holiday,
But a tree celebrates our Christian way;
A spirit we share ecumenically,
With Jews and Muslims totally,
And others who believe what ‘ere,
There’re beliefs enough for all to share.
We seek nothing more than God’s blessed life,
Sheltered from a world full of natural strife.

So thanks, Mr. Speaker, for your bold call,
We say God bless you, one and all.

Merry Christmas!

We started out good and early. Jonas and I grabbed our coffee, and we headed to Mikes house around 5:45. We climbed into his rig and headed out anticipating a full days hunt ahead of us. We arrived in the woods, and began our drive up the small mountain range.

It was a brisk Idaho morning with the clear skys above us, and you could see the lake from where we started. The weather station predicted heavy snowfall in the afternoon. After about 3 hours of driving the backroads, we finally spotted a deer on a draw in the distance. We pulled up to the closest road to that draw, and shuffled out in the woods, to get a clear view of where we spotted the deer.

Not long after we split up, we hear a shot come from Mike. So I make my way along the mountain to where the shot came from, and see him lookin across at the draw. Pointing out, he looks at me and whispers “I just saw a huge buck head into the thick”. It had to be 300 yards plus, over to the other side. His shot was off, so we all sat and watched, waiting for him to come out of the thicket. About 20 minutes later, I noticed the head of a doe pokin out from behind some trees pretty close to where we last spotted that buck. Two more filed out into the open behind her. They must have just been with the buck.

We each take turns taking a shot at a doe. But the distance is too great, and with a slight breeze blowing, it was hard to place the slug where we wanted it. We watch as the deer climb to the top and cross over the ridge out of sight.

Mike still suspects that the buck is hunkered low in the brush, because we haven’t seen him make his way out. I take the task of hiking up the mountain, in a attempt to flank the buck from the left, and hopefully push him out into the open. It was our best chance.

After makin’ pretty good time gettin’ up to the top of the ridge, I began walking down the ridge just above to where the buck was last spotted. They signal me, and I began a climb back down into the thick. I follow a set of fresh tracks, but I run into several more tracks, and I’m not sure which ones to follow. So I noisily make my way around the brush. Nothing. No movement, and no sightings. He must have slipped out when we weren’t watching.

Mike suggests going to another spot that he’s hunted in the past, so we jump in the rig to head back down. It’s when we get down to the bottom, when we make a turn, and right there stands a doe and a big ol’ buck. They’re standing in the open, right next to a thick tree line not even 50 yards away. The buck stares at us, and not moving a muscle. We freeze and stare back. Is he gonna bolt? Nope.

Mike slowly reaches below his seat and pulls “The Raging Bull”. A Taurus .454 Magnum with a scope. Slowly opening his door, and walking to the rear of his truck, he levels his hand cannon at the buck. Perfect shot. The buck stumbles and goes down.

It was great. So we excitedly ran over to inspect this trophy. A nice 5 x5 rack (or 10 point in southern terms :wink:) He had some chips on one of the tines, where he’d been fighting, as well as a good scar on his underside and a split ear.

So we load him up, drop him off at Mike’s shop, snap pictures, and go to lunch.

After eating lunch, and making an ammo run, we head back out for the last attempt to get my deer. We’re down the same road that we took the buck on, and it wasn’t too far off that I spot a big doe feeding under a tree. I holler to stop, and I jump out of the truck with my rifle in hand. I get her in sight, and draw a bead. Perfect shot. So I tag her, Jonas helps me pull her up the hill toward the truck, and we load her up. After picking up Mikes buck back at the shop, we take em out to a guttin’ spot in the woods and do the dirty deed.

It was a great last day of the season.