Hunting Season

My first hunting trip was one  to 'Dry Creek,' a little west of Lakeview, Oregon, in the south central part of the State.  On the way there, while we were skirting the lake, we stopped and someone in the party shot at a goose with his hi-powered rifle (didn't hit it of course).  On arriving at the camp site, we no sooner departed the vehicles, than Dad (Johnnie) & Uncle Gene started arguing about which way was north (I don't remember who was right).  That was the campsite from which we found the 'thunder eggs' nest, and I still have one today.  Dunc LaChapelle, always with his priorities in order, had his 'worldwide radio,' and we listened to football games after returning from a 'morning' hunt.

    On another time, when I was not there, Mike Johanesson, on maybe his first hunt, shot an elk (in deer season), & I think that his father, Jack, at that point,  may have packed up their bags & gone home.

    One time I was hunting by myself (not a good idea), at a logged off area on (or adjacent to) the Woosley property on the North Fork of the Siuslaw, near Florence.  I was sitting on a stump, bored, when some deer moved down the opposite hillside.  I didn't see a buck (which was in season), but thought I'd practice my trigger squeeze, for when I needed it. I sighted on a deer, squeezed the trigger, the gun went off, and the deer dropped. But it was a doe, out of season.  What to do?....I went over & field dressed (gutted it out), and hung it from a crotch of the nearest tree.  Then the moral dilemma became: should I tell anyone?  I told the Woosleys, and the deer either remains in that tree, or as memories from the Woosley's freezer. (And since there are few sins as great at wasting game, what do you suppose is the answer?)