Its been a couple of years now. The emotions have subsided to the point that I feel I can relate the story honestly and fairly. Witnessing real-world tragedy, especially a raw, primal act of man and nature, really sticks in a guys psyche. But the mind has a wonderful way of protecting sanity...knitting a cocoon of scar tissue around a particularly nasty memory as time passes. But the memory remains forever. Without further ado, The Story: I suppose a wise man would have noticed the dark clouds gathering early on and taken steps to avert certain disaster. Unfortunately for me, wisdom isnt my strong point. And so it was that I found myself in the cab of an F-250 chugging down the road in the wee hours of the morning (about 8 am). By my side was the young man that my wife blames on me, Jared Wayne Morgan, and the young lady that I blame on Jared, Sydney LaShay (collectively recognized by wise men as dark clouds of certain disaster). Together, we had struck out on a fishing adventure to Wolf Lake high in the Jackson County mountains. The drive up was relatively uneventful. Oh sure there was the typical revelry and shenanigans associated with optimistic fisherpersons on the drive to the lake...boasting of individual fishing prowess, jokes pertaining to each others real and imagined shortcomings, audible bodily functions shared proudly amongst friends, the resulting gags and window-rolling associated with the former...you know, the usual trip to the lake. We arrived at the lake at the crack of brunch to find the lake level lowered a good 30 to 40 feet. Trout Unlimited had arranged for a pipe to be installed at the dam in order to assure a constant flow of water down the old creek bed. They wanted this constant flow to create trout habitat in the formerly semi-dry creek bed below the dam. The irony of decimating the trout population of the lake in the process was apparently lost on them...but Ill save that one for a future rant. Anyway, the lake had been lowered to allow for the installation of this trout-enabling pipe. Bass boat owners across this nation understand the dilemma of arriving at the lake only to find that launching their expensive craft is risky due to low water levels. After studying the situation carefully, I came to the conclusion that Im glad that I dont own an expensive bass boat. We took the boat off the back of the truck and slid it down the 45 degree exposed lake bottom to the water below. It is at this point that a fishing expert of lesser character would go about showing off his talent by catching fish after fish while the two younger, less experienced kids sit fishless and in awe and envy of his mastery. Im proud to say that I resisted the urge to show off, choosing instead to sit fishless right along with the youngsters. In fact, I would continue to sit fishless even after the youngsters began catching fish after fish. The sacrifice of an alleged father knows no bounds. Working our way up the lake, we eventually reach a narrow, winding portion. Under normal circumstances, the lake is bordered by steeply-sloped terrain covered with thick Mountain Laurel near the waters edge, but with the much-lowered water level, a nearly vertical rock cliff rose some 20 feet above the waters edge where we sat fishing. Just as I was about to allow a touch of my fishing mastery to show through, there was a rustling sound in the laurels high above. The sound grew and became more of a crash as the mystery beast neared the edge of the cliff. While we sat looking on, a doe dear emerged from the laurels at top speed...obviously having forgotten about Trout Unlimiteds little project. Even as fast as it all happened, I could almost see the uh oh look on her face upon rediscovering that air now occupied elevations formerly occupied by water. The poor thing fell, landing on her head and neck in the rocks below. Clearly with a broken back, she crawled towards the water...and oh the sounds...the pitiful, heart-rending wailing that haunts me still today. At this point I was wondering what to do. Here we had a mortally wounded, full-grown deer on our hands and the deadliest weapon I had was a pair of needle-nosed pliers. Im not good in emergency situations even under the best of conditions but, with Sydney still emitting pitiful, heart-rending wails, thinking straight was nearly impossible. The doe drug herself into the water, took a few weak strokes, and mercifully died a few feet from our boat. I still dont know what I would have done had she not expired on her own. As fate would have it, a coworker of mine whose kinfolk own a house on the lake was there that day, so we loaded the doe up and took her to him...it seemed a shame to let her go to waste. My coworker later reported that he had called a game warden to come check her out as he was afraid that she may have been afflicted with some disease that would cause irrational behavior (Im guessing something like mad cow disease). He related our story to the game warden who reportedly gave her a clean bill of health...other than the fact that she was dead of course. I suspect it was the uh oh look still frozen on her face that ruled out viral insanity. We would go on to finish the days fishing with me managing to keep my catch rate and fish size modest so as not embarrass the kids. Overall an interesting day of bonding with the young folks with nature as both a backdrop and the centerpiece... but then came the horror of dragging the boat back up that 45 degree exposed lake bed. You didnt think the deer story was the traumatic experience I was referring to did you?
Posted on: Sun, 05 Oct 2014 19:57:56 +0000
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