The Last Day of the Season

The ranch hand hunted during the late 70's in the Sabine River bottom on near a 1000 acre deer hunting lease that was wild and woollie.

About 1978 found the would be venison shooter at the last day of the season about a 100 yards off the river on the stand til plumb dark with not hide nor hair of a deer for the entire effort.

Disappointed, but cold and ready to be home, the ole fat boy eased the '64 Chevy truck in the direction of Marshall up the pitch black, lonely cow path to the paved road. Unfortunately, an error in navigation judgement resulted in dropping to the pickup frame in a black sucking mud hole bog that an elephant could not have escaped from?

After hours of digging, shovin' "stuff" under the tires, and plain pushin', shovin', coaxin' that 1/2 ton puppy to walk out of the mud, it was evident that a L-O-N-G walk to town in the dark was gonna happen.

Imagine this: The night was dark as sin, the "hunter" was clad head to toe in "camo", and mud was caked an inch deep from eyeball to toes? Who was gonna pick up this miscreant "hitchhiker" on Texas 43 in the dark of night?

Imagine the anticipation when the lost soul heard a tractor chugging his way and saw the pale yellow light of its frontal beacon pointing the way toward the river?

That blessed farmer, looking for a lost cow, pulled JRM's little truck from the bog and allowed a cold, dirty (empty handed) hunter to make it home on the last day of the season.

Dang, if only that was the "worst" story the ranch hand could tell about hunting miscues?