Years ago on the opening day of Mississippi's bow season I found myself walking through a slough behind a lush, knee deep, emerald green clover field. We'd seen plenty of deer in that field and I knew there was some serious sign in the slough behind it, so I walked in there with my climber mid-morning to find a tree to inhabit.
I took my climber off my pack and leaned it up against me as I pondered the choices I had in front of me. This was a great spot, and all I needed was to find a tree thick enough, and straight enough to hang out in for a few hours.
About that time I felt something crawling on my lip. "Ugh, I hate spiders" I thought to myself. I swatted at it and it bit me something fierce. I couldn't believe the shot that spider just delivered. "What kind of spider bites like that?!" I swung again and BAM! I got another one. That completely knocked me out of my "which tree" train of thought and I stepped back, to swat again, letting my climber fall to the ground. To my astonishment, and then horror, I realized I'd set my stand down on a rotten log that was home to thousands of hornets. As I stood there dreaming of big bucks and wondering which tree might be the most comfortable, they had been absolutely boiling out of that log, screaming for vengeance.
I got hit again, and again. After a few seconds of trying to comprehend the situation I took off running. I hit the edge of the field maybe thirty yards away and slowed down to catch my breath and feel some relief at having made it out of there. BAM! BAM! They were still hammering me. Then I took off like Forrest Gump. My truck was maybe 120 yards across the field and I flew like the wind to get to it. As I reached the other edge of the field I slowed again and BAM! They were still on me. I thought to myself "What type of bees are these?!"
At that point I was in full "flight" mode. They had me on the run, I knew it, they knew it, every squirrel that watched me haul butt across that field knew it. There was no more attempt to hang onto pride or appearance, I was running for my life. Next I knew I had to get into my truck without getting stung anymore. I guess I've watched too many cartoons because the only idea that came to me was to unlock the truck on the way by with the remote, run past it, do a hard 180 to "lose them" then run back and jump in. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
After a panicked *** moment in the cab I drove back to the barn madder than hell. My heart was racing and everything was throbbing. I'd been stung 13 times, almost entirely in the face and neck, with a few on my hands. I immediately began looking for wasp spray when I got to the barn. I was going back to destroy the entire colony. I was burning for revenge, and had extinction on my mind.
I began to feel a little less tough and sure of myself when I realized the 21 foot range on the can of wasp spray was about 200 feet short of the distance I'd like to keep from that mess. The wasps had my bow, and I can't hunt without it, so I had to go back and get it. This was opening day and I was going to be hunting. About that time my face started to feel "tight". I used my phone to take a pic and realized that my face and head were swollen beyond recognition. I looked like the elephant man. Ugh. These wasps will pay.
I drove back to the edge of the field where it met the slough. It was only about 30 yards in a straight line to my bow, but being tactically proficient, I know that you never patrol the same route twice, so I was going to take a wide circle to get down hill from my bow. Then the plan was to use a tie down strap from the truck bed, swing it around and try to use it like a grappling hook to get ahold of my bow.
I'll admit, I was pretty jumpy on the walk in, feeling severely undergunned with my one and a half cans of spray. These critters had whooped me once and I really didn't want a second lesson, but I was getting my bow back, and i was going hunting.
When I got within range of the bow I was astonished. It had been at least 30 minutes and the hornets were swirling and circling my bow like a small black tornado. They were still some kind of pissed off. I threw the hook up there and got a hold of my bow. Then I slowly dragged it out from under them. They stayed right there, and I got my bow back. I quick stepped back to the truck before anything bad could happen to my plan.
Whew. I couldn't believe the whole bit of it. My head and face were pounding and swollen, my hands were burning, and all I could think about was making sure my bow was still on so I could get a hunt in despite this fiasco in the slough. They would NOT keep me from hunting.
I walked over to the woodpile to retrieve the bow target that was sitting next to it, and I was still feeling a little jumpy. So much so that I decided to check the handle of the target before I picked it up. My heart sank. Right there on the handle I was about to grab was the blackest, greasiest, most dagger-legged black widow spider you've ever seen.
I called it quits at that point. I figured that was a sign that God simply did not want me to hunt that day. I drove home, happy to have my bow, started planning the next trip.
I took my climber off my pack and leaned it up against me as I pondered the choices I had in front of me. This was a great spot, and all I needed was to find a tree thick enough, and straight enough to hang out in for a few hours.
About that time I felt something crawling on my lip. "Ugh, I hate spiders" I thought to myself. I swatted at it and it bit me something fierce. I couldn't believe the shot that spider just delivered. "What kind of spider bites like that?!" I swung again and BAM! I got another one. That completely knocked me out of my "which tree" train of thought and I stepped back, to swat again, letting my climber fall to the ground. To my astonishment, and then horror, I realized I'd set my stand down on a rotten log that was home to thousands of hornets. As I stood there dreaming of big bucks and wondering which tree might be the most comfortable, they had been absolutely boiling out of that log, screaming for vengeance.
I got hit again, and again. After a few seconds of trying to comprehend the situation I took off running. I hit the edge of the field maybe thirty yards away and slowed down to catch my breath and feel some relief at having made it out of there. BAM! BAM! They were still hammering me. Then I took off like Forrest Gump. My truck was maybe 120 yards across the field and I flew like the wind to get to it. As I reached the other edge of the field I slowed again and BAM! They were still on me. I thought to myself "What type of bees are these?!"
At that point I was in full "flight" mode. They had me on the run, I knew it, they knew it, every squirrel that watched me haul butt across that field knew it. There was no more attempt to hang onto pride or appearance, I was running for my life. Next I knew I had to get into my truck without getting stung anymore. I guess I've watched too many cartoons because the only idea that came to me was to unlock the truck on the way by with the remote, run past it, do a hard 180 to "lose them" then run back and jump in. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
After a panicked *** moment in the cab I drove back to the barn madder than hell. My heart was racing and everything was throbbing. I'd been stung 13 times, almost entirely in the face and neck, with a few on my hands. I immediately began looking for wasp spray when I got to the barn. I was going back to destroy the entire colony. I was burning for revenge, and had extinction on my mind.
I began to feel a little less tough and sure of myself when I realized the 21 foot range on the can of wasp spray was about 200 feet short of the distance I'd like to keep from that mess. The wasps had my bow, and I can't hunt without it, so I had to go back and get it. This was opening day and I was going to be hunting. About that time my face started to feel "tight". I used my phone to take a pic and realized that my face and head were swollen beyond recognition. I looked like the elephant man. Ugh. These wasps will pay.
I drove back to the edge of the field where it met the slough. It was only about 30 yards in a straight line to my bow, but being tactically proficient, I know that you never patrol the same route twice, so I was going to take a wide circle to get down hill from my bow. Then the plan was to use a tie down strap from the truck bed, swing it around and try to use it like a grappling hook to get ahold of my bow.
I'll admit, I was pretty jumpy on the walk in, feeling severely undergunned with my one and a half cans of spray. These critters had whooped me once and I really didn't want a second lesson, but I was getting my bow back, and i was going hunting.
When I got within range of the bow I was astonished. It had been at least 30 minutes and the hornets were swirling and circling my bow like a small black tornado. They were still some kind of pissed off. I threw the hook up there and got a hold of my bow. Then I slowly dragged it out from under them. They stayed right there, and I got my bow back. I quick stepped back to the truck before anything bad could happen to my plan.
Whew. I couldn't believe the whole bit of it. My head and face were pounding and swollen, my hands were burning, and all I could think about was making sure my bow was still on so I could get a hunt in despite this fiasco in the slough. They would NOT keep me from hunting.
I walked over to the woodpile to retrieve the bow target that was sitting next to it, and I was still feeling a little jumpy. So much so that I decided to check the handle of the target before I picked it up. My heart sank. Right there on the handle I was about to grab was the blackest, greasiest, most dagger-legged black widow spider you've ever seen.
I called it quits at that point. I figured that was a sign that God simply did not want me to hunt that day. I drove home, happy to have my bow, started planning the next trip.