by, 11-10-2009 at 03:24 PM (3457 Views)
Every hunter or fisherman is after the same thing—a trophy. The hunter wants a deer/elk/moose/pronghorn that will make Boone and Crocket. The fisherman is after a bass/walleye/trout that he or she can hang on the wall to make others envious. That is where the snitch comes in.
I’m not speaking here of human snitches, although heaven knows that they are bad enough. The human snitch is one who gives out bad information in order to make others fail in their quest to gain their trophies.
I’ve heard it all before. The hunter will say something along these lines: “Well, you can’t eat antlers!” They say this with a straight face, usually while relaxing in their easy chair right under a mounted deer head, or surrounded by mounted racks. They give advice in reams about exactly where you can get that trophy buck. If you have the slightest common sense, you will ignore this as it is certain to make you fail.
Likewise if a fisherman offers to allow you to fish that fishing hole that always produces fish, find another hole. If there were trophy fish there, they’d be fishing the hole themselves.
Contrary to what non-hunters think, a hunter doesn’t just jump up and decide to take off hunting. No. They have a long amount of preparation. If they are hunting this season, the preparation will have begun at the end of last season. They will be out scouting game trails, examining tracks, and looking for peeled saplings. By the time the actual hunt takes place they will have a detailed map of where they plan to hunt stored away in the vast reaches of their mind.
Likewise, fishermen will be scouting fishing holes, scouring the lakes with state of the art fish finders, and examining every dead insect along the banks of their favorite cheek. Their mind is obsessed with actually tying in to a big fish, and no detail is small enough to be simply ignored.
Now comes the snitch. It goes something like this: You have by careful analysis determined the optimum hunting area. You get in before the crack of dawn using every trick in a hunter’s arsenal to ward against betraying your presence to the game you are seeking. This includes camouflage, scents, deer stand, etc. You set up shop and wait for that trophy buck. Then the crows take off chattering all the way.
Cursing the crows, you pray that they haven’t given your position away. You could save that thought, it is far too late. The snitch has been alerted.
About a mile away your trophy buck raises his head, thanking his good friends the crows. He sidles up to a little button buck.
“Pst! Hey, bud. Yes, you. You know, I’m really sorry I teased you about your rack.” He lowers his head to stifle his snort of laughter. “I’m gonna make it up to you, what say? You like apples, right? Well, there’s a good apple tree about a mile over that way.” He gestures with his outstanding rack. “They’re all yours. Bon apatite!”
The button buck falls all over himself thanking the big buck. “Gosh! I thought you didn’t like me! You’re a pal, man!” The button buck dashes off while the trophy buck snickers. The button buck comes right up to you, looking around in vain for the promised apples. The trophy buck cocks his head, listening for the shot. Dang! You passed on the button buck.
Now he goes over to a nice spike buck and repeats his story, using acorns this time, as he knows the spike to love them. The spike offers the excuse that he’s standing ankle deep in acorns at the moment. The trophy pooh-poohs the spike’s answer.
“The acorns down there are much better. If I didn’t have to watch these does, I’d be eating them myself. Then I thought of you. No sense wasting good acorns, is there?” The spike dashes your way, and the trophy listens again for the shot. Blast it! You passed on the spike as well, although it was tempting.
Now the trophy glances around. There is that four-pointer that he thrashed the other day for making eyes at his does. Perfect patsy! He comes up with a new story.
“Pst! Hey, bud! You know that little doe you liked? I saw her go down that way a little while ago. Why don’t you go down and make yourself better acquainted? Yeah, I know I beat you up, but I’m making amends, guy. I’m sorry. She’s waiting down that game trail, about a mile, OK?”
The four-pointer, hormones ablaze, dashes off down the trail. This time, you decide that that’s a pretty good rack and after all, you can’t eat antlers. So you take the shot. The trophy buck fairly dances with glee. Snitching worked, and now he can go about his business in peace. Of course, that’s when your buddy kills him.
Later back in camp, your buddy offers to give you advice on hunting, pointing out that you were only a mile away.
His story of the hunt will always include that fact. “When I got this here trophy buck, ol’ Bob, (if that happens to be your name), was only a mile away. Bob had to settle for a four-pointer while I got this baby! Made Boone and Crocket, don’t ya know?”
Ah, I do believe that it is a felony to shoot hunting partners, even if they insist on telling the same story over and over unless your name happens to be Dick Cheney. But I digress.
Thoroughly disgusted, you grab rod and reel and head off to your favorite fishing hole licking your wounds. A good fishing trip should sooth your frayed nerves. Meanwhile, a trophy bass is sidling up to a mere fingerling and saying:
“Pst! Hey, bud!”