The Myth, Truth, Fact, And Experience Of The Hunt

Dear Hearts,

We, as humans, shape fact into myth.

“I thought of these things as I read the historical markers across the country, thought of how the myth wipes out the fact.” Travels With Charley John Steinbeck

Our Faiths depend on myth. Adam and Eve. (Yes, I am a devout Catholic—but I believe in evolution as does The Church.) The Good Ol’ Days. Cowboys and Indians. Normal Rockwell. My memory of my college years.

In the summer, a dragonfly landed on my rearview mirror while I was visiting Gran.

Fact.

I fully believe that dragonfly was a sign from God.

Experience. A myth I tell myself? Maybe. So what? That’s my experience.

The Great Buffalo Hunt of 2016

“You can buffalo hunting with us if you want.” Rancher

“Me?! No way, I’d make a noise and scare them all away.”

“No, you won’t. It’ll be fine.”

Dad nodded.

I like to stay up late—that is how I am built. That night I fell asleep around 10 not fully believing that I was going on my first hunt. And a buffalo hunt no less.

Dad’s life-long dream. 55,000 acres in Nebraska. A really attractive, but very married, Rancher (just five years my senior). Experiencing Dad’s life-long dream and spiritual experience.

Originally, we were going to take horses out on the ranch and find the buffalo. I was a little nervous since I’d not ridden in at least 15 years, but I was confident I could stay on the horse. I would behind the two men with the guns. However, the Nebraska wind was whipping at around 40 miles per hour. There was a new dusting of snow on the prairie. It was fucking colder than Hillary Clinton’s heart—or a witch’s teet. Take your pick. So we used Rancher’s flat-bed truck.

Driving into The Ranch the day before, Dad and I saw the herd of buffalo. We stopped on the six-mile driveway and watched them grace 200 yards away. Dad saw the Buffalo he wanted. The big bull with the tri-color coat. (Black, brown, and a hint of red.)

 Driving in Rancher’s truck we could not find them for two hours. We bumped along over hill and dale. Dad assured me that we wouldn’t tip over. I have no fear of that. Something about the Rancher—not his looks!—inspired a quiet calmness in me. I trusted him. 55,000 acres is a lot of fucking acres.

I will admit that I wanted to find them that day. I didn’t want to have to get up early AGAIN the next day. (Since I’ve stopped working, I have become indulgent in my sleeping habits.)

Finally, Rancher spotted them about a half mile away on a hill. I hung back (behind the guys with the guns—rifles and pistols) as Dad and Rancher quietly approached the herd. These buffalo are not that easily spooked due to their accidental socialization. In the winter, Rancher feeds his cattle with hay in various places on the ranch. If the buffalo are around, they are going to join the buffet. Why work for it, if you can get it for free?

At about 200 yards Rancher and Dad stopped. The big bull—the one Dad admired the day before stood in the middle of the herd. Quietly, Dad walked 50 yards closer to the herd. He sat down Indian Style (screw PC) and put his elbows on his knees forming a human tripod of sorts. Dad had departed brother’s gun, which had helped him get two caribou and quite a few dear. He took aim. A calf walked in front of the bull and Dad’s shoulders sagged.

Wait. Patience. Dad always said that was quintessential in hunting. I now stood with Rancher—or a little behind. Listen, buffalo are mother-fucking huge. They have no natural predators except man. If a bull charges you, you’d better have a gun or some kind of defense, otherwise you’re gonna be Saint Peter.

The wind buffeted the prairie and us. I saw Dad take aim again. He didn’t move. I could tell he was not fully with us. He and the bull were in their own private reality. Eventually, the calf jogged away, leaving the bull in the clear. “…Our destiny from the beginning…”

Shot One. The Buffalo stopped. Just stopped. The herd took off. They ain’t stupid. Shot Two. The Buffalo went down. He was fighting to get up. Dad shouldered his rifle and walked closer to the bull with his .44. Rancher and I moved forward. Well, Rancher moved forward and I stayed a step behind. He had the gun.

50 yards. Dad put a bullet behind the bull’s ear. The bull’s head sagged, but remained upright. Rancher delivered the mercy shot to the spine. Dad came to hunt a buffalo. To comingle his and the Buffalo’s souls. The Buffalo would have bled out, but he was also suffering. Rancher knew exactly where to put the mercy shot.

The 1,100 pound Buffalo was down. Dad also knelt down and put his hand on the still-breathing Buffalo. He whispered to him. I walked up behind Dad now, unable to stay away.

“Let go. Just let go. Your life will be honored,” I said.

The Buffalo blinked his eye and took one last breath that came from his nose in a giant puff before the wind took it away.

At the suggestion of an Indian, I took out my American Spirit Cigarettes, broke it in half over the Buffalo and lit up. I inhaled and passed the cigarette to Dad.

We stood together—not over—together with the Buffalo. Our souls forever entwined. Tears in Dad’s eyes as he thanked God again and again: tears in my eyes as I witnessed Dad’s reverence, awe, and joy.

I have never been on a hunt and I’ve never seen an animal shot. I did not feel bad that this resplendent creature breathed no more, because the Buffalo will also breathe within me, Dad, and Rancher.

Something changed in me forever that day. I am not sure what exactly that is yet. But something changed forever. The Buffalo is part of me now, too.

Thank you, Wakan Tanka. Thank you, God. Thank you St. Michael. Thank you, Mother Mary. (I had my Marian and Michael rosaries in my bra.)

Several days later the meat packer gave two of the rifle bullets, from the Buffalo, to Dad. I have one and he has one.

When I hold that bullet, it whispers to me.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: "Have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the eart." Genesis