When we could run like deer

Some memories stay with you, etched forever in your being. Yet, each time you look back on them, they get smaller, like road signs in the rear-view mirror, like the dreams you once had, or the years that remain. And, as you approach the corner all of us will eventually turn — that dark lane where those memories are no longer reflected — you cherish them more. There was a time when I could run like a deer. Looking at me now, I suppose that’s hard to imagine. Yet, it is true. I believe every old hunter has such a story — the kind that young hunters listen to, smirk at, and take with a grain of salt. Not because the tale is totally unbelievable, but because they can’t imagine the old person as they once were — youthful, lean, and hungry, when they did not carry the baggage and the wear and tear brought on by the years. They cannot envision them when their reflexes were quicker, their thoughts more decisive, and their muscles more able. Brimming with confidence I cannot remember the exact year, but I know it was in the 80s, when I was perhaps 25. We were hunting in the Parry Sound District, in our first organized deer camp. There were five of us: Jerry, my brother Martin, Ron, Joe, and myself. Together, we had the know-how of those who have read too many outdoors magazines and watched too many deer hunting videos. Like all young men, we offered advice we had never had the occasion to use and bull-shitted about experiences we had yet to earn. We were brimming with unfounded confidence and filled with boundless hope. We arrived to good weather on the Friday before the hunt, but by Sunday morning, the picnic table in front of the trailer was submerged in a snow drift. When the ploughs came by, Martin, Jerry, and Ron left — work was beckoning anyhow. Joe and I stayed, but only because we had faith that his Toyota Four-Runner would get us out should the weather continue to deteriorate. It turned out the weather improved drastically. By Monday, a warm spell began decimating the deep snow. So much so that Joe and I decided to explore and scout. We found an old logging road on a parcel of land we could hunt on. Better still, fresh deer tracks were