Saturday, December 1, 2012

Crazy Nelli's Deli and Other Items of Import (UNCLASSIFIED)

Classification: UNCLASSIFIED
Caveats: FOUO

OK, where were we? Ah yes, you were there and I was here. Sit down will ya?
Let's see now, okay, so a few weeks ago my dad and I took Josh on his first
big game hunt as a bona fide carrier of a rifle for the elusive and ever
(less than) tasty Mule Deer. This particular hunt starts on or about the 3rd
weekend in October and has been a staple in our family for generations.
Throughout the years it's been pared down from a statewide holiday, to more
of an afterthought for your more flannel clad neighbors. See, the deer hunt
used to have an element of neighborhood pride. Now, with all the changes to
the hunting proclamation and the various and sundry intricacies involved in
applying for, and drawing the various tags, it's really become a giant pain
in the ass to be honest.
Hold on, let me explain. So, when I started hunting, you could buy a tag
over the counter, for the low-low cost of $15. It was known as a, "Big Game
License." So you had to buy your big game license, and then you could
potentially buy a bow permit, or a muzzle loader permit, or any number of
other add-ons to extend your hunt. So, from there, the State of Utah in
their finite wisdom, realized that they were harvesting too many deer. So
they stopped selling the tags over the counter, and went to a draw system.
Only, they didn't really limit the number of tags per se, and just kept on
rakin' in the revenue and then depositing it into the State General Fund for
later appropriations back to the Division of Wildlife Resources. So, the
State of Utah had a vested interest in selling more tags than we could
support and really had a limited view on what the long-term results of those
policies would be.
Well, from there, the Division decided they'd start selling me tags in about
seven different regions, and only a certain number of tags would be sold in a
given region. But, alas, they over-sold those family favorites again.
Somewhere along the way, they decided I couldn't hunt all three seasons
unless I became a, "Designated Hunter" and donated a certain number of
man-hours towards trail management and other worthwhile DWR goals. Anyhow,
about that time I started pumping out children and realized I'd just have to
choose which deer hunt I'd go on and then maybe hunt for elk for a second
outing.Well, over the course of the past 25 years since I began, we've
lowered the hunting age to 14, then to 12, and incorporated every scheme
including, "three point buck or better" as well as a slew of other programs
which somehow encourage the hunting legacy, but make it harder and harder to
actually see a buck to shoot at. So, I pretty much gave up deer hunting
about four years ago and just this year decided to put in for a tag to take
my son out and give 'er a whirl.

So, we put in for our favorite top three choices for hunting, one of which
was the "19C Tintic Range" hunting unit. It's basically a little north of
Eureka, Utah, down I-15 to Nephi, over to the Sand Dunes and back up to
nowhere. Anyhow, a few years back, (10 maybe?) we saw a deer out there, so
we figured we'd try her out. So I pretty much strong-armed Josh into missing
his football game in order to attend this most auspicious of occasions.
See, today he was about to become a man. So, I preemptively took Monday off
from work and reminded my retired dad that he should do the same. I even
offered Josh a chance to turn in his one Blue Chip for the year and miss a
day of school to shoot Bambi or maybe even Bambi's dad if time and
opportunity permitted.

So, we took off toward parts known on Friday afternoon after stacking
everything we possibly could into the back of my dad's shortbed truck.
Coolers, sleeping bags, bullets, guns...MAN did we have guns. I think we
brought three 30.06's, a 45-70, a 30-30, a .45LC, two pistols, one .44 Mag
and my .45LC and most assuredly my dad's .38 Special concealed carry wheel
gun. Just in case we had to get into it with some Mexican drug lords along
the way I guess.

So, we showed up at the first place out past mile marker OMG. "The Green
Gate" (See a trend here?) and we drove and drove and drove
and....drove...like Pioneer Children I guess. Heck, we even saw a flock of
Chukar Partridges (Bunch of little Chukars anyhow). So, we had about four
hours of daylight to do a little sight-seein' and we commenced to scoutin'
for deer(s).

Well, we went over hill, then over a dale, up a steep slope, and down a
nutherin'...and uh...well, we didn't see so much as a year old rabbit turd to
make us want to stay there for the morning hunt. So, we loaded up the truck
and moved back to Eureka. About the second time we went through town we
stopped and got some dinner. The first time we went through we scared the
bejeezus out of the local clerk at the gas station on the East side of town
when I walked in with my .45LC strapped on my side like Little Joe from
Bonanza. Anyhow, they have decent hotdogs there, but their fountain drinks
can't be carried from the top because they're in those sucky-azz Pepsi
cardboard cups that don't hold their shapes. Anyhow, so the second time we
rolled through from the other direction we left the guns in the truck and
stopped at the Sinclair to test their microwave and their prepackaged dinner
burritos. I think I had one of those Little Debbie fat pills. So, we
actually saw two or three deer under the lights in the church parking lot, so
we figured it was a good omen that we should hunt ½ mile from town the next
morning.

Listen, I gotta stop here because I gotta get home to Lexi for her birthday.
So I'll see you tomorrow k?
Hold that thought.

OK, where were we? *sip* ahhhhh yes. So, that eventide, we set up camp in a
burned-out area about .75 miles from town. I had eyes-on this giant canyon
up over the top on the North side of Eureka (pronounced, "ur-ik-a" by the
local populous). My idea, which just may have worked, was to walk up the
ridgeline, and sit our plump and round little arses up on the ridgeline near
daylight, and have someone else push the buckbrush for a change. Well, we
weren't near as fast of hikers as once we were, and we made it up onto the
ridge about 45 minutes after daybreak. Oh, it's important to note that the
only two shots we heard the entire outing were behind us, pertent near to the
area from whence we just come. Anyhow, so Josh and I start scouting for the
perfect log (don't ask) and I set him on a big rock to watch this draw.
Well, after adjusting my beltline a little tighter than five minutes prior, I
met back up with him and we watched this draw/canyon. So, after about what
seemed like an hour, dad came up over the top of the ridge and I had him and
Josh sit while I swapped dad guns and I commenced into the buckbrush with the
lever-gun. I'd pretty much decided a month earlier that with 2.3 elk in the
freezer, the idea of shooting a deer myself was fairly unpalatable, and
downright unsupportable considering our current deep-freeze storage options,
so an open sights weekend was just fine with me.
So, anyhow, Josh and dad saw a doe and a fawn, which basically constituted ¼
of the deer we would see all weekend. In fact, we didn't hear another shot
all weekend. Well, after hunting most the morning, we went back to see the
camp site and formulate an updated operations plan for to go a killin' that
afternoon.

Well, after cracking open a dozen or so eggs, and frying up some bacon, we
realized that we had neglected to bring anything but a few paper plates and a
couple of plastic forks. What we were missing was a spatula, a ladle,
um...butter...uh....bread...yeah...uh...tortillas...pretty much the makings
of a perfect camping guys' weekend-stravaganza.

So, that afternoon, we loaded up the Arctic Cat, and Suzi-Q and headed over
to a stock pond and set to hiking up this side canyon. Well, I recall my
ninja jammies, which are really nothing more than silky lingerie type thermal
underwear, were starting to sweat the nethers, and the region, and here I was
without the aide and comfort of Desitin for-to-which to alleviate my
symptoms. Well, we hiked and sweated and hunted and came up quite
empty-handed that evening.

That evening, we went into town (aint that kinda dumb after what happened
last time???) (Obscure quote from the Eastwood movie, "Pale Rider"). While
in town, all three hundred yards of it, we settled upon this little hacienda
known as, "Nell's Diner". Or something like that. Maybe it's, "Nell's Deli"
or "Deli Nelli" or whatever, it's not germane to the story. Point is, we
strolled on in the front door, and picked out a booth to sit and contemplate
our next uncalculated move. Well, while we were there, we picked some items
off the menu and were waited on what must have been a fourteen year old girl
who sold dad and I on some day-old chili (WITH cheese?) and I think I had the
breakfast dinner burrito. Dad had a cup o' Joe and I think Josh must have
eaten a sammich with the crusts cut off. No wait, Dad had a hot-ham-n-cheese
I remember, because he commented it was neither hot, nor advertised to have
included mayonnaise. Anyhow, the chili was cold in the middle, and the hot
ham wasn't made to spec., but we enjoyed not having to fire up the $19K
generator to make dinner while we weighed and measured our austere outlook
for Bambi slayin'.

Well, we all kind of started to make fun of our predicament, and somewhere
along the line we started quoting movie lines from, "The Survivors" with
Robyn Williams, as well as Pale Rider (as alluded to before) and then we just
got plum silly and started high pitched sales ideas for, "Crazy Nelli's
Deli". I'd say we had a good time to be honest. Not to mention we got to
wa(r)sh our hands before heading back into the deep recesses of Camp
Blackout, located a half mile from the last square of sidewalk.

So that night, lying there in the straw, with a good half a handful of that
self-same straw having wiggled somehow into my underoos, we slept through a
windstorm that began to lift the sides of the tent up and pretty much pull
out 1/5 of our guy ropes. I truly thought this tent would take flight. So I
ended up rolling over onto the West flap and laying on top of it, on the
wrong side for breathing, and lay there until I had to pee so bad I finally
let go the flap, and...you know what? Different audience, different time I'd
tell ya. Anyhow, once that transaction was completed, I walked over and
picked up the five gallon propane tank, which was affixed to the Big Gass
Grill, and lay it atop the flap so I could get a couple hours more rest. If
that's what ya call it.

Well the next morning, quite without a light (we had no mantles for the
lantern, and no batteries for the other, we made some breakfast concoction
under the direct light shining forth from the Arctic Cat ( aka the $19K
generator). That morning (Sunday) we took off to the furthest reaches of
civilization, and up on top of the entire range to see if we couldn't find
Josh some lousy old two-point to shoot at. Well we ended up on this trail
that was a little two narrow (narrah) for the Arctic Cat side-by-side, and we
all three ended up on Suzi-Q locked down in four low, differential lock
climbing up this trail. I was driving, dad behind me, Josh back to back with
dad, looking like quite the posse I imagine. Well I fought this thing up the
trail for what seemed like an hour and we topped out into the flats and
hunted.

About noon I decided I'd had a gut-full, and it was time to head back and see
momma and lick our wounds. We'd put in enough time, and it was threatening
to rain/sleet/hale/or snow, and I'm no postman, so I tried to talk Josh into
going home. Well, to be honest, the kid just couldn't hide his emotion and I
asked him if he thought we were giving up on him, and he nodded in the
affirmative, so we put another half a day in to hunt this austere canyon we'd
just climbed into. It's pretty much a wasteland as it was hit by a fire over
a dozen years back, and there wasn't a single tree down below, and only a
thick stand of heavy timber in the crotch of this canyon. Well, I went back
to bird-doggin' and figured as long as I was goin', I'd better git, so I got.
You know how Pioneer Children sang as they walked, and walked, and walked,
and wwwwwwwwwalked? Yeah, so did I. Otherwise I'd have froze to death when I
topped out on this windy ridge and just about blew ass over tea kettle back
with what must have been forty mile an hour wind and sixty mile an hour
gusts. But, determined not to give up on my son, I pressed on.

Well, now you've come to the end of our story and I have bad news for you.
All that foreshadowing I've been working in here, all that set-up, all that
anxiety we've built up here for the reader? Yeah, it's all for not. We
didn't see another damn deer the whole weekend. Well, not true, we saw one
saunter off when we first arrived that morning, but nothing with antlers or
any self respect.
So, we loaded up the truck and we moved back to Beverly I guess. A little
beaten, a little worse for the wear. But you know what? I had a great time.
I think Josh did too. That's a good kid that Josh. I didn't hear him gripe
not once. He's a beautiful boy and I'm so proud of him. I'm always on his
case at home I know. I hate that. But out in the sticks, bein' manly men, he
makes my chest swell with how he conducts himself. He never gives up, he
just keeps trying. He keeps the faith (wish Bon Jovi wasn't the first thing
that came to mind just now). He's an amazing son. The important thing to
me, is that we spent time with his grandpa Bill. I love that boy. I love
him with all my heart and everything I do to work towards time in the woods
is to teach him how to really be a man. When I say that, I'm not meaning
that killin' makes you a man, I mean that getting dirty a little, getting
outside your comfort zone, leaving the world behind, well, it recharges a
man's spirit. I want him to know that option exists.

Well hey listen, I've got very little to do from here, and only about an hour
to do it in. So I'll let you get back to it. If you made it this far into
the annals I'm quite proud of you, but more so, I'm worried you don't have
much to live for, because to be quite honest, this isn't my best work, and
it's anti-climatic at best...which, to be perfectly honest with you, has
never happened to me before. I must be tired. ;)

Hey seriously, have a great night/day/afternoon. Keep your head down and
your powder dry. It was great talking to you and have a lovely, if not
downright enjoyable rest of whatever.

All the best meow,

J



Classification: UNCLASSIFIED
Caveats: FOUO