I took my muzzle-loader and drove to Adams, to hunt the public land that abuts the property of my friend Jim's family. It's the skirts of Mount Greylock, and the spur that goes north there is called Ragged Mountain.
Jim and I had looked at Google Earth to get a feel for the lay of the land, and it is a HUGE area. But bounded by hard-to-miss landmarks, so I was confident I couldn't get lost. The weather was such that I could always tell regardless the landmarks which way was north and so on. Jim and I talked on the walkie-talkies once, around 8:00, but for the rest of the time we were on our own. He hunts Maine-style, which involves tracking the deer much more than standing in likely spots and waiting for them to come, or having one group of hunters drive them toward another, as we do in Wisconsin. So I picked up fresh tracks and followed them all day.
I chased one buck for two hours before being met on private land by one of the owners, who never asked me to leave - I just volunteered to go back to the public land, and wished him luck, and was rewarded with a huge smile and equal wish. But that was the end of that trail. So I picked up another one, fresher this time, and after 30 minutes or so I realized that this was a likely hiding spot, and that the deer was no doubt nearby. And just as I thought that, BOOM!, somebody a quarter mile away or so started shooting. Which spooked my deer, which ran away from me. I was able to determine that it was a doe, which meant I couldn't shoot her. But I was annoyed that I hadn't been allowed to kick her up myself.
Between those two trails, there were other adventures that took up a lot of time but weren't very good stories. I'd walked and stalked for almost seven hours, up and down the mountain. That was about the end of my energy. At 1:00 I decided to head back home, and I was so far in - I knew where I was, just had lost track of the scale of the place - that it took me an hour and forty minutes to walk out. And I am BUSHED. Got home around 3:00.
The kids, it turns out, had been busy:
Check out his closeup - I think he looks like Billy Crystal's buddy from "City Slickers" and "When Harry Met Sally":
We charged immediately from the house down to Spring Street, where Williamstown has its annual Holiday Walk. It's tough to describe - part parade, part celebration of many species of animal through festive and demeaning holiday get-ups. I timed the whole parade - nine minutes. This, believe me, is easily triple the usual duration. Here's some pics:
Throngs, thronging. The place was absolutely jammed - I've never seen a better turnout. I think the combination of snow on the ground and Bush's imminent departure from the White House brought out the Christmas spirit in everyone.
T checks out the holiday window display, remarkably similar to last year's display. Luckily, she doesn't recall. Like a goldfish, experiencing each corner of its aquarium for the first time every single time it goes there.
Q, jaded, taking it all in, fully aware that he's being gipped. It's the same as last year, he says, only slightly surprised. Yet somehow he manages to be delighted through the haze of bitterness and misery.
The parade begins!
Species 1: Dogs.
Species 2: Horses.
Species 3: Cattle.
My battery ran out before the giant ground sloths and the pterodactyls came through. But believe me, they looked just as ridiculous.
This next photo proves that certain things should not be mixed. Christmas is great. Parades are great. But you shouldn't wrap marching bands in paper and put them under the tree - and you shouldn't throw candy canes from moving vehicles onto rock-hard pavement:
At least they learned their lesson from last year, when they were throwing out Christmas ornaments. Those things go off like hand grenades.
Home to supper, cleaning my muzzle-loader (I fired it once to make sure it was sighted in well, and once more to clear out the load I put in when I thought I'd kill a deer. The stuff corrodes the barrel, so you have to clean it after every use. And as a bonus, the spent powder and grime smells like a combination of swamp gas and baby farts. I can see why these things went out of fashion.) We did some practice for the caroling that Brad's going to organize, and now I am off to enjoy a long, hot bath, as my entire being hurts, from mid-back all the way down to tips of toes. Wish me luck!
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