14, November 2024 Good Shot Ozzaawaa!

Be forewarned that this is a deer hunting story.

 

My 14-year old grandson Ozaawaa, his father John, his Grandmother Jackie, his Auntie Janel, and I ate an offering of Ozaawaa's first deer kill that John had seasoned with olive oil, curry, smoked cumin, clove, salt, and cayenne, that Wednesday night I cooked on the grill. It was ceremonial event: Ozaawaa, a young Anishinaabe man from Wisconsin, had shot his first deer on Saturday evening, and as per Ojibwe tradition, had offered the whole of its meat to others; these particular tidbits the freshly butchered tenderloins. Particular to venison, as it has little to no fat within it, although cooked to a safe 160 degree F temperature, still appears raw to the eye. Grandma Jackie smacked her lips in satisfaction as her taste buds adjusted to the initial concussion of John's abrupt seasoning mixture and set her reaction all the way up to: 

WOW!! THAT TASTES LIKE BEEF STEAK!

So it was that November 9th this year, was opening day of Minnesota's Firearm Deer Season, and Ozaawaa's first deer season. He had acquired the necessary age/maturity level his grandmother and I required of him, and a Gun Safety Training Certificate. John had given him his antique bolt action 8mm Mauser rifle to use, whose hard-to-find-anywhere ammunition was upwards of $62.50 for a box of 20 rounds; leaving little wiggle room for inaccuracy or practice with minimal inventory.

 

Talking about target shooting: Ozaawaa, Grandpa Steve, and John.

Ozaawaa and I were in my deer stand on opening morning. It was his first deer season hunt. I was his coach; telling him to pick up his feet as he walked, try to not make so much noise; not to talk to me as we walked along. I told him to slow down; to take time to look ahead, and to each side for movement: a flick of an ear, and swish-motion of a tail; the shape of a deer’s body; its head.

“Steve’s Stand” is only about 100 yards from the house, so it didn’t take us long to arrive there. Climbing the ten foot tall ladder nailed to telephone-pole legs, we crawl inside the five-foot square stand using its built-in handgrips, then separately stand in its center to face two windows. Motioning that he take his hoodie down so he could hear what was around him, we settled into a statue-like position awaiting sunrise, which, sadly, was soon upon us. Ideally we should’ve gotten up and out a half hour sooner, as it was it was practically daylight on our approach.

I didn’t see it come upon him, but he suddenly remarked "Grandpa, I need to puke.” And just as swiftly we burst out the door of the stand. and down the ladder in record time, alerting any and all deer in our vicinity that we were in the woods and strange things were going on.  

"Huuur-rhup! Rhruppp! … rhrup. Ugh.”

“Well, lets go back to the house," I said. “Get you cleaned up, maybe something for your upset stomach.” He insisted he was feeling a whole lot better, after the fact when he immediately stopped, pointing and whispering, “There’s a deer! Do you see it?”

I couldn’t see the deer from where I stood in relation to where he was on the trail, until I moved closer to the center. It was a doe, curious about what we were, as she couldn’t smell us, the wind against her back as it was. “Should I shoot? Ozaawaa asked. “No," I answered. "She’s in line with the house and propane tank. Adding, "You always have to be aware of what is behind your target too.”The doe whirled away west. 

 

Insisting he was feeling better, “He said, “Maybe we can get around her? So seizing the impulse, we tried to intercept her direction of travel, to no avail. Too swiftly his feeling of upset stomach came back again, and we hurried back to the house. I took off my gear; I settled in for a nap. He went upstairs for a sleep of several hours.

Later that afternoon, I returned to my deer stand to fix a window I had started, and he decided to go to Josh’s Stand by himself, about the same distance from the house. I had to return to the house about 3:30 or so, when he came walking in. I asked him how he was feeling; he said fine. So I said, “You’re on evening post now, go back and sit it out.” And he did, although reluctantly. About an hour later Grandma said he came back to the house, excited he had seen two big bucks together but he didn’t know if he should shoot; so grandma set him straight back to that stand, telling him, there was likely more deer there and wait it out until dark.

It was about 3:45 or 4:00 pm when I heard him shoot twice … three times. And four. I hurriedly got out of my stand and marched for his stand, when Grandma came out of the house, meeting me, and telling me Ozaawaa had said it was a BIG BUCK and Auntie Janel had run out to help him trail it; and yes she was wearing florescent orange.

I took over from Janel, and simultaneously reprimanded Ozaawaa for chasing the deer; reminding him what I had said about waiting 20-25 minutes before attempting to track him or anything; and learning about what had happened at the same time. Ozaawaa admitted not paying attention to what was going on outside the window of the stand, instead being preoccupied sweeping up piles of dead flies and Asian beetles. About the time he looked up again, the buck was within sixty-five to seventy yards of him. When he finally got the window open (oh yeah) he shot twice at him. The third shot missed too. When the back had stopped broadside to him 125 yards away — he shot the fourth shot, (all the ammo he had in his gun), he saw the buck hunch-up then run into the tree along the farm lane, and disappear.

Having waited long enough, he and I followed him through the tree rows and to where we found his tracks on the farm lane leading steeply down into the creek basin. We waited there for Ozaawaa’s dad to join the hunt since it had become dark by that time; he followed the trail into the creek basin, and after some serious searching was almost ready to look for another route when I could hear John say, 

“Wait! Can you smell that? I smell tarsal glands!  

 

 HOWAAAA! OZAAWAA! 

HE'S A BIG TEN POINTER!

Then there was much rejoicing.