Ten Bucks In The Hand Is Worth One In The Bush
by Calendar Hacksaw
The Fence Post honchos had the good sense to promote me to "Outdoors
Editor" for the opening of deer hunting season in Zone 9, and I had every
intention of doing such a bang-up job that they would consider hiring me as a "Printer's
Devil."
I deputized my good buddy Festus as my official photographer, and we set our
sights on the job that had to be done; the story that cried out to be told.
Festus doesn't own a camera, so he had plenty of free time on this assignment.
We had been preparing for this adventure for quite awhile; the "preparation"
part being pretty much limited to collecting Budweiser rebate coupons and
looking for clean underwear.
On the eve of Opening Day, we ventured to the Department of Fish and Game
Field Office to obtain our deer hunting press credentials. I explained to the
civil servant why we were there, and he conferred momentarily with one of his
associates. Apparently they shared a joke, too, cuz they laughed a little bit.
Then they came over to where Festus and me was standing and asked if we had any
money; say $10 each. Well, of course we did, so we gave them the money and they
gave us two brown baseball caps that had foam rubber antlers on the tops and
big brown eyes on each side. One fellow took a marking pen and wrote "PRESS"
in big letters on the front of each cap, and we were all set. Festus decided to
put his hat on backwards, which made him look stupid and unprofessional.
Properly credentialed, we set out for the hunting grounds.
First stop was the Dinner Bell, where we enjoyed the Friday night Hacksaw
Liver & Onions Special, and I bought a Team Penning Queen Contest raffle
ticket from a young lady named "Janel." She doesn't know me, but win
or lose she'll be the only Queen contestant who can say she sold a chance to
Calendar. And if I win the drawing, I'll donate half the prize money to the
Caliente Educational Foundation, and I hereby challenge all others to pledge the
same or better.
Next stop was Jawbone Canyon Road, where we ran into Willie Nelson driving
a mini-truck. Willie was kind enough to dismount and show us the .44 magnum he
had strapped to the side of his thigh, stretching the entire length from hip to
knee. We apologized for meeting him, and he invited us to come with him to do
some poaching. That sounded interested, so we tagged along down to Kelso Valley
where he stopped at a farm house, went inside, and came back out with two dozen
fresh eggs. "What are you gonna do with those eggs, Willie?" I asked,
confused. "Told ya; I'm gonna poach 'em," Willie said.
From there, we lumbered on over to Flushing Meadow, where a few encampments
had been established. We approached three men huddled around a small fire, and
tried to engage them in casual deer gossip. They didn't seem to want to talk to
The Press, and we soon found out why: the youngest one was none other than
Vince Gill, and the other two were his bodyguards. Well, we didn't ask if he
was Vince Gill, and he certainly didn't tell us he was Vince Gill, but that
doesn't change anything. My photographer, Festus, took a mental picture of
Vince for later use.
All day Saturday and most of Sunday was just a blur as we watched
Bronco-load after Blazer-load of dumb yokels commit just about every game law
violation you could imagine. Gates, cables, and "Private Property - No
Trespassing" signs were meaningless to these idiots in pursuit of their
quarry. Illegal access to a legal buck seemed to be the order of the day, and
old Festus and I were happy just to get out alive. Every time we poked our
heads out from behind a tree or a rock, our press credentials drew enemy fire
from the passenger seats of moving vehicles. It was obvious that these people
were opposed to freedom of the press, and did not want their identities or
unlawful acts reported in the Fence Post.
Monday morning, we returned to the Fish & Game office to surrender our
credentials, and the staff seemed genuinely happy and surprised to see us again.
But when the head clerk took one look at the holes in our hats, he frowned and
shook his head. "Allowing government property to be destroyed," he
decreed with an accusing tone. "That'll be another $10 each!"
We paid up reluctantly and headed for the door. But on the way out, Festus
got one of the secretaries to give him fifty bucks for the mental picture of
Vince Gill. She wanted it signed, so Festus thought real, real hard about Vince
autographing it. That seemed to satisfy her. Festus isn't as stupid as many
folks around here allow, and as a result we came out ten bucks ahead on what
we'd paid for our credentials.
Ten bucks ahead. All in all, I'd say that's pretty good "buck"
hunting. I think I'll spend it on some more raffle tickets.
Calendar Hacksaw's e-mail addresses are calendar@usa.net
and twistedsisters@hotmail.com
and he'd love to hear from you.
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