The Deer Slayers

Every year during the fall

my uncles planned a hunting trip

into the Florida Everglades.

These safaris into the great swampland

were simply described as “going into the woods”

for turkey, boar, deer, or bear.

My cousin and I were not skilled hunters;

our game was limited to dove, quail, and rabbit.

However, we both shared a passion
for the great outdoors

and were thrilled on being included

in these hunting expeditions into the Everglades.

The killing of a deer for my farm-raised cousin

was treated as a rite of passage to the big game hunters. 

For me, trekking through the wilderness of the Everglades on horseback was like a passage to freedom from the boredom of school; it satisfied me to no end, trophy or not! 

I absorbed every sight, sound, and smell

on our journeys deep into the glades:

the swamp buggies, the horses, the airboats,

the colors and textures of the land,

the grasses bending in the wind,

the sights and sounds of the critters of the swamp,

the clouds moving in the bluest of skies,

the coolness of the night among the stars,

the tales and small talk around

the warmth, glow, and smell of the campfire,

the swamp cabbage and venison for dinner, and

the smell of bacon and eggs for breakfast

as dawn began lifting the darkness away from the earth.

This was the kind of learning that I passionately embraced.

On the first morning, my cousin and I

headed out on horseback for his coveted trophy. I was already in possession of mine! 

We were teeming with excitement

as we traveled deeper into the swamp.

The ground was covered in shallow

tea-colored water so there was

no trail or trace to lead us back to camp.

We were literally surrounded by

a myriad of cypress trees in a shallow brown sea.

Our hunting skills were so sharply honed

that it never occurred to either one of us

that the sounds of the horses

neighing and sloshing through the water,

not to mention our jibber jabber,

only caused any potential nearby deer to hightail it!

After literally horsing around for two hours

in a watery wilderness,

we found ourselves in the middle

of a very large strand of cypress.

The only wildlife we had spotted

were some curlews flying overhead.

It finally dawned on us;

we were lost.

As the sun was peaking westward

my cousin suggested that

we better head back to camp.

I questioned as to where "back" might be?

With a confident tone of a great outdoorsman,

he informed me that 
the horses “knew” the way back.

If we would just drop the reins

and give the horses a nudge,

they would take us right back to camp!

Skeptical with nothing to lose,
I let go of my reigns

and prodded my horse.

Within two hours or so,

our horses took us to our campsite

nestled in an elevated hammock of pines and palms, an island oasis, surrounded by shallow tea-colored water and thick cypress. 

During our three days and three nights of horse-sloshing in the great swamp, my cousin and I never did earn the bragging right as certified deer slayers during that hunting expedition. The truth is; we were just two young bucks still finding our way.