Meat and Tater missed their annual hike to El Horrendo on the opening whitewater weekend. Tater snagged one of those elusive elk permits and the pair went hunting instead.
It's hard for some to get their head around a tie-dye wearing Bernie Sanders liberal feminist like Tater going on elk--or any other cuddly furry creature--hunts. But Tater shrugs it off like it's nothing.
"I don't think I know anybody in Vermont that doesn't have a hunting rifle," she says. I think she may be stretching it, but not by much.
One of the things I love about Tater is that she bends to no stereotypes. Progressive hippies can hunt if they want. You should know she's pretty deadly with a fly rod, too.
We caught up on their front porch over refreshing cold beverages this week. I got to sample some elk tenderloin.
"So give me the details Tater. How long did you track it? How far? Y'all been gone three days, must have been a lot of work."
Tater leaned back on the porch couch and looked at the ceiling. She vaguely counted with her fingers, tallying something quietly. She closed her eyes and blew out a long breath, as if reliving a 72 hour nightmare.
"Eighteen minutes from stepping out of the truck to standing over the carcas." Then she grinned like a cat with feathers in its teeth.
Meat let out a hoot. "You can't get hamburger at Velocity that fast SJ!"
"That was the easiest hunting trip I've ever been on. We walked twelve minutes from the truck and there it was. These eastern Kentucky elk just stand there as big as they can be."
"Of course she had my keen tracking skills along to..."
"Keen? You wanted to walk in the exact opposite direction with the wind!"
"It was the right direction if you'd sprinkled the elk urine drops on your clothes like me."
"Right? It didn't cover up your Old Spice." Meat looked wounded for a second. "But you did come in handy when it was time to dress that monster. So I couldn't have done it without you dear."
She stole a glance at me and winked. Meat grinned in self-satisfaction. I took another bite of tenderloin.
Meat's grin turned toward the devilish. "You know SJ, you oughta apply for a permit next year."
Tater nodded in agreement, obliviously following Meat's lead. "Yeah, with a little luck you can treat us to elk burgers next fall."
I sneered at Meat. "Are you going to be my guide Mr. Boone?" I turned to Tater. "Don't think I'll be getting an elk permit any time soon."
Meat blurted "Any time EVER."
Tater got a confused look. Meat smiled at her, "SJ doesn't hunt."
She looked at me. I shook my head no. "I don't. Haven't hunted since I as a kid. I shot a squirrel once and felt guilty for months. And it tasted terrible."
Tater gave me a sympathetic look. "It's okay, SJ. Just because everybody I know back home has a hunting rifle doesn't mean they all hunt.
Then her look changed.
"You at least have a hunting rifle, right?"