South Dakota Turkey Hunt Day 1

Day 1:  Thursday April 14, 2011

ESCAPE, IMPATIENCE, AND COLD

6:32 am

                I’m driving away from Minnesota, Wisconsin, and towards my wild self. I am abandoning my problems, the stupid ones--of course in calling them stupid I am not implying that any problem is not so. I’m leaving the irrelevant that is detrimental to the life I value most. The life I am working towards.  Sitting buckled in, surrounded by suitcases, I’m exhausted but I’m breathing easy. My hair is thrown up atop my head in a dirty mess and my face is my own. No I’m not sick as I’ve been asked before when wearing no makeup. This is my face:  Wrinkles, blemishes, uneven blush. Only now do I feel beautiful, with the people I love, dressed up as trees.

                As we drive towards South Dakota, pre-hunt talk about supplies and strategy are discussed. We devise a plan that involves splitting up in the morning. I’ve only hunted this property once before and I suddenly find myself panicked with the idea of pitch blackness and growling cougars at my back. Only after this initial silly frenzy do I realize another reason my nervous heart is pumping:   I realize that the only think I know about hunting is how it makes me feel—And only as I crush that leaf beneath my boot do I forgive myself for loving a man who has crushed my heart—no thoughts are not enough! I have no sense of direction.  My knowledge of when to call, when to move, and when to sit is amateur. Hopefully during this hunt I will learn to be more independent, more conscious about the logistics, and conquer my fear of decisions.

3:04 pm

                Beth and I woke up from our car-comas to a blizzard. We had to stop to dechunk the windshield wipers with our frozen fingers and upon reopening my car door, the entire handle shattered in an explosion of ice-shell. In fact, the entire right-side of our suburban was now a muted maroon, cocooned in a possible horrid foreshadowing of a miserable hunt to come. I can only cross my fingers in hope that we are leaving this nightmare behind us. I must now selfishly relate this blizzard to my feelings (for after all, this is my journal): Ahem…

The bitter wind upon my face was for naught—for my dear friend stood but facing me, saving me from constant erosion with her back. With the snap of a finger and the blink of an impatient eye I felt the pounding of cold wet-drops stabbing my face, my heart; for I was now lying on my back and my friend hovering over me with a giant overflowing bucket of resentment and a face of indifference. The wind kept swirling from each direction, tolerable wind! But in combination it was lethal:  the horrid gusts freezing each of those bitter cold drops faster than I could wipe away, recover. In order to survive, I must push her from me, wiping my face of moisture and emotion. In order to survive, I must forget about that time she stood facing me.

Yes I’ll clean off the windshield, shatter all the ice away, and move forward.

                We stopped at Cabelas around noon. The underarmour we purchased should help us not die, or want to die in this colder than anticipated weather. Beth and I also bought our first mouth calls. The car then filled with the beautiful music of natural diaphragm users.

Note: Walking through this store I became relieved. Although yes, a lot of the merchandise would be nice to have, I was not thrown into my normal shopping frenzy where I need to fight my impulsive shopping self that is set on the notion that a specific article of clothing will make me love myself. Here I realized that yes, that is a nice camouflaged -jacket, but the one I already have is nice too, and it allows me to crawl through dirt and fall against a tree just fine.

7:02 pm

                It’s cold outside and I’m still in my travel sweatpants and light jacket. We’ve spent too much time chatting about arrowheads and the history of South Dakota with the landowner. Of course this comment and complaint is stated under the assumption that a reader will not take it in the wrong way. This is under the presumption that the reader remembers the lengthy car ride, the weather, and the tease of escape.

 And now the snow is melting and my boots are caked in mud. The clay on the roads and now the car floor matches the red cliffs around me. Hopefully tomorrow morning no white will be in sight.