By Mac Arnold
MAHFS Editor

"Well, we got to hunt, eat deer burritos and watch football, so it wasn't all bad," said my pal Walt of Ingham County in a text.

I agreed, but I added, "I just wished for a better ending."

As light was fading Sunday, Dec. 4, I was provided a decent shot on a large deer at the Washtenaw property we were hunting on.

This was 10 minutes after five or six does came through just 50 yards in front of the stand and gave Walt a shot opportunity. He was pretty sure he missed. (Later confirmed.)

My shot was a little longer at 100 yards that I had to weave through trees. But the deer entered the cross hairs of the scope and I felt good after I pulled the trigger.

Boom! Once the smoke cleared, we saw the deer scatter but the one on the radar merely sauntered a few steps into the swamp.

Usually the swamp at this time of year in December is a crunchy mix of frozen yellow grass and reeds bent over with deer trails running all through them.

However, this year because of all the rain we have been having in Michigan, it was knee high in chilly water and practically impossible to navigate. There were two trails straight in front of where the whitetail was positioned and either seemed a likely route for a mortally hit deer.

I took to one of the trails with the LED headlamp on now that darkness had come and ventured in.

An hour and a half later and after a nice swim, I made it to the other side. No deer.

Walt took the outer edge search and also came back empty-handed.

We both circled back to the scene of the crime: hair and a slight tinge of blood was spattered on the wet grass, which was getting even more saturated because the off-and-on rain was back on again.

At that point we decided to resume the search the next morning when we could see more easily.

After stuffing our guts with spicy deer burritos, watching the Lions lose again and a bit of sleep, we picked up the search where we left off the night before and to what else? More rain.

Just couldn't catch a break.

This time I took the other route inside the swamp and despite getting another double-boot soaker, managed to not take a swim. But I would've gladly swam a backstroke through this stinky bog had I found that damn deer.

Another hour and a half passed, and we had to admit defeat. I grumped back to the Jeep, not really hearing what Walt had to say about directions to the highway, and told him, "I'll just use the GPS."

I was down but decided to do what I know best cures a failed hunt: get back out there and try again.

So yesterday, Dec. 6, I made my presence again at the Sanilac dairy farm I've gain permission over the past two years to hunt the late seasons -- muzzleloader and firearms for does. After talking to the farmer and getting the green light to walk across his barley field to the ambush point in a small lot of trees and then encountering a weird passerby who asked me from his truck while I was unloading if "I had anything going on," I found myself perched on a fallen birch tree ready to pounce once again.

I mulled the deer search of the previous two days and who the likely culprit might have been asking me if "I had anything going on" -- the actual landowner or the leasee? And then figured that was my last hunt there when I asked him if he was a helper on the farm.

"You could say that I guess," as he slowly pulled away.

Then I let up on myself, and decided I couldn't hear him and it was a weird question to begin with, "have I got anything going on?" Yeah, I'm gonna go see if I can blast a hole in a deer with this .45-caliber muzzleloader, that's what the hell I got going on.

Geez, some people. Hey, don't let the orange vest fool you or anything. I realize people should know who's hunting where, but how about: "Do you have permission to hunt here?" That would have seemed to have worked better. Maybe ...

And then I thought the dairy farmer seems to like me so I'm probably spinning a bunch of crap around my noggin like a rock polisher for nothing.

But some good came out of all these mind games as the north wind swept around my face and neck.

I thought ... hey, maybe I only grazed that deer and the reason he wasn't found is because he wasn't dead.

Now that's an ending I can put to rest. I mean after all, I have practically another month of hunting left.

Turn off the head noise, please.