cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I Swear to You that 'Cwm' Is a Real Word My prayers were answered on Friday night. Right when I most desperately needed to get a deer, I got one. A big one. The event also marks an interesting evolution in my career as a predator. I knew where the deer was not because I saw it and not because I heard it. Literally, I scented it from about 60 yards away. I crouched for a few minutes behind the tall grass watching the far hillside with my .303 Enfield in hand. I wore a denim jacket over a thick, tan pullover and a pair of black neoprene gloves kept my fingers from going numb in the freezing air. There was no sign of anything except birds. The wind was in my favor, which is to say that it was blowing towards me from the direction in which I was facing. Usually hunters are concerned with this because if the wind goes the other way, the deer or other prey will catch your scent and bolt. But in this case I thought about the wind and I closed my eyes for a moment and inhaled through my nose. The unmistakable, horsey smell of a deer was on the breeze. I opened my eyes, looked in the direction where the wind was coming from and saw nothing. Yet there had to be a deer there. A deer so close that I could smell it. Normally I would have waited behind the tall grass to see what developed, but there were only a few minutes left before the sun would be down. Slowly I stood up, stepped through the tall grass and across a barbed wire fence into the mowed meadow beyond. I shouldered the rifle and advanced slowly. As I moved ahead I could see down into the very bottom of the little cwm below me. Over on the left side of that cwm there was what looked like a doe feeding a few yards away from the edge of the woods. She was directly facing me with her head down, feeding. I crouched to loop the sling of the rifle around my left arm for stability. I stood up in a smooth motion and looked at the deer through my scope. Normally one waits for what is known as a 'broadside shot.' A moment when the deer is standing with it's body sideways to you. In this manner one has the best odds of hitting the animal in an instantly fatal spot. However, the sun was just about down and I knew that I only had a minute at the most left. Besides which I was in full view with no available cover. At any second she could raise her head and see me at which point she would run and then I would then have no shot at all. A frontal shot would be acceptable under the circumstances. I knew that I had zeroed the scope for exactly this range and would not miss my mark. The doe raised her head and looked in my general direction. At 50 yards range I held the crosshairs a bit low and right of the center of the deer's chest and pulled the trigger. She bolted for the woods on the other side of the cwm. I took another running shot for insurance and then crouched. There was a crashing sound in the woods. Feeling quite certain that the first shot had to have been fatal, I advanced cautiously with my rifle on my shoulder and ready to shoot again if necessary. Even in the fading light I could easily make out the white and dun belly on the ground through the maze of bare February branches in the woods. I leaned my rifle against a tree and removed my hat. Kneeling, I thanked the deer. I was sad that the deer was dead. She was a large, healthy-looking animal. Sleek and fat. Because the bullet had gone in straight through the chest, there was no exit wound and nary a drop of blood. To look at it, one might think that the deer was only asleep, except for the fact that the eyes were wide open and unblinking. I promised the deer that I would waste nothing. That her death would not be in vain. I cannot imagine that this makes any great odds to the deer one way or another. But it made me feel better. The deer hadn't run far or long. Perhaps 25 yards at the most. 4 or 5 seconds from the shot to the crashing fall. I found out later when I butchered it that the second shot had completely missed. But the first bullet struck true. It went in about half an inch above the heart and completely disconnected it from the arteries, then obliterated the lungs and liver, rode along the inside edge of the ribcage before stopping just shy of the hindquarter where I plucked it out as I skinned the deer. As rapid a kill as possible, short of a head shot (which can have complications and is inadvisable). The deer had been literally dead on it's feet and never had a moment to even consider what was happening. It was cold enough to leave the butchering for the next day after I'd finished the gutting and field dressing. It took me an hour to gut it after I dragged it up the hill to the spot where I am in the habit of doing that unpleasant job. Then I hung it up from a low branch. All of Saturday was devoted to the first stage of butchering. Quartering and so on. I did the best job at it that I've ever managed. I kept my promise to the deer and by the time I was done, the only thing left was the head and the lower legs (which have essentially no muscle tissue). You could literally see the ground through the rib cage. We got probably a good 60 pounds or more of meat out of the deer. Sunday was mostly devoted to fixing another section of the back fence and then processing more of the meat. Making dog food out of one pot full of scraps and grinding the better grade of scraps into ground meat (for burgers, tacos, pasta sauce, etc.). I also tried making a few sausages. It is difficult to describe the sensation of suddenly having a refrigerator full of venison at a time when one is absolutely flat broke and when one had no idea what to do about groceries for a family of 4. The relief is incredible. I feel a profound sense of gratitude. Whatever else might happen, we won't starve. It's more than just this one deer. There's an incredible sense of relief in knowing that we have these tools, these rifles, and that whatever goes wrong in the world we have the personal power to walk out into the woods and fields and come back with food. I have a sense of control over my own destiny that I did not have before I became a hunter. We ate the tenderloins for lunch on Saturday and one of the backstraps for dinner last night. This backstrap that I cooked was a masterpiece. Easily one of the 10 best things that I have ever eaten. I came up with the recipe on the fly. My inspiration was the latest issue of Saveur, which is largely devoted to butter this month. With butter on my mind, I came up with the following: Ingredients for the backstrap: 1 venison backstrap (these are usually around 20 inches long, 4 inches wide and 1 inch thick) 2 tablespoons of butter 1 tablespoon of tarragon 2 tablespoons of basil Kosher salt 1 tablespooon of worchestershire sauce 4 tablespoons of Olive oil 1 cup of lager (preferably wheat lager, but whatever you've got will be fine) Ingredients for drawn butter: 6 tablespoons of butter 2 teaspoons of lemon juice 1/4 teaspoon of salt Fully trim the backstrap, removing all traces of fat and membrane. Lay it out flat and dab at the surface with a paper towel to get it a bit dry right at the surface. Drizzle the worchestershire sauce along the length of the backstrap. Combine the tarragon, basil and kosher salt in a small dish and rub it into the surface of the meat (only the side facing up). Roll the backstrap up into the shape of a coil. Either pin it in place with a kebab stick or use a bit of twine to tie it in place (I used a wooden kebab stick. A wooden stick is better than a metal stick because you can snap off any excess length to fit the backstrap into a dish later). Heat the butter up in a saucepan on medium heat. Brown the coiled backstrap on both sides. Then place the backstrap into a dish, preferably a bowl with high sides and not much larger than the coiled backstrap. Pour the 4 tablespoons of olive oil into the dish along with the cup of lager. Put it in the oven at 350 degrees for about 25 minutes (although the time may vary by the weight of the backstrap so check it carefully). Be certain to take it out when it is no more than medium and preferably closer to medium rare, as venison suffers from overcooking more so than beef or pork. When the backstrap is almost done, make the drawn butter by melting the butter and stirring in the lemon juice and salt. Slice the backstrap like a cake and drizzle the drawn butter over the pieces on each plate. Serves 4 or 5. No exaggeration, this was the best thing I've eaten in the last year. Hands down. Unfuckingbelievable. 4 stars. The meat had a texture not unlike that of boiled Maine lobster. Outrageously tender. Trish cut hers with the side of her fork. In fact, I would go so far as to say that even if I hadn't gotten any other meat out of it, the day and a half of work that I put into the butchering and processing of that venison would have been worth it just for that backstrap that I ate last night. And the best part is that I have another one waiting in the freezer! I might try that one with great fistfuls of fresh thyme used in place of the dried basil and tarragon. One will never regret the use of great fistfuls of fresh thyme, generally. As per usual, my hands are very sore and a bit scratched up. My shoulders are sore from leaning over so much. Butchering is hard work but very much worthwhile. _________________________________ I'm now about 3/4 of the way through 'The Sun Also Rises.' I have to grab 10 minutes here and there to read on account of children and dogs constantly requiring my attention. Otherwise I'd have finished it last weekend. The book continues to improve as I go along. 11:41 - 2008-02-25 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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