The tall windblown grasses behind my back rustle mysteriously. Could it be the elusive wild animal that I have been pursuing all season long? As I turn my head slowly to scan the bushes behind me, the shakes come on again. These shakes are a part of what my dad and I call “Buck Fever”. A rush of emotions swarms my head, nervousness, that I might scare what I think is a deer behind me away. Excitement, that this may be the deer I’ve been longing for all season. Fear that what I heard may only be a small animal like a squirrel, and I anticipated too much. All these emotions happen in the blink of an eye, at my favorite place in the entire world, my tree stand. My tree stand is in a secretive location 20 miles away from home. Surrounded by dry …show more content…
This was my last chance to fill my deer tag with a fat deer, and previous to tonight I hadn't seen a single deer. I knew tonight was the night, I could feel it in my toes, and as it turns out my toes were right. The sky was diming like the lights in a quiet movie theater and thats when I felt the shakes take over my whole body. Out of nowhere the graceful buck stepped out from some small tree branches that blocked my view of it until now. It was a silent chill in the way it walked, although it didn’t know in was in that stand, if it did it would’ve been just as shocked to see me as I was …show more content…
He turned his head away unsuspecting that the time of his demise was near. I raised my gun up, looked through the scope, put the dot on where his vitals should be, and using great effort not to let the shakes take over and alter my shot, I squeezed the trigger. I watched the bright yellow sparks fly from my barrel as the black powder expelled the lump of lead flying straight into his chest. As he staggered away in shock from the events that occurred in what felt like a fraction of a second I kept a close eye on him to know where to retrieve his dead
In the book Fever 1793 there are many examples of historically accurate technology, events, and culture. This book is set in Philadelphia in the year 1793. The protagonist in this story is a teenage girl named Mattie Cook. Her family owns a Coffee shop in town. Many people are coming to their coffee shop because it is far away from the Wharf, where several dozen people have died from Yellow Fever. When Mattie’s mother catches the fever she orders Mattie and Mattie’s grandfather to go to the country so that they won't get sick. Throughout the rest of the story Mattie and her grandfather will go through tough times but Mattie will persevere and survive the fever to run the coffee house with her best friend Eliza.
Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever is caused by only one thing. Rocky Mountain Spotted fever is caused by a tick bite from a tick that carries the Rickettsia Rickettsii. This organism can be fatal to humans if it is not taken care of quickly. In most cases of RMSF the tick was attached for 6 to10 hours and the person may never find the tick on them. RMSF cannot be spread from person to person (2). RMSF can take 2 to 14 days for any of the symptom to show up. (5).
As I sit here, I have the desire to take a deer home with me. Somewhere in these vast woods a buck is stepping, with no warning that today is the day that I capture him. There is an ominous crow cackle, one that any protagonist would consider as a warning, I consider it an opportunity. My deer did not accept this warning; at least it was not shown.
Remembering he had his revolver in his pocket, the sniper took the dare, and darted to the house across the street. With the sound of a machine gun and the bullets ricocheting off the buildings, he managed to get the cover. The blood of his brother slowing dripping on his shoulder puts the sniper in tears.
I am crouching still near a tree on a loamy ridge, my two hands spread around the trunk. I am feeling grateful for this tree that I remember because of its mossy smell and thick crevassed bark. It tells me that the beaver pond is near where one white pine shoots 100 feet up out of the tannic water, which means I am close to camp and food and sleep.
The chorus of howls reminded me of the time my grandmother taught me about wolves and all their unique traits that I would have never known by looking at them. Her passion drew my mind to visualize my nostalgic memories of all the wolf paintings and photographs that decorated nearly all the walls in her cozy home. The wolves continued to howl, and my parents decided for us to find somewhere warm in the zoo, however the memory remained frozen in my mind. I could hear their cries across the park, and I wished I could watch them
Next thing I knew there were two does feeding on the other side of the field about 200 yards away. They were pretty good sized does and I several opportunities to take a shot, but I was pretty sure which does they were, and I knew that a fairly decent buck had been following them, so I decided to wait for it. We waited for about 15 minutes waiting for that buck to appear, suddenly I looked up and there was a third deer. At first we thought it was a young doe, but we soon realized it was a young spike buck. I wanted to let it grow, so I wasn’t going to shoot it. I almost decided to go ahead and take one of the does when the spike buck ran off. Out of nowhere a massive mature buck stepped out of the woods, I couldn’t believe it I had only seen it once before on a game camera in another location, and that photo was taken in August when it still had felt on it’s
She bounded to the carcass, running faster and farther than she had ever gone before. She remembered the way her mother had carried her, and soon she found the deer, lying on the ground mostly eaten. Paw looked around, and saw a blackberry bush nearby.
Drifting like clouds, smoke continuously poured out of my cigar. Tapping my feet and biting my lips I observed all the clues of the murder, I clenched my fists and flipped through the numerous pages of information. Abruptly, I heard a knock at the door and calmly told the person to come in. Expectedly, Al, my co-worker lent me updated information about the murder of my partner, I signaled him my thanks and told him that he may leave. Creaking, the door shuts lightly and I focused back onto my work, eventually I had the urge for revenge and set out to assassinate the man myself.
I recently took a trip down to Tennessee with my family over the summer. This was our first time going down to Tennessee, and also our first time going this far down south. We rented a giant log cabin high in the hills in Wears Valley. On this cabin, there was a long, wrap-around porch on the second floor, with an incredible view of the top of the mountains in the distance. It was a fantastic trip, and I wanted to bring the whole thing home with me, so I did. My parents brought our video camera, and, me, being a film major, ferociously volunteered to be the cameraman for the duration of the trip. The setting of Tennessee was almost perfect for filming, because it is mostly rolling hills and vistas and open valleys. Every morning I would wake up after the sun’s rays would pour into my bedroom and head out into the miles of land surrounding our cabin on the hills. I wandered and explored, with my camera in hand, taking in the crisp smell of the Tennessee morning air. I hiked until I found a family of deer. They were very large, and their brown fur looked lush and colorful. The swarming microscopic insects buzzing around them danced on their backs. I had a blast taking the old camera, finding my way into a vast, open farm, and filming the gorgeous deer, wacky squirrels, and even wild horses, sometimes twenty or more roaring down the plain, against the enormous hills in the background. Those animals were fun to film, but what I really wanted to shoot were black bears. They were much harder to find in the wild, but I had been hearing stories of black bears around my area. It took days and days, and countless miles of hiking, until I finally happened to stumble upon not just a black bear, but a mother and her two cubs. Luckily, they ...
Not far into the forest The Hunter and his bow come alive. The tree is ancient and the stand is sturdy. Spending the night in the tree, the hunter hopes to catch his prey by surprise. The night was long and arctic. The Hunter is garbed in his usual hunting gear; long woolen socks, brown all terrain boots, loosely fit camouflage pants; his jacket, also camouflage, is lined with highlighter-orange stripes. Lastly he wears his lucky, brown winter hat. The Hunter stirs again. His eyelashes begin to sluggishly flicker. He pats his face to ward off the annoying bugs dancing upon his face. Readjusting his seat he dreamily wishes for a few more minutes rest....
All of a sudden, the forest became quite. The wind picked up and blew him off his feet. When I looked up it wasn't the wind at all. It was a long snout coming straight at me. It wrapped me up with leave...
I hurry out of my deer stand and race against the cold to the shack. The short walk from my stand to the shack is quick because no deer were shot tonight. Leaves crunch
As the bushes and brush grew more solid I began to ponder. Will I make it through this forest tonight or will I be taken in by the thick of the mystery? Sounds from sluggish foot steps caused a vibration around me that lead me to stop in my place and listen closely. Could this forest be haunted or was I just over exaggerating? I started to get very nervous by this time. “It will be just fine,” I told myself. I am just imagining things. I continued my journey through the forest but negative thoughts were running through my l...
There were thick bushes where we could hide and where the deer would not be able to see us. It was the first time I understood that we were going to actually take a life, and a shiver ran up my spine. My Dad started to explain something about the tracks, the cover scent to conceal our odor, but it was getting more and more difficult for me to listen. Disappointing my father after all the troubles he had gone to was my biggest fear, so I tried to hide my nervousness. Time was passing and we were sitting quietly, watching the stream. After an hour I was cold, I felt hungry, but I remained silent. Suddenly I heard a quiet noise. When I turned my head, I saw a deer that was slowly approaching the stream. I did not know if my father had noticed it as well. I was fascinated. The deer was beautiful, all caramel-colored, strong and peaceful. It was treading carefully through the underbrush, as if it did not want to hurt the plants. I saw the exact moment it relaxed and started drinking from the stream, so graceful and calm. “We have to wait for a shot,” my Dad whispered. He started to count, and I felt the adrenaline coursing through my veins, making me shake. At first I thought it was from excitement, but when I looked at the deer again, I realized that the feeling raging inside me was dread. I did not want the deer to