By J.B. Salter

For The North Jefferson News



Editors note—the following article first appeared in the Dec. 21, 1989 issue of The North Jefferson News.

Hunting season is upon us and I want to tell you a humdinger of a bow-hunting story. My father once told me about a friend of his, “I don’t want to say he’s a liar, but he keeps talking after the truth runs out.”

I’ll try to stop before the truth runs out.

When Jennerrel Trapp started bow-hunting a few years ago he had the same problems most of us have when we walk over unfamiliar territory, but he soon was holding his own with all the others.

One year he was bow-hunting on our new land in Sumter County and arrowed a nice deer. After marking the spot of the hit he backed off in case the deer wasn’t already down for the count. He came back to camp to get a better light and find someone to help him track the deer.

As it turned out he just happened to get two of the best trackers and woodsmen I know, Randy McKay and Randall Fields. Randal fired up his Coleman lantern and Randy got his compass out and off they went. Randy’s son Mark went along for some on the job training.

The usual method is for one man to take the lead and for the others to follow. Randall was in the lead and Randy was marking the trail. Jennerrel and Mark were in the middle. Things were going as usual and they had an ordinary trail. All of a sudden Randall stopped and whispered for everybody to freeze.

Jennerrel said the first thing he thought of was snake, but as he stretched to look over Randall’s head, all he could see was an old possum ambling along in front of them. Randall whispered to them watch and see what the possum would do when he crossed the blood trail. They said the old possum was ambling awkwardly along as if in a stupor, but when it crossed the deer’s trail it transformed into an alert, sure footed, keen nosed tracking possum. All they had to do was to stay far enough behind to assure not to spook the possum and it led them straight to the deer. As they walked up to the deer the old possum left. I couldn’t believe that all those guys just stood there and let that tracking possum get away.

I told them we could have made a few adjustments and registered him with the American Kennel Club. We could have amputated his tail, clipped his ears and put one of those little sweaters on him. Come to think of it he would have looked just like Larry Dale Rockett’s dog.