I’m grateful for the opportunity to write and “put myself out there”, but one thing that has always baffled me about doing so, is that critics so easily presume what they think I’m trying to do. They think I’m trying to come off as an expert. They think I’m trying to show what a great hunter/shooter/whatever I am. They think, that I think, that I know it all.
They think wrong.
From day one I have always said that I am just sharing what I am learning and experiencing; even sharing the stupid moments. Case in point…
That Cutie Ain’t Cute
You know those tiny little oranges for kids, called “Cuties”? Yeah, well I love ’em. They are tiny and delicious, and they even promise to be “so easy to peel”.
It is the last point that I have a problem with.
They are easy to peel, once you get under the rind. I don’t have nails, and don’t like biting into the bitter skin, so I always take my knife and get those delectable little fruits started with a quick slice.
While turkey hunting with my buddy, and photographer extraordinaire, Phil, I grabbed a Cutie and my knife from my pack. I quickly looked up to scan out towards my decoys as I went to slip my knife from its sheath and felt something funny. It was one of those instantaneous moments where time temporarily stands still and your conscious processes a myriad of options regarding what just happened a split-second prior. I considered the possibilities of what felt “odd”, but knew deep down that I had just slid my knife across my finger as it left the sheath.
To confirm what I already knew, yet feared to be true, I glanced down to see my ring finger on my left hand split wide open, which exposed what looked to be tendons beneath the tissue.
I instantly dropped everything and put a death grip on my finger to minimize the bleeding from the deep wound. I turned to Phil and said, “I just cut my finger”. I don’t remember his response, but it was cool and calm, and something along the lines of, “That sucks.”
Not feeling like I fully explained the situation, I emphasized, “No, I just cut the hell out of my finger. It is bad.” Instantly Phil began rummaging through his pack and told me, “I don’t think I have any band-aids.” I responded…
“I don’t need a band-aid. We have to go to the urgent care.”
And so we did. We gathered our things and headed down the steep ridge toward the truck. Arriving at the bottom, Phil jokingly told me, “I wasn’t even following you down. I was just following the blood trail.” We then followed that up with a devious plan to tell everyone that I fainted from massive blood loss, and Phil carried me off the mountain like a prince might rescue a fair maiden. If only we could have stuck with this glorious story.
We hopped in the truck and headed toward the urgent care. I called my wife to let her know that I’m an idiot, but I’ll survive. She wasn’t shocked, which kind of has me wondering.
Phil and I both discussed how horrible this would have been if it would have happened on the elk hunting trip and we were miles away from the truck and medical care.
Phil said that we may need to reconsider taking any knives on the trip, but I don’t think that’s fair. I think we’ll be fine, as long as we don’t pack any oranges.
P.S. – Here’s a description from the Cutie website, which is obviously full of blatant lies… “Kids love Cuties because their naturally loose skin makes them a cinch to peel. Which means they don’t have to ask Mom or Dad to help them – they can do it all by themselves.” Whatever.