(2015-11-10) Hunting
Hunting
Summary: A day trip for hunting
Date: 11.10.2015
Related: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank. You have to use full URLs, like http://mushname.wikidot.com/logtitle)
Players:
bob..pied-piper..quinton..terry..

After a long horse ride out to what was once a national park in the drizzling rain a morning hunt was had. The larger group split up into small groups of twos and threes and went off. At noon they all meet up again everyone bringing back their trophies. Some were better than others, but every little bit helps. Lots of rabbits, duck and geese, including the duck, rabbits and deer that Bob and Terry brought back. Quinton and Piper each brought back a deer, (OOC: rolled in earlier scene) the woman returning with a twisted ankle as well…there was an incident. Lunch was had, and Piper along with a few other guards stayed behind to field dress and guard horses and the catch while all the rest went back to hunting for the afternoon. There were several reports of various herds to the south so that is the direction they should be heading.

Bob came back with his deer and two rabbits about the same time as the others. He drags the buck over towards the rest of the meet, leaving it with the guards who will be managing that. He takes a few moments to check his rifle over and to reload it. He adjusts the forearm snipers sleeve with bullets in it all around, and slings his rifle over his shoulder. He ate his lunch and then he set out to the south with the others.

Moving to the south goes easily enough in the beginning. His leg has mostly healed, but excessive walking has him relying on the walking stick more and more. "Everyone make sure to watch your steps. Hunting in groups means its more likely you'll scare the prey." Says the Country Sheriff who's been hunting most of his life.

Quinton was a little frazzled when he returned fro the first part of the hunt with Piper. He's not a hunter, has never claimed to be. So the fact he's bagged a deer is pretty good. Lunch was had and now he's going out a second time with the rest, letting bob and Terry take the lead. He's been rather quiet, only speaking when spoken to.

Terry dismounted his horse, checked his hunting rifle, and headed off to find a good spot from which to set up a blind. He was decked out in proper hunting colors.. not so much military, but the colors serve as sufficient camouflage where it counted. Boots, pants, shirt, hat, the usual stuff. Canteen as well. Once the blind was up, the former militaryman settled into position and waited for prey.

Within short order, Terry returned to camp with a nice fat duck, somewhat disappointed at his meager offering in comparison to the others. After lunch, Terry fell in with the sheriff, eager to get back into the swing of things.

The trek south is quiet and uneventful. Various small game is flushed out, rabbits, quails and pheasant flee before the three men and thier boomsticks. A prairie dog or two can even be seen diving into his or her hole, but isn't until the trio get within view of a small lake feed by a lazy stream that better game comes into view. That of a flock of geese milling about the shore of the lake and in the distance the gobbling of turkeys can be heard, but not seen from the current vantage.

Birds…ok, leave the rifle where it is then. Bob instead pulls off his large sports duffle bag and pulls out an old, weathered, double barreled shotgun. Because, let's face it, Bob is a cowboy, not an Indian.

He slides the lock over to the side and breaks the barrel, sliding in two red shells from the bag. A glance to Terry and he nods towards the Geese, "Goose sounds better than rat…" or cat. Or dog. Bob won't eat dog. Dogs are for petting. And training.

He snaps the barrel back together, locks it, and cocks back the hammer on one of the barrels. He then settles, and waits while the others get prepared. He'll take up aim at one of the geese while waiting.

Quinton's trailing behind the two, he's either tired or sore or just not into hunting as much. The poet isn't being very quiet with his steps. His shot gun is up and he's just waiting for the sign to shoot. There's a bird he's got in his sights, it's big…probably a goose. Probably.

Terry ponders something a moment, and ditches his boomstick for a compound bow and a quiver of arrows. He heads off into the brush to go hunt down s'more prey, incognito. Besides, any noise will flush out more prey to hunt down. With any luck, tonight the group will feast like kings… at least, that's the way Terry figures it. All of this thinking about food is starting to make him feel hungry, so he focuses on stalking prey, getting into a 'hunter' mood..

The shot has been lined up for a while, but Bob is a patient man…at least when it comes to shooting things. So he waits. Once Terry is done moving he waits some more.

He takes in a breath, releases it halfway, and then pulls the trigger. The shotgun screams, and the kick has Bob draw back a bit. A moment later, one of the Geese that tried to fly away falls to the ground. Now if only he had a good bird dog. Dammit, he's going to find a dog one of these trips.

A glance is now spared for the others to see how they are faring.

As soon as Quin years the shot he echoes his. Birds go fly off in different directions, but they re not geese, the group Quin focused on are turkeys. Their frantic gobbles fill the air. Quin's eyes go wide as he blinks in surprise. He always looks surprised when he bags anything.

Terry spots an absolutely *beautiful* buck as he stalks around the area. The bow comes up, drawstring pulled back, arrow nocked.. and then the guns start thundering. The deer bolts right before Terry looses the arrow; instead of finding its mark in the deer, it embeds itself in the tree behind said deer. Terry stalks forward to retrieve the arrow, and disappears back into the brush for more stalking. He recalls having a nice dog he could have brought along.. ah well. The mutt's probably back at camp, howling up a storm.. but he'll come along on the next trip, whenever that may be.

Geese and turkeys take flight as the men fire at their feathery targets. The bullets hit home though and there is an additional goose and a turkey to take back to the camp later.

Bob hmmms quietly and gets up to retrieve his OWN damned bird. Stupid no dog havin' Sheriff. He moves off towards the downed goose and snatches it up. He returns to his duffle and rifle, putting away the shotgun and shouldering the rifle once more. He looks off further south and nods in that direction, "Looks like we may have some more like a bit further down there. I think there's a stream, might be some bigger game." Because let's be fair, more food is better.

Quinton trots after the …turkey? Huh. ok then, turkey. It's spung over a shoulder and he eyes the area they're in, "Sure..that sounds fair." He's not really sure if it does, but Bob should know better than him. His speech seems good today, at least.

Terry continues stalking through the underbrush, stopping to retrieve his errant arrow as he changes directions. The gobbling of a turkey catches his attention, the bow comes up, and an arrow is loosed. The turkey bolts, dodging death by mere inches. The militaryman utters a sotto voce oath to himself, grumbling quietly as his prey evades him.

The game is retrieved and the group carries on moving further south, following the stream. The drizzle is finally starting to let up, the grey clouds breaking up and floating on as she sun finally decides to make an appearance.

"We need to get some generators running, portion out the meat and see if we can freeze it off. Give ourselves a buffer on food for the next few weeks." Bob offers as they move to the south. This may be easier said than done, but if they don't portion it, ration it, and freeze it, they'll end up having to eat it all over the next few days.

He keeps his rifle hoisted on one shoulder with his duffle on the other, and he carries the goose in his left hand.

Quinton offers, "Or learn how to jerky it." A small smile tugs at his lips. "We'll need to take down a few drones if we want to even try freeze it." That's a whole other type of hunting. He feels much better about that type. The poet glances back to look at Terry before turning back to Bob. "If we do…we should travel…at least a few hours away. Might be a …few day trip."

Terry hops out of the brush after another round of stalking, and joins up with the group, shouldering his bow. "Hey, Bob.." He inquires. "That was some good shooting back there. Any tips for a greenhorn like me? I mean, I've done some shooting myself.." He lets that one hang. "..but I figure you'd know a few things I don't. I usually shoot prone, but I've been thinking about other positions. What's your recommendation?"

As they continue their walk, Bob glances to Quinton shrugging once, "Haven't made deer jerky before." Because they had freezers. "We could try it with some of the meat, but we gotta save as much as we can. If we need to take down a couple drones, then that's what we gotta do."

A beat pause, and Bob looks to Terry, "Ain't no need to lay prone fer huntin. You ain't shootin as far, and you don't need the same level of accuracy." Because deer are big. "I usually just crouch or I post up on a tree." He pats his duffle, "Shotgun with birdshot is best fer bird huntin. Rifles are best for deer and the like. Don't need as clean of a hit on birds."

A mile is slowly eaten as the trio follows the river south. Soone enough several herds are noticed in this distance. It could be deer or pronghorn, the size is about right. Not big enough for bison. Which is unfortunate, a couple of those could feed the camp for awhile.

Quinton nods, his shaggy blonde hair bounces, "I just figured Jerky would last long." Not that he know show to make jerky. "Drones…those implants. I think we need to start making some kind of a plan, not just survive." Big words from a poet. Terry's questions make Quin frown, as they seem…odd. Wasn't he a green beret or something? He doesn't respond as the herd comes into view. "careful…the deer Penny and I ran into earlier turned on us." Could be how she twisted her ankle.

Terry nods in acknowledgment of Bob's response, continuing on with the group, if perhaps a few steps behind. Somebody's gotta keep an eye on the group's collective backside. "Well, if we run across the deer in question, point him out. I'll go Bear Grylls on him, whoop him senseless, and we'll have meat for the season," he says, chuckling, scanning the area, weapon at the ready.

Bob hmmms quietly as they draw into view of the animals. He unslings his rifle and starts sighting through the scope to get a better view. "Just aint made much jerky m'self, Quin. Aint a bad idea." He pauses a moment and nods, "Let's bag a few of them." he nods is head towards the animals.

"We could try to build a smoke house too. Don't need a ton of heat to smoke meats and it'll keep for a long time." Bob offers with a faint shrug, "We got better folk 'n me to figure that shit out. Just know we need a solution fer keepin foods."

At Quin's suggestion about a plan, Bob nods. "Been workin' on a few ideas. Immediate goal is survivin'. We need to stockpile food and supplies. Once we got enough to keep us goin, we can start lookin into sustainin. Get some gardens goin, smoke some meats, fortify the area around our buildings…" he shrugs, "But first we gotta make sure we aint gonna run into unwelcomed trouble and have to move again."

Quinton frowns again, looking at Bob, "That's not what I meant. That's still surviving." A soft sigh and Terry gets a small smirk, "I don't think I'd be able to identify it in a line up, sorry." With that Quin breaks off from the group slightly, making his way over to start trailing after a small herd of deer.

The herd of grazing creatures don't notice the hunters in the distance, they are moving along at a sedate pace nibbling the grass as they go.

"May just be survivin, but that's the best we'll get for a while here. We got folks lookin to end us, every one. Once we can manage survivin, we'll have a meetin to worry about bigger plans." Bob offers and then as they get closer, he crouches down on one knee, and lines up a shot on one of the pronghorns, sighting it up with his scope.

He slides a round into the chamber, pushes on the slide and loads the round. Once he's got a clear shot, Bob will loose on the pronghorn.

Terry drops to one knee as well, lining up a shot on a nearby lone deer, leaving Bob to deal with the pronghorn. Slide back, round in, line up… Once the coast is clear, and the shot looks good: front sight, trigger press, follow through.

Quinton sighs, disagreeing with Bob, but this isn't the time to argue it. instead he gets little closer to the deer and brings the rifle up. One of the straggled around the edge of the herd is targeted and he waits patiently till he hears shot go off and he does the same. Hopefully someone knows how to make jerky, other wise they're going to be grilling and feeding now only Camp Hope, but the Reyes family as well.

The blasts of the rifles send the herd leaping away, in the opposite direction. The three hit make a few leaping bounds but quickly collapse from their wounds. With the deer and the pronghorn, along with the fowl, it's almost more than can be taken back to the meeting spot, but it is managed. And the camp has enough meat to last a little while longer.

Hunting Rolls

1 Duck
3 Deer
2 Rabbit
1 Goose
1 Pronghorn
1 Turkey

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