A Good Descriptive Hunting. Essay

We were in the clearing of the woods where the trees were less dense. He could see me; I feet his eyes on me, yet I could see him It was all blurry In my mind after that, Like having a night of heavy drinking. But none the less I knew the spot. I knew the part of the woods he was hiding in, and I was set in that direction. Some time past, but I was hard to decide how much. It’s never easy to measure time when your mind is in other places. I soon hit some heavy brush. I started my way through the brush, slashing through the thick thicket like a mercenary in a Jungle.

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Towards the end though dense fog began to cover the woods; morning was approaching. I had no clue how further north I needed to travel, but I did know that this fog wasn’t getting any thinner. It seem after a few hundred yards, it was getting harder to breath and I couldn’t see 3 Inches In front of me. Soon found my way out of the brush and sat In a clearing near by. The clearing seem to be very secure. Trees surround the clearing with thick bushes in between the trees. I leaned up against one of the trees. As I sat their in the heavy fog, my skin seemed to clam up a little from the giant cloud I was sitting in.

I couldn’t help but to impinge myself sitting in a giant moist cotton ball. At this thought I chuckled in the back of my mind. I opened my left leg pocket and grabbed a bit of pork out to chew. My teeth bit into the pork and then I heard it. Someone was near and wither or not they knew I was here was questionable. The sound was a broken twig on the ground. Alerted, I quickly but quietly grabbed the gun from my back and held it with both hands. Like a sly cat I slowly crouched behind a nearby bush and looked around, but It was pointless. I couldn’t see a thing with the fog so thick.

I eared another twig break and though to myself: what kind of enemy gives themselves out Like this? Could he know that I was near by and how? I placed the thoughts away, trying only the think of the positive that he didn’t know I was near. I slowly and the ground. I followed the sound, making every move of mine perfectly quite. If I was trailing God, he wouldn’t know I was behind him. We were now going deeper north, and the woods were getting less dense. I trailed the now visible shadow till we reach a slight clearing. The fog was beginning to let up some, but the sound I was following was still not visible.

I seemed to Just be hoping around the sound, waiting for the right time to take my shot. I was getting anxious, ready to end this game of cat and mouse. We soon ended up in a flat part of the woods. There were no leaves or things on the ground and the trees were six to seven feet apart. This is the place I though to myself. The sound soon stopped in front of a mini stream. I parked my body nearby behind a giant bolder. The fog was clearing up now and I will soon be able to make out the figure. “This is it, this is it”, I kept thinking. The shadow raised its head.

I mounted myself again the rock, the barrel of my gun pointed right at my target. I made my mark in my head: A clean chest shot. I fired the gun and shadow bolted left into some brush. My paint covered the rock that should have gotten my opponent. I shot forward and landed behind some trees near the stream. The fog was getting a lot less dense, almost completely gone. Seeing this as a stand off I decided that the best offense would be a complete charge into the bush. I counted down from three in my head, and ran like lighting into the bush. I fired four bursts into the thicket.

Paint went flying into a thin mist around my hit target. I waited to hear my opponent to call out, but to my surprise I heard nothing. I stood up to see a painted dear run ferrules into the woods; my paint. It was that exact moment I felt the sharp pain in my right shoulder. I’ve been hit. A second and third shot came nearly within milliseconds of each other. I was hit hard. I raised my hand to call out. “OUT! “, I shouted, trying not to show my pain or embarrassment. The fog had cleared and my opponent, standing behind the bolder I was behind, laughed a sigh of triumph.


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