Kathy Bassett: Blind in one eye, can't see in the other

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Several years ago, we had permission to hunt north of Hayden.

We were told we would be the only ones hunting on the property, so if we saw anyone else there, to run them off.

About mid-morning, we decided to head back to camp and way off yonder on a hill, we were almost blinded (well, not really, since it was a long ways off, but I’m trying to make a point here) by a person dressed totally in bright brand new blaze orange from head to toe.

You couldn’t miss him. We watched for a bit — he kept going in and out of a big bush.

We headed that way, and by the time we got up to him, he was once again hiding in the bush.

The “X” got out of the truck, walked over and politely told him that he would have to leave because he was trespassing. I’m still laughing all these years later. He asked how in the world we ever spotted him.

I can’t believe he couldn’t see there were no leaves on the bush.

Hunting season brings out the best in some and the worst in others.

I am amazed at the stories hunters can think up when you catch them trespassing.

They can’t see “No Tres­passing” signs. They can’t see “No Hunting” signs. How do they see to shoot?

What do we have to do? Put big alarms on signs so it scares the pants off them?

Guess they wouldn’t be so apt to hunt if they didn’t have any pants on.

This year, opening morning of the first season, Cujo Ani came unglued off the living room floor and wanted out the door in a big way.

I could hear a “rap rap rap!” I groaned, the clock in the dark glowed 5 a.m. Half asleep I stumbled to the door, opened it and there was a blaze orange guy mumbling away about how he has hunted on this property for six years.

As my eyes got a little further open, with the porch light on, I could see he was not your ordinary poor little ol’ hunter out looking for meat. He was driving a huge fancy Hummer and dressed fit to kill.

I turned back to the guy who still was rambling on about how he had permission to hunt and just wanted to let me know he was here. I nodded and he slowly made his way on down to the river.

I headed back to bed. Yawn. Can I go back to sleep? Wait just a cotton pickin’ minute!

That guy said he had permission to hunt here — rambled on and on — and then, toward the end of the conversation, he asked me if the ranch owner is deceased?

OK, I was awake.

I called the Sheriff’s Office and they came out and very politely got him to scurry on out of here, and I doubt he will be back.

Then, take another recent morning.

I spotted some trespassers by the third gate at the upper hay meadow. I drove over there and some guy asked me how he can help me? Huh? I told him he sure could help me by telling me who gave him permission to hunt there. Of course, then you get a blank stare and big story about how they had no idea this was private property.

Excuse me! Signs? Fences? Gates? Maps? I’m telling you, trespassers can’t see.

He told me they actually aren’t hunting across the fence, they are walking the fence line.

About that time a guy came walking out of the hay field. He was sorry to walk in the hay meadow, but he was tired of walking in the brush. I told him that I sure would hate to have to call the Sheriff’s Office. He got all flustery and started telling me how he is such a good person. He goes to church. He reads the Bible. He prays, and he would never do anything illegal.

I told him to just whoa up a minute. I didn’t want to hear it because Bible-thumping folks are the worst kind.

I always figure if you gotta go around talking what a good Christian you are, then you ain’t much of one, because a good one don’t have to pound it into folks, folks already knows by your actions.

Anyway, he shut up at that one, rounded up his bunch and they left.

Yeppers, can’t wait to hear the next excuse. They get better and better.

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