You Don’t Need Legs to Bag a Buck
Hunt 2 Heal helps the disabled keep doing the things that make a man’s life worth living
By Charlie LeDuff · November 21, 2024
Carson answered the phone. His legs were spasming uncontrollably, as they do most mornings, like a cricket on a griddle.
It was Josh. He asked Carson to bring a pistol. The buck was still alive in the undergrowth. Carson massaged his legs into submission, pulled up his trousers, lifted himself with great effort into the electric wheelchair, retrieved his gun, and rolled out into the woods.
The buck was healthy, perhaps 2 ½ years old, not quite dark in the pelt. Seven points, not six. It was a fine, handsome animal. Josh put it down with a bullet behind the ear. Then he called Ted up at the lodge.
The group arrived in an oversized golf-cart fitted with a wheelchair lift. There were Ted and Al and Al’s wife Lora, who chastised Al for his marksmanship. There were Randy, the cook, and Jim, the guide who’d once broke his back.
Al surveyed the buck from his wheelchair and smiled bittersweetly. “I’m sad it’s over.”
Then again, there will be nice venison for Thanksgiving. And memories to remind a busted man that he is still a man. And that there is a good woman beside him to help him be a better man. And that’s how it goes in the woodlands of Michigan.
