A Deer Hunter's Predicament (guest post by Chris Davis, my son)

Thursday morning I just happened to be awake in the deer stand and a doe came by at 9:20. An hour later she is gutted, loaded on the 4-wheeler, and we are headed back to camp. I have her skinned in pretty short order.

I start taking her apart, beginning with the shoulders. Those come right off, just hardly touching them with the knife. My normal routine is to remove the hind quarters, then the tenderlions, and then the back straps. But for some reason I decide to go for the tenderlions. 

As I'm reaching in to retrieve those little jewels, the deer, of course, is spinning, and, with my mind still on the election I guess, I slide my surgically sharp knife right across the top of my hand. Had it not scraped the bare bone, I may have never felt it.

Now I'm leaving my own blood trail to the seat of my truck where I thought I had an extra towel, but it was not there. I strip down to my tee-shirt and get it off. That is my pressure rag.

So here I am, about 6 miles away from the house, all by myself at camp with a deer partially quartered and a cut -- I don't quite know how bad yet, but I know it is to the bone. And, I have given no thought to carry a first aid kit. (Lesson learned).

I take the shirt off my hand, and I am relieved to see there is no gushing of blood, just a good ooze when I make a fist. Sure enough, there is my white knuckle bone. So what do I do? Do I call for help? Do I drive off, leaving the deer hanging? Who do I call? Only a few people know how to get to me.

I decide, after some time had passed with the pressure applied, that I could just wrap my hand good and tight with the tee-shirt I have now cut in half, and finish the deer.

With my wrapped hand, I manage to get the deer finished. I don't call my wife until now, because I know she would freak out and demand I leave the deer and everything and get home. I call and tell her the situation and ask her to go buy some ice before I get there to put on the deer meat. I tell her to call the doc's office, because I will definitely need to be sewed up. Thank God we did not have to spend the day in the ER. The doc sewed it up in no time, and we had time left over to eat out.

It could have been a lot worse. Six stiches later my hand looks like a baseball.

Things can happen out of nowhere. Be careful.