Oklahoma Day Four

Like I mentioned in the last post, I woke up, stumbled to the bathroom and hugged the toilet. Then I repeated the motion several times. What a wuss. I have no excuse.

It must have been around 2 p.m. when I realized I needed fresh air. I geared up and embraced the cold weather outside. I decided to hastily walk within the boundaries of Kenny's backyard in an attempt to sweat the illness from my body, but in temperatures like 20 or 30 degrees sweat doesn't simply ooze.

The combination of fresh air and movement helped, but I wouldn't feel normal again for a few more hours. The picture above shows Kenny's backyard.

Here's an example of the roads around most of the towns we cruised through. Sometimes there's nothing for miles.

Everyone was slow to move, but eventually we gathered up the rifles and headed for Cleo Springs.

Today we were hunting for deer.

Kenny drives trucks too. He hauls over-sized loads of drilling equipment for oil. His boss owns a bunch of land and allows my dad and Kenny to use it when ever they want. They just can't shoot the cattle.

We parked along a dirt road and the weather proved colder than before. We added a few layers of clothing then started a walk through a field. The land was beautiful, but death lingered. I started shooting pictures of the cow bones we came across.

Kenny caught a glimpse of some wild turkeys, but we couldn't shoot them because our hunting licenses only allowed us antlerless deer.

Jeremy (below) is checking out a turkey through the scope.

Our walk brought us to an electrical fence used to keep the cattle in order. Since I was the shortest I was the most worried of a fried sack.

Soon after hopping the electrical wire, an old dilapidated house appeared through the woods. The home was occupied by the land owner's grandparents a long time ago. The structure was originally built sometime in the late 1800s. Now it's being used to shelter hunters.

Nothing inside resembled old country life. On the floor sat remnants of old age and in the walls the past hoots and hollers of bullet holes.

Hunting is similar to fishing in that multiple people wait silently for something to happen. The home slightly shielded us from the chilly wind, but everyone's fingers and face were still going numb.

Everyone sort of picked a section of house we were going to survey from. Then we stood quietly staring out into the woods.

Staring at the photo below, if you look at the first window to the right of my dad you'll see the window I spied through.



Below is a shot of the same window from where I was standing.

So here's where all my vegetarian and animal lover friends will be upset with me. I stood here looking through this window by myself. I enjoyed the view. I inspected the walls around me. I wondered what life was like for the people that used to live there. I wished I had land like this of my own.

Then I spotted them. I found some deer. For a quick moment I thought maybe I should pretend not to see them, but I also had this weird feeling of not wanting to let my dad and Kenny down.

I tried to get someone's attention without making too much noise. I snapped my fingers, but my gloves muted the sound. I whispered "hey," but no one heard me. Finally Jeremy came around the corner and I told him to get Kenny's attention.

Kenny arrived and I said something like, "I see a deer." He asked if it had any antlers. I said, "I don't think so."

Kenny said, "Well shoot it then."

By this time I was shaking a bit, but I situated myself on to one knee and tried to remember the lessons of holding a rifle from the day before. When I spotted the deer in the scope I was staring at the hind leg. I learned before that deer should be shot through the heart and that target was somewhere behind the shoulder.

The deer was walking while I tried to find the target, but I wasn't moving the gun fast enough. I realized the edge of the window would probably come into view if I kept panning to the right and I didn't want to unload a bullet into the wood, so I quickened my movement and found what I thought would be a sufficient target considering the window' s edge.

I fired. I went deaf. I saw the deer drop to the earth through the scope. I turned around and noticed the jubilant expression on Kenny's face. My dad entered the room shocked from the fire. He asked who did that. I answered it was me and, "I think I got it."

What an experience.

My feelings conflicted. Earlier I was close to puking my stomach out of my mouth and now I was an experienced deer killer, but then I was happy I could give my dad a moment extremely normal to him. He was proud. Kenny was proud. Later my grandfather would be proud. I have a feeling Jeremy was proud too, but he was also pissed he missed the deer he shot at.

The deer lingered for a few moments possibly waiting for their friend to get up. Jeremy took aim and fired. I think the shot went too high because the scope on the gun he used was set at 400 yards. The deer were only 30 yards away.

Here she is. In the background is the house I shot from.

We left after another hour or so because the cold started beating through our clothing. Kenny and I grabbed a hind leg and pulled the deer through the brush and loaded her on to Kenny's pick-up truck.

Next on the list of things to do after killing a deer is the weigh station. The deer weighed in around 65 pounds. Then we were off to Shurman's house/processing plant.

Shurman is a trapper. He sells fur and meat from all the animals he traps. He's also the local deer processor. He seemed very introverted. I tried saying hi, but he wasn't accepting any salutations from strangers this evening.

The first detail that caught the attention of Jeremy and me was the heaping mound of antlers and skeletons piled on a table. Then came the fury body parts scattered around on the floor and then came the dubious mounds of organ like material - innards.

At one point Jeremy thought he stepped on a rock, but when he looked down to investigate he realized he was stepping on the hoof of a deer. This place was like the set of a sick horror movie. I noticed a decaying deer hoof dangling from the rafters. We were blown away.

Apparently he's good though. He'll be taking care of packaging the meat, which will then go to my grandmother. He charged $60.

After that we drove home to Watonga, talked about our day and slowly fell asleep.

Oklahoma Day Three

Cheerios, coffee and conversation ushered in the next day. After an hour or so the three of us were off to Watonga. So here's a correction, my dad lives in Watonga not Okeene. My cousin Kenny lives in Okeene.

We traveled northwest from Oklahoma City and I noticed that the complaints my dad had regarding his van's steering control didn't seem so accurate. He complained the steering resembled something similar to forcing a boat to remain straight in water. I didn't think the situation was truly terrible. It wasn't until the last day I realized the danger. But that's another story.

We drove through farmlands and small towns. We saw pieces of cars decorating lawns. We saw cows grazing behind fences. We saw the decaying carcasses of deer, raccoon and coyote littering the shoulders of each roadway we rolled down.

We stopped in Kingfisher (the birthplace of Walmart's creator Sam Walton) to buy ammunition in a Walmart. The bullets were for the guns we were going to shoot later.

I thought the highlight of my dad's house tour would be the pink and purple room where one wall was dedicated to Dog the Bounty Hunter in black ink, but finally being able to check out my boat proved better.

The 12 foot aluminum boat is sitting there waiting for me to tow it home. I'm not sure when that will actually occur, but I'm looking to make it happen soon.

My dad isn't the fan of Dog. The kid that used to live in the house is. The three bedroom home is new to my dad and he's been working on it, but hasn't painted over the black Sharpie graffiti left by the child.

Noon was close enough so we started drinking. Jeremy and I were able to examine all the firearms we would be dealing with later. At this time I had never shot a gun in my life and when I revealed that to my dad a few years ago he made it a sort of mission to get me to fire at something, especially during this trip.

The temperature outside remained low throughout the day – probably around 30 degrees. We were all determined though and headed out into the country. My dad hauls wheat for Wheeler Brothers and the company owns an extreme amount of land. All the employees are given permission to use the land to hunt and camp. The section we drove to had a firing range.

Here I am trying desperately to hit a can of soup. I couldn't for a few rounds, but when I finally did I couldn't miss. After the cans were on the ground I started making them dance.

Jeremy had no problem. The jerk hit the can on his second shot.

We moved on to rifles after the pistols. Again, I couldn't hit shit. The rifle we were shooting was a 30ot6(?), and this rifle plays a huge part in turning me into a murderer the next day. (A little teaser for those who will be pissed while reading the next post.) The scope was set for 100 yards and Jeremy killed a can of peas right away.

Soon our hands were ice cold and we were forced to quit. We headed back to my dad's house, gathered some belongings and headed to Okeene to meet my cousin Kenny. Kenny Synco is my second cousin. I met him once when I was a child, but I don't remember the meeting.

Immediately we started drinking. Kenny and Jeremy drank beer and my dad and I drank whiskey. Then after awhile I started drinking beer too.

The conversation never stopped. Kenny and dad had stories that seamlessly lead into one another. After the bottle of Blanton's dried out I started drinking Bud Light. All of a sudden Kenny wanted to go to the bar, but the problem was the time – 2:30 a.m. arrived quickly and the bar was closed. The next thing I remember is Kenny telling us we were going hunting instead.

We began gearing up. The weather was freezing. Everyone was drunk and the guns were out. All of a sudden it's the next day and I'm hurling in the bathroom.

We didn't make it. Everyone passed out instead.
Thinking back, that night could have been legendary, but someone might have died. Not from a gun shot wound or a freak auto accident, but from a night so extremely cold that the nuts on any man's body may have iced up and fallen off.

Oklahoma Day Two

We were up and barely ready to move at 6:30 a.m. La Quinta supplied a basic continental breakfast, so Jeremy grabbed a piece of bread and I simply poured myself a miniature cup of coffee. Our spirits were high and we're ready to make this trip work.

This man is my great-great grandfather Henry Clay Synco.

Once we entered the security line Jeremy realized he had lost his I.D.

Shit. Now what?

He was told he would have to spend some time in a back room for possible probing, or just friendly interrogation. Once we arrived at the section where we show our boarding passes and begin stripping, the security guard explained we didn't have boarding passes. I guess the tickets the gentlemen printed out for us last night were itinerary tickets, but I didn't bother to check.

So back in line.

I made it through security and Jeremy was hauled off by an ear. The process didn't take that long actually. He was through security in about five minutes.

Our flight was quick and easy, maybe about 20 minutes tops. Our luggage arrived fine, although my guitar case received a serious ding.

We arrived at my grandpa's house in Chactaw, OK and my father arrived soon after.

This man is my dad John Clayton Synco Jr.

After touring the house and surrounding property we left to check on another house my grandpa is working on. We didn't do much else today. Other than swinging at golf balls and eating a tasty spaghetti dinner, we basically sat around and talked.

Tomorrow we leave to my dad's house.

Jeremy holding balls.

All three John Syncos hitting some balls.

(Update: I had to post this entry two days late. Internet is hard to find in these parts.)