My Toughest Hunt After reading about “tough hunts” in a recent issue of the NRA American Hunter magazine, I thought I’d share the details of my toughest hunt to date. It happen this past season during Iowa’s 2007 shotgun season. A severe winter storm blanketed the area leaving behind a sheet of ice 3-4 inches thick. I hunt an area in NE Iowa untouched by the earth flattening glaciers of the past, where the hills are scary steep and seem more fitting for a rural setting in the Allegany Mountains of N. Central Pennsylvania. Iowa’s shotgun season is dominated by party hunting and the preferred method is a deer drive. After two months of solitude hanging from a tree during the archery season, the camaraderie of picking up a shotgun in December and participating in a group hunt is very enjoyable. On our group hunt on the third day of the season, I had the daunting task of walking through the area know by locals as Devils Door and pushing deer towards hunters waiting further down the river valley. My decent down the steep river bluff was made more daunting by the sheet of ice covering the forest floor. To descend the hill I needed to stomp my way through the ice sheet utilizing the edge of the sole of my boot and hope that there was something under the ice for the sole of my boot to grab on to. After descending one third of the way down the hill, without warning, my footing gave out and before I knew it I was on my rear-end sliding down hill feet first, out of control. My first concern was keeping my slug gun pointed in a safe direction, before I knew it I was launched from a small rock ledge and air born. When I hit the ground, I found myself on my stomach, face first and gaining speed. Several small trees 2-3 inches in diameter were snapped like twigs by my speeding out of control mass. Launching off the second rock ledge got me to thinking about my personal safety while sensing that my body was taking quite a beating from bouncing off trees and rocks. My shoulder smashed into a mature oak tree sending me spinning and cart wheeling like a rag-doll. I instinctively threw my slug gun off to the side choosing to protect my body instead of continuing to protect the gun. Instantly I was again airborne and braced for the upcoming impact with the ground. I hit face first still gaining speed in my downhill decent. Up ahead I could see the blurry image of a treetop coming into view. It turned out to be a fallen elm tree. Sliding into the treetop, I snapped the first 3 or 4 branches that I came in contact with, luckily, the last available branch held and stopped me cold. Just then, my Leupold topped custom Remington 11-87 came whistling by as it continued it way down the hillside like a bobsled on a rail. After a few minutes of terror inflicted paralysis, I decided that I should try to stand up and do an inventory of my faculties. I still had my eyeglasses and I could see. All the major appendages were sore, scrapped up and bruised, but functioning. Moving on to the digits I found the pinky finger on my left hand was bent at a 45-degree angle at the first knuckle. I carefully adjusted the pinky back towards its normal position and went to look for my gun. I found it 50 yards down hill looking like it had been through year of desert warfare. Knowing that three fellow “drivers” were descending the same steep hillside to my left, I began to think about the wisdom in finishing out the hunt. The finger was numb and the there was no noticeable blood loss that I could discern. It was after all, a once a year adventure that only last five short days and I did not want to miss a minute of the action. Then, being somewhat intimidated by the hill that I would need to climb to continue and knowing that if I fell again I might slide all the way to the river before stopping, I called off the hunt and headed to my truck picking up the other walkers along the way. I call my wife (who is a RN) and told her I was on my way to the clinic with a broken or dislocated finger. She had a doctor waiting for me, he patched me up, applied a splint and I was back in the woods hunting 3.5 hours later.