---

Thinking of worthwhile things to write about for this article can be a real challenge. Oh sure, for a number of weeks each year you can count on me to accurately report that the fish are biting better or worse than at other times based on seasonal patterns and prevailing weather. Blah, blah, blah...so what else is new?

I'll tell you what's new and refreshing: witnessing your brother-in-law stab himself in the thigh with a big Buck knife while field dressing a deer. Now that is simply too good to pass up.

Before we get too deep into this story, I should mention that this fine paper, the Chisago County Press, dug into its coffers and generously paid my way to attend Governor Tim Pawlenty's Big Buck Banquet last Thursday, an annual event which kicks off the Governor's Deer Opener. This year's dinner was held at Spectacular Events Banquet Center in Isanti. Over 300 guests from various outdoor organizations and the media were in attendance - a record crowd I was told. The food was quite good and I did get a chance to rub shoulders and talk with some pretty impressive and influential people.

To be honest though, from a writer's standpoint, I don't know if I can add too much to what you've already read in the Sunday papers about the Governor's opener. The long and short of it is, that he once again didn't have an opportunity to shoot a deer. In his defense however, the Governor did mention at the banquet that it's pretty tough to see deer - let alone shoot one - with choppers buzzing overhead and the woods teeming with Minnesota State Patrol security personnel. So, I have to say that my own personal deer opener has Pawlenty's beat by a long shot.

Okay, back to the stabbing. And let's be honest, isn't that what has kept you reading up to this point?

On opening morning, my brother-in-law, Mark, shot an impressive 8-point buck (the deer was trotting about 60-yards away, no less) with his new Mossberg 20 gauge, outfitted with a 22-inch rifled barrel and 4X scope. Mark was full of "shucks" and "by gollys" when he talked about shooting that buck, but judging by where his single shot hit the deer, I doubt luck had too much to do with the final outcome.

Anyway, when it came time to eviscerate the beast I played the typical supporting role, grabbing both front hooves while Mark positioned himself at the opposite end, starting with the breastbone and working his way down from there. The big Buck knife somehow got hung up on something around the deer's midsection and Mark struggled a bit as he attempted to draw (and sort of yank) the blade toward himself. (Reads like a Shakespeare tragedy, doesn't it?) The knife suddenly worked its way free and, quick as a wink, found Mark's inner thigh. I know what you're thinking and I thought of it too the moment the blade tip-snicked through Mark's heavy bib overalls and snazzy blue long johns: What about Mark's femoral artery? (That's the Profunda Femoris Artery for you Latin fans out there.) Hooey, I mean nick that baby and it's lights out in a big damn hurry, my friend.

Needless to say, I kept a keen eye on Mark for a minute or two following this incident. After I determined that he wasn't going to suddenly turn ghostly white and pitch over backward, I decided against quickly asking him for his gun collection, Toyota Tundra pick-up with the off-road package and newly acquired 8-point rack.

Seriously though, when Mark's face registered concern a short time later and he mildly complained that his leg was beginning to stiffen up and smart, we inspected the site a bit closer and discovered a pretty good gash peeking out from behind the sliced fabric of his coveralls. At that point, I did give some serious thought to my recent refresher course in first-aid and how to fashion a tourniquet with a belt.

I know Mark downplays this whole deal and will probably kill me for writing this, but he does have a few stitches in his leg as a reminder. When Mark asked the attending urgent care doctor in Stillwater about his injury and its proximity to that critical artery, the doctor replied, "Ach. You were a couple of inches away. Not even close."

You know, this mishap brings to mind some profound words of wisdom inscribed on a heavily lacquered cedar plaque. This plaque is a treasured family heirloom that proudly hangs in the in-law's outdoor biffy at their cottage in northern Wisconsin. It occupies a prominent place on the wall right above the toilet tank, so being of the male persuasion, I'm naturally inclined to give it more of my undivided attention and deep consideration than the women and girls in the family. The plaque reads, "As you go through life, two rules will never bend: Never whittle toward yourself or pee against the wind."

Wow. Even I'll admit I went quite a ways to work the toilet plaque into this article, but I think you know what I'm talking about and aren't you thankful I did? I mean, jeesh, in light of this slightly exaggerated story, those truly are words to live by, aren't they?

The only other chintzy trading post sign I can recall on short notice is one having to do with the bad practice of kicking fresh cow chips on a hot day. I guess it's just dumb luck that Mark whittled his leg with a big ol' Buck knife rather than step in a stinky cow pie this past weekend. It'd be pretty tough to write 1,000 words about cow manure and hope to keep the your interest.

Dan Brown's weekly outdoor column is brought to you by Frankie's Bait and Marine, in Chisago City, and St. Croix Outdoors, in St. Croix Falls, Wis.

---