It’s no secret that I like to hunt. In fact, those of you who follow my journey, after having seen me on TV, do so with the knowledge going into it that my main profession, at the time, was that of a commercial fisherman. Please, spare me the politically correct, “fisherwoman” revision as I am not, in fact, a feminist to such extremes as some tend to think I am. But, alas, that is a topic for another blog. “Fisherman” suits me just fine.
Back to the point, being that I have a passion for hunting, fishing, outdoors, etc., I recently got into the hobby of shed hunting. Without going too much into it, shed hunting isn’t in reference to a backyard storage unit or “she-shed” workshop, but, in fact, referred to when the antlers of a large game animal are shed annually, due to a drop in testosterone causing the antler to become weak and eventually fall off. A new antler grows in its place and is often times larger than the previous year. Don’t fret, no animals are hurt during the shedding process.
Shed hunting, to me, is like one large Easter egg hunt, but for adults. It’s absolutely riveting when I come across one and believe me, the thrill never gets old. For those of you on the coastline, its quite similar to finding a shark tooth but picture it as being the biggest, most awesome shark tooth in the whole collection; each antler being unique in its own way and offering up a different story as to its host.
Picture is “Curly”, a Rambouillet sheep, used for both meat and the harvest of its wool. He is obviously quite different from a shed, wherein, he skull is still attached. When coming across this particular find, avid shed hunters refer to it as a deadhead. I must interject here, however, and point out that sheep are not an antlered animal and therefore DO NOT shed their horns like that of a caribou, deer or moose, for example.
Curly hails from Utah where I happened to cross paths with an interesting couple that, to this day, remain friends. Richard and his wife Lisa are sheep farmers. Now, I am aware that everyone has a difference of opinions when it comes to harvesting animals, etc however, in this particular blog, without going into exhausting and repetitive remarks as to why one, like myself, chooses to eat meat or hunt, I’ll cut to the “meat” of the story (see what I did there??) and get right to the entertaining aspect in all this with that being the “how” Curly came to be in my possession.
While pulled over to get my bearings regarding a local hot springs in Utah I had scheduled a small retreat for later that evening, Richard and his wife, noticing my moose rack atop my vehicle, were so bold as to offer up a trade. Being the hustler I am, I managed to keep my moose and still acquire the sheep after following the lovely couple back to their ranch (ie: slaughterhouse - so not the makings of a scary movie) to find “Curly” amidst a morbidly attractive graveyard for similarly slain sheep. After several laughs and much deliberation, Curly was mounted to the grill of my MDX and made it clear the hell to Tennessee before losing his lower jaw to a freak thunderstorm. Reaching our final destination, he was given a thorough pressure wash and turned into a beautiful piece of art (or so I like to think) with a brand new paint job and sporadic accoutrements of 24k gold leafing.
Curly is now a part of what will be an even larger collection of “same same but different” deadheads that were once a revered and gorgeous live animal having died of natural, or for great cause, became something that looked straight out of a zombie film and with a little inspiration, made beautiful again.
