My apologies to that prolific and popular early 19th Century American writer James Fenimore Cooper for purloining, after a fashion, the title of one of his famous Leatherstocking Tales.

Missouri’s firearms deer season opened Saturday to a chilly temperature and sustained winds of 60 mph with gusts up to 90 mph. That’s what it felt like, anyway. Deer don’t like to move much when the wind is howling like it was Saturday. A lot of hunters don’t move at all from the warm comfort of their kitchens. But I did, why I can’t say with certainty. Maybe because it was opening day and I didn’t want the people hunting on our place to get the mistaken impression that I was a wimp.

I haven’t seen opening day harvest totals yet, but judging from the few gunshots I heard it must not have been exceptional. There are times when opening day sounds like an ongoing fire fight around here, back and forth across the Bourbeuse River just south of the house with pitched battles being fought along Dry Fork Creek to the north. Not this year, though. I know I didn’t fire a shot, mainly because I saw not even one deer but partly because it is difficult to see much less place a well aimed shot while hunkered down with the hood of your hunting jacket and a wool stocking cap pulled over your face.

I was tempted to build a fire at my deer stand and likely would have if the leaves and twigs hadn’t been so wet from a previous day’s rain. Plus my hands were shaking and too numb to work a lighter. The next deer stand I build will have walls and a roof over it, sliding windows, a potbelly stove and a coffee pot. Or I could hunt from the dining room window.

Despite the weather, there was some success among the hardier hunters. Our son-in-law’s younger brother killed an awesome 10-point buck with a heavy, wide rack from a stand not 200 yards from the house. It was only the second deer he had even shot and without a doubt the nicest one I’ve seen out here in 20 years. And our 10-year-old grandson shot a fat doe, his first deer. The wind and cold couldn’t wipe the big grins off either of their faces.

I was happy for them, a little envious of the trophy buck. Judging from the direction it came from and the direction it was heading, it likely walked behind my stand just minutes earlier. Unfortunately, I didn’t see it or hear it because of the conditions cited above and the fact I was curled up in a fetal position trying to conserve what little warmth my body still held.

The weather was better Sunday and I heard considerably more shots from the surrounding countryside. There were none fired on our game ranch, however.

There is a very real possibility that I may be turning into a fair weather hunter as birthdays continue to mount. A lifelong friend, who now lives in Smithville just north of Kansas City, and I planned a two-day pheasant hunt last week in extreme northern Missouri. I drove to his house on Monday afternoon expecting to get up the next morning and make the two-hour drive to Maryville.

Tuesday’s weather forecast, however, called for windy conditions accompanied by drizzling rain. For once, the forecasters were right. When we got up Tuesday morning we were greeted by the sight of nearby trees bending double and a little more than a drizzle of rain falling. Jim is three months older than I am so I let him make the call. It was easy and I quickly concurred. We went to Cabela’s in Kansas City, Kan., (at I-70 and I-435) and I spent most of the money I had accidentally won the night before at the Argosy Casino. Not for things I absolutely needed, of course, but things I wanted and thought I needed. Besides, I was doing my patriotic duty and helping boost the floundering U.S. economy.

Jim and I have hunted together since our teens, often in downpours, hurricane strength winds, temperatures significantly below the freezing mark, and even in full-blown, genuine blizzards, and not that many years ago either. Maybe the proximity of the hunt has something to do with it. If we had driven all the way to Huron, S.D., last week to hunt pheasants, we probably would have hunted regardless of weather conditions. Maybe not.

Comfort and warmth seem to be winning out while “getting the winter’s meat” is falling into second place. Besides, there’s always a warm, dry grocery store reasonably close by.