Picture taken from: http://www.flickr.com/photos/25403537@N08/4198993586/

This buck is an absolute monster!  I would love to shoot a buck like this someday.  Check out the mass that he carries all the way through his antlers.  Once you are done gawking at that, check out this dude's brow tines!  Wow.  What an impressive deer.  To top it off, he is definitely old enough shoot.  I think he would look real good above my fireplace.

Safety Tips for Upcoming Firearm Season

Last time I touched on a few safety procedures that hunter should note when preparing for the upcoming firearm season.  Today I would like to focus on another basic concept, wearing the proper clothing.  It is imperative that hunters remember to wear their hunter orange vests and hats during the firearm season, that way they will be noticed by other hunters.  It is also required by the Department of Conservation, and failure to wear hunter orange can result in tickets and fines.  If you ask me, wearing the orange and being noticed is better than being mistaken for a deer!!  Just remember, be smart and cooperate with all state regulations.  Better safe than sorry I always say.

A Few notes on the Upcoming Firearm Season

It’s that time of year again, when the leaves start to fall, temperatures dip to below freezing, and several thousand deer hunters prepare to take to the woods.  Hopefully they have done their research and located a nice buck in their area.  With firearm season only thirteen days away there is not much time left to properly scout your hunting property.  For the next few days I would like to take some time to go over a few safety procedures that all hunters should follow when preparing for the upcoming firearm season. 

First, remember to practice good gun safety.  We all have a general idea of what gun safety is, but do not always practice it.  For instance, keep the barrel of the gun pointed in a safe direction, and never keep a bullet in the chamber unless you are ready to fire.  Never try to cross a fence with a loaded gun, even if it is on safety.  Accidents can and do happen, but you can take the steps to avoid them.  Lastly, remember to pick your shots carefully.  Never shoot up a hill, or toward another hunter’s stand.  Also be sure to avoid shooting in the direction of any livestock, be it horses, cows, pigs, or sheep. 

On that note make sure your guns are clean and sighted in.  Happy hunting!!  

FREAK Friday!! (a day late)

Picture taken from: http://trophyhuntingdestinations.com/upload/editor/high-fenced-deer-hunting-preserves.jpg

Two is better than one, right?  Or atleast that's how the old saying goes.  These guys here are gorgeous looking bucks.  In fact they look to have come from the same genetic background.  I know for a fact either of these bucks would make my hit list.  I apologize for being a day late with this week's freak.  Anyhow have a great weekend, and I wish all you hunters the best of luck!

Just in the Nick of Time Cont.

 The sight of the buck in my crosshairs made my heart rate sky rocket; this was it, my grand opportunity.  I flipped the safety off and steady the crosshairs just behind the buck’s front shoulder.  By now my palms were starting to sweat, and with a gentle squeeze of the trigger the gun fired.  I’m not quite sure what happened immediately following the shot but I knew something wasn’t quite right.  I saw the buck take off into the woods, and wondered if I had hit him or not.  I jumped on my ATV and drove down to where the buck had been standing, but much to my disappointment there were no signs of a clean hit.  “How did I miss? Was it me or was the gun not sighted in?”  A million thoughts were running through my head, but nothing was going to change the fact that I had missed a chance at a very nice buck. 

            As I drove the ATV back to my original position I couldn’t stop thinking about that buck.  In all my years of hunting I had never missed a shot that easy.  I finally reached the intersection of the fences and loaded a new shell into my gun; hopefully I would get a second chance.  Ten minutes came and went with no signs of anymore deer.  Then, all of a sudden, two does came scrambling out of the west end of the timber, so I pulled my gun up to shoulder to get a better look at them.  While I was watching the two does scamper off into the distance the sound of breaking leaves grew louder and louder behind me.  I turned around, just in the nick of time, to see two more does and another nice buck jumping the fence.  I swung my trusty rifle around and found the buck in the scope.  I squeezed the ice cold trigger and the sound of the discharge deafened my ears.  The ringing lasted a good two minutes, but it didn’t matter because lying on the hill thirty yards away was the buck.  Like a little kid at Christmas I hurried up the buck and found that he was indeed a nice one.  Although he wasn’t as nice as the one I had attempted to shoot earlier, he was still a nice nine pointer.

            I’ll never forget that hunt.  The odds were stacked against me, but somehow I still managed to get a nice buck on the ground.  That hunt was more than just another opening day hunt; it was something more, something special.  It was the fact that I got to spend a great day with old friends and enjoy what the country life had to offer.  I grew up telling myself that I needed to get out of the country and do something with my life, but after that day I realized that the country was my home.  I realized that I belong in a small town that doesn’t even have a stoplight and barely has one thousand citizens.  I realized what my family really meant to me.  I realized that that no matter where you go and how long you are gone, the people in small towns never forget about you.  I realized that I got a second chance to realize what I had been pushing away for twenty years.  For me, in that moment, time stood still, and all I could do was be thankful for what God had given me. 

Just in the Nick of Time Cont.

What I had envisioned as a successful morning just hours before turned out to be nothing but a waste a time.  After three longs hours in the stand I decided that if I was going to shoot a deer I needed to take a different approach.  Hunters always say if the deer aren’t coming to you, then you need to go to the deer, and that’s just what we did.  I got on the phone recruited my dad and an old buddy to come help with the new plan; an organized deer drive, otherwise known as walking and blocking.  An organized deer drive is a hunting technique in which one or more hunters, designated as “shooters,” are put in positions to intercept deer that are being pushed by “drivers” (Deer Hunting Tips).  Essentially this method allows the hunter to create his/her own luck, and that’s just what I needed. 

            Twenty minutes passed before the dust trail from the little, white Toyota pick-up carrying an old hunting buddy could be seen coming down the road a mile away.  As the truck turned into the driveway my mind raced back to memories from past hunting excursions, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.  As he cranked the truck into the field the sound of squeaky brakes echoed into the distance, Aric had arrived.  The tall, lanky man in his mid-twenties that stepped out of the truck was wearing a crazy hunter orange hat that his dad had given him, and was long overdue for a good shave. His father had taught him everything he knew about hunting, until the day of his passing a few years back.  Now the only family he really had was his mother and us.  None-the-less he had a smile on his face that stretched from ear to ear.   

After a quick hello he looked at me and said, “Let’s do this.”  It was decided that my dad and I would be the shooters and Stuart, Phil and Aric would be the drivers.  Dad was the grizzled veteran of the group.  His graying beard was proof that he had been on many more hunting excursions than the rest of the group combined, so he knew what he was doing.  Being a hunter safety instructor he was always preaching safety first.  He had grown out of the shooting stage and was to the point where he got more enjoyment out of watching us succeed.  The only reason he was nominated as a shooter was because he’d, “Rather sit than walk all over the whole damn county.”   

The plan was for them to start at the east side of a small timber and walk directly to the west through the timber.  The three walkers would be evenly spaced in order to make sure every section of the timber was combed.  While they walked to the end of the timber, my dad and I took our positions at the west end of the timber.  He was situated next to a long row of hay bales that had been stacked along a fence row earlier in the year, while I situated myself at the intersection of two fence rows directly across from my father.  Within seconds of getting situated I spotted a nice buck at the edge of the tree line.  I couldn’t quite tell how big he was, but as I raised my scope I could tell that he was a definite shooter. 

            I quickly loaded a bullet into my trusty rifle, a Remington, Model 700, 30.06.  As far as I’m concerned there is no better rifle that than that old Remington.  It was given to me as a gift from my parents for my fourteenth birthday, and it is what I used to kill my deer in the previous four seasons.  It was tried and true.  My only concern with the rifle was the new scope I had put on just a few months before the season started.  Having been away at college I didn’t have any opportunities to shoot the rifle with the newly mounted scope, so all I could do was trust that my dad had zeroed the old rifle in. 

To be continued...           

 

Just in the Nick of Time

Over the past couple of months we have examined good land management and scouting practices.  For the next few days I would like to share a short story I wrote called, "Just in the Nick of Time."  This is a story about one of my past hunts.  I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

As the teacher wrapped up his lecture, I quickly packed up my bag and shuffled out of the classroom.  I raced to my dorm room, where I picked up the bags I had packed earlier that day.  As I drove to the Milwaukee airport I could only think about one thing, the opening day of deer season in Missouri.  Where I come from opening day is something that hunters live for.  It is a day filled with great expectations of killing a good buck, and hunters telling stories of past successes and misfortunes.  On opening day every hunter thinks they are going to be the next hunter to tag a Boone and Crockett sized buck, but many of them come back from the woods empty handed.  For me opening day was more than just the start to another deer season, it was my deer season.  As I boarded the plane I realized only five hundred and nineteen miles stood between me and my only chance to take a good buck.  The day would prove to be more than just another hunt, instead it would bring about a realization of who I was, where I came from, and where I belong.    

            The next day started very early.  I woke up at 5:19 AM to the pounding of my brother’s fist on my bedroom door.  I slowly opened my eyes and looked at the clock, “are you kidding me? It’s 5:19 in the morning?”  A few minutes went by before the pounding on my door started again.  “Okay, okay,” I said, as I dragged myself out of bed and started getting dressed for what I knew would be a very cold morning.  I pulled on layer after layer of clothing because I knew I would be cold if didn’t.  On my way out of the house I snatched up my rifle and my favorite hunting hat.

             Just as I had guessed, the outside air was cold.  The mid-November wind was chilling to the bone, even with all those clothes on.  As I rounded the corner of the house, I found my brother, Stuart, waiting for me in his truck, ready for what would be an interesting day to say the least.

            All my life Stuart and I had been at odds, he was the older, more mature one and I was the spoiled, younger brother.  On Saturday mornings he helped my dad on the farm and I watched game tape from the football game the night before.  He always wore boots and Wranglers and I wore Nikes and sport shorts.  We were complete opposites in almost every aspect of our lives, but we could agree on one thing, hunting.  We both enjoyed the thrill of seeing deer in the wild and the prospect of having a nice buck come within our killing range.  We liked to make hunting a competition between ourselves to see who could kill the first deer or who could kill the nicer buck.  Having killed a nice nine pointer a couples years prior, he held the upper hand.  This year would be different though, I couldn’t describe why, but I could just feel it.  This season would be my season.

            On our way out of town we stopped at the gas station and grabbed a quick bite to eat.  As we got our food and headed for the door we were greeted by many other fellow hunters, and exchanged wishes of good luck.  The ten minute drive to our hunting property seemed like it took for hours, and when we arrived we found our friend, Phil, waiting on us.  Phil never took hunting as serious as the rest of us.  Having been a stellar football player and baseball player in high school, he rarely had time to enjoy the outdoors like we did.  However, he loved opening day just as much as any other hunter in the state of Missouri.

 After quick deliberation we decided that Phil and I would sit in a double stand that was nestled in a tree lined overlooking a clover patch and small timber.  Stuart would be approximately three hundred yards to our east in a tripod stand overlooking a CRP field that bumped up next to a corn field.  The walk to the stand was a good quarter mile, and the sound of crunching leaves beneath our feet sounded like cannons going off in the quiet morning hours.  Once Phil and I reached the stand we took turns making our way up the ladder and getting situated.  Around 6:30 AM the sun’s first rays of light peaked over the trees on the horizon and all of a sudden the woods came to life.  Birds were chirping, squirrels were scurrying back and forth looking for acorns, raccoons were making their way back to their beds, and we began hearing shots being fired in the distance.  We were set; all we needed now was a little deer movement.

            Shot after shot after shot rang out, but we weren’t enjoying the luck those hunters were enjoying.  We sat in the stand until 9:30, but to no avail.  For some reason our honey hole wasn’t very active that morning, and we saw a grand total of one lousy deer.  Three hours in the stand and all we had to show for it was a couple of bright red, wind burnt noses and a new high score on Pac-Man.  Something had to happen if I was going to get a deer on my only day of hunting.  Phil and I decided that this spot wasn’t doing the trick and that we needed to get down and try something else.  I called Stuart and told him what we were planning, and he agreed to meet us at the truck.  When we met up, Stuart told us that he had passed on a really nice ten pointer right before the sun came up. “There wasn’t enough light to see through the scope,” he said, when I asked why he didn’t shoot.  Since time was of the essence we decided to hop in the truck and head over to a spot where Phil’s dad had seen some nice bucks running around.  Little did I know my luck was about to change.

To be continued...