Now I'm not as long winded or descriptive as Mrs. Jagermeister who added the previous post, but I will do my best. You see this story is actually true. Hillbilly, Pops and I were in my drift boat steal-head fishing. We were running hotshots off the bow and I was back rowing. Hillbilly hooks into a big fish. I knew it was big because he was hooten and holleren so much I began to feel like "Ned Batey" in "Deliverance."
He is fighting drag and playing the fish. I back row and side row then do it all again. I get us to some slower water, Hillbilly is pumping that rod up and down, the drag is spinning and the boat is rocking. This goes on for about five minutes then "SNAP" it's all over, we thought. Pops and I start telling him what he did wrong. He was complaining about his brand new gold hotshot when all of a sudden; This salmon jumps straight up out of the water and shakes his head. That gold hotshot was still in his mouth. He shook it twice to show the Hillbilly that he was boss then disappeared forever. That is when the most amazing thing of all happened, Hillbilly was speechless. I didn't think that was possible.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
The goose hunt
Check out the video on the right. It is from Jr's first junior goose hunt. The speed is a little off, I should put some "yakety sax" to it and give it a Benny Hill theme. He had our "Donk" with him, I don't need a gun I have a Donk. It was a great day. Donk was more excited then Jr.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Hillbilly Slide
On one particular hunting trip, Hillbilly and I decided to hunt an old burn we had hunted many times before. As we were walking along an old, over-grown logging road discussing politics, the weather and the apparent need to switch over to light beer, we happened upon a group of deer feeding on new-growth grass in a small, open field.
Upon first sight of the grazing deer, Hillbilly and I instantly slipped into super-stealth mode as if we were a couple of Force Recon soldiers trying to surround and invade an enemy camp. Dressed from head to toe in forest camouflage, we instinctively ducked behind a group of evergreen trees unnoticed. Without uttering a word, we signaled to each other in a series of hand gestures which detailed a fool-proof plan of attack on the unsuspecting deer.
As relayed by his precise hand signals resembling a fight sequence from a Three Stooges episode, Hillbilly signed in agreement to split up, walk wide 3 clicks in a north easterly direction, and sneak in from the back side toward the small herd of deer. I was going to remain in my location among the trees until Hillbilly was in position. Then I was to flank wide 2 - 4 clicks in a southerly direction until I was within shooting range.
The plan was perfect in its simplicity and I was overcome by an overwhelming sense of excitement as the thrill of the hunt began to set in. I watched patiently as Hillbilly crept North through the trees and ground foliage in an effort to complete his mission. Soon he was out of my sight and I settled back against a tree making step-by-step mental notes of how to accomplish my plan of attack in the most efficient manner.
One more time I pulled my range finder out of my pack to double-check the exact distance of the herd so as not to misjudge the distance I had to travel to reach my position. A quick movement just a hundred yards from me caught my eye. It was a legal buck bedded down in the shade beneath a large cedar tree. I also noticed two other bucks feeding a short distance beyond the buck resting in the shade and just below the location Hillbilly was supposed to show up.
In a split second I made a command decision to take off my shoes and stalk the bedded buck. Slowly and silently I started to make my way closer and get in a position that afforded me a clean kill shot. Suddenly another quick movement caught my eye; it was Hillbilly coming out of the brush revealing his position. Frantically, I began flashing him hand signals and other gestures in a large, flailing manner in an attempt to draw his attention to the bucks just below him. The look of confusion on his face indicated he did not understand my directions.
Taking a deep breath, I again signaled in a most clear and concise military manner. To no avail, Hillbilly began to make his way out of the brush and toward my current, shoeless position. From my vantage point I could clearly see Hillbilly was standing on a relatively high outcrop of rock strata covered in dense ground vegetation. The untrained eye could easily underestimate the steepness of the descent down the hill. As if able to predict what might happen next, I tried in vain to gain Hillbilly's attention and warn him of the impending danger. With arms flapping ferociously up and down as if trying to take flight, I tried unsuc-cessfully to prevent what happened next.
For a brief moment I thought Hillbilly may have correctly interpreted my flailing arms as a sign of warning. All to soon that moment slipped away with one unsuspecting step forward onto a clump of seemingly firm, stable grass that gave way under his weight. The sound of breaking, crumbling shale rock began to echo through the mountainside as Hillbilly started to tumble downward.
It happened so fast, yet so slow. I could see the whites of his eyes staring wide in disbelief until a cloud of dust and debris enveloped his careening body. Rocks and small stones rolled violently downhill at an equal pace. Small branches and twigs snapped effortlessly from trees and bushes to joined the ruckus. Hillbilly's two-hundred and fifty pound body began to gain momentum as it plummeted down the hill with the force of a speeding, steel locomotive. Wildlife in the immediate vicinity froze in terror at the sound and spectacle of the camouflaged invader disturbing their peaceful way of life.
As soon as it began.....it stopped. Still holding his rifle unscathed in his right hand, Hillbilly grumbled and groaned in an effort to stand. Twigs and grass blades were imbedded in his baseball cap. The skin on his face and arms were two different shades of dirt. His camouflaged attire no longer blended with the trees of a dense forest, but with the dirt and sagebrush of a high mountain desert.
As the dust and rock settled, we both became aware that the deer were still miraculously standing nearby and within range. They stared as if entranced by what they had just witnessed. The stalking methods of this hopeful hunter was one they were most unfamiliar with. They were confused more than afraid.
Hillbilly and I made eye contact. My facial expressions screamed, "Shoot!"
With the ease and nimbleness of an arthritic seventy-year old man, Hillbilly pulled up on his rifle, aimed...... and missed. He drew in a large breath, shrugged his shoulders and gave me a look of exasperated indifference as he hobbled toward me.
"Why didn't you tell me I was standing on Mt. Kilimanjaro?" he asked.
"I did tell you," I rebutted. "I flapped my arms in silent Morse code patterns. You were in the military as well as I; don't you understand Morse code?"
"I understand Morse code just fine in beeps and clicks as it was intended," Hillbilly argued. "Your flailing arms said to me, 'Hey....I'm over here'!"
"No....that meant stop. You're standing on a highly gradient precipice and will more than likely fall to your doom," I argued back.
"Just so I'm clear, why did you send me walking in circles on my tiptoes?" Hillbilly inquired.
"What are you talking about?" I said. "I clearly told you to walk wide 3 clicks in a north-easterly direction and then sneak in from the backside of the clearing."
"Well, obviously the Army taught you wrong. This is just another classic example supporting my theory that you should have joined the Navy," Hillbilly chided.
"What do you know about hand signals? The only signals you ever learned in the Navy were the red blinking lights and alarms indicating your ship was going down," I teased.
After much banter back and forth regarding all branches of the US armed forces, we decided that whatever training we had received, nothing could prepare us for the battle we would face at home if we didn't make back in time to pick up our children from school.
With packs and rifles slung over our shoulders, we walked and limped our way back to my truck rethinking the day's events. We had both learned a little something about ourselves and about the great sport of hunting. Next time hand signals would be understandable, high outcrops of rocky strata covered in vegetation would be avoided and a first aid kit readily available with an ice cold Bud Light Lime.
Upon first sight of the grazing deer, Hillbilly and I instantly slipped into super-stealth mode as if we were a couple of Force Recon soldiers trying to surround and invade an enemy camp. Dressed from head to toe in forest camouflage, we instinctively ducked behind a group of evergreen trees unnoticed. Without uttering a word, we signaled to each other in a series of hand gestures which detailed a fool-proof plan of attack on the unsuspecting deer.
As relayed by his precise hand signals resembling a fight sequence from a Three Stooges episode, Hillbilly signed in agreement to split up, walk wide 3 clicks in a north easterly direction, and sneak in from the back side toward the small herd of deer. I was going to remain in my location among the trees until Hillbilly was in position. Then I was to flank wide 2 - 4 clicks in a southerly direction until I was within shooting range.
The plan was perfect in its simplicity and I was overcome by an overwhelming sense of excitement as the thrill of the hunt began to set in. I watched patiently as Hillbilly crept North through the trees and ground foliage in an effort to complete his mission. Soon he was out of my sight and I settled back against a tree making step-by-step mental notes of how to accomplish my plan of attack in the most efficient manner.
One more time I pulled my range finder out of my pack to double-check the exact distance of the herd so as not to misjudge the distance I had to travel to reach my position. A quick movement just a hundred yards from me caught my eye. It was a legal buck bedded down in the shade beneath a large cedar tree. I also noticed two other bucks feeding a short distance beyond the buck resting in the shade and just below the location Hillbilly was supposed to show up.
In a split second I made a command decision to take off my shoes and stalk the bedded buck. Slowly and silently I started to make my way closer and get in a position that afforded me a clean kill shot. Suddenly another quick movement caught my eye; it was Hillbilly coming out of the brush revealing his position. Frantically, I began flashing him hand signals and other gestures in a large, flailing manner in an attempt to draw his attention to the bucks just below him. The look of confusion on his face indicated he did not understand my directions.
Taking a deep breath, I again signaled in a most clear and concise military manner. To no avail, Hillbilly began to make his way out of the brush and toward my current, shoeless position. From my vantage point I could clearly see Hillbilly was standing on a relatively high outcrop of rock strata covered in dense ground vegetation. The untrained eye could easily underestimate the steepness of the descent down the hill. As if able to predict what might happen next, I tried in vain to gain Hillbilly's attention and warn him of the impending danger. With arms flapping ferociously up and down as if trying to take flight, I tried unsuc-cessfully to prevent what happened next.
For a brief moment I thought Hillbilly may have correctly interpreted my flailing arms as a sign of warning. All to soon that moment slipped away with one unsuspecting step forward onto a clump of seemingly firm, stable grass that gave way under his weight. The sound of breaking, crumbling shale rock began to echo through the mountainside as Hillbilly started to tumble downward.
It happened so fast, yet so slow. I could see the whites of his eyes staring wide in disbelief until a cloud of dust and debris enveloped his careening body. Rocks and small stones rolled violently downhill at an equal pace. Small branches and twigs snapped effortlessly from trees and bushes to joined the ruckus. Hillbilly's two-hundred and fifty pound body began to gain momentum as it plummeted down the hill with the force of a speeding, steel locomotive. Wildlife in the immediate vicinity froze in terror at the sound and spectacle of the camouflaged invader disturbing their peaceful way of life.
As soon as it began.....it stopped. Still holding his rifle unscathed in his right hand, Hillbilly grumbled and groaned in an effort to stand. Twigs and grass blades were imbedded in his baseball cap. The skin on his face and arms were two different shades of dirt. His camouflaged attire no longer blended with the trees of a dense forest, but with the dirt and sagebrush of a high mountain desert.
As the dust and rock settled, we both became aware that the deer were still miraculously standing nearby and within range. They stared as if entranced by what they had just witnessed. The stalking methods of this hopeful hunter was one they were most unfamiliar with. They were confused more than afraid.
Hillbilly and I made eye contact. My facial expressions screamed, "Shoot!"
With the ease and nimbleness of an arthritic seventy-year old man, Hillbilly pulled up on his rifle, aimed...... and missed. He drew in a large breath, shrugged his shoulders and gave me a look of exasperated indifference as he hobbled toward me.
"Why didn't you tell me I was standing on Mt. Kilimanjaro?" he asked.
"I did tell you," I rebutted. "I flapped my arms in silent Morse code patterns. You were in the military as well as I; don't you understand Morse code?"
"I understand Morse code just fine in beeps and clicks as it was intended," Hillbilly argued. "Your flailing arms said to me, 'Hey....I'm over here'!"
"No....that meant stop. You're standing on a highly gradient precipice and will more than likely fall to your doom," I argued back.
"Just so I'm clear, why did you send me walking in circles on my tiptoes?" Hillbilly inquired.
"What are you talking about?" I said. "I clearly told you to walk wide 3 clicks in a north-easterly direction and then sneak in from the backside of the clearing."
"Well, obviously the Army taught you wrong. This is just another classic example supporting my theory that you should have joined the Navy," Hillbilly chided.
"What do you know about hand signals? The only signals you ever learned in the Navy were the red blinking lights and alarms indicating your ship was going down," I teased.
After much banter back and forth regarding all branches of the US armed forces, we decided that whatever training we had received, nothing could prepare us for the battle we would face at home if we didn't make back in time to pick up our children from school.
With packs and rifles slung over our shoulders, we walked and limped our way back to my truck rethinking the day's events. We had both learned a little something about ourselves and about the great sport of hunting. Next time hand signals would be understandable, high outcrops of rocky strata covered in vegetation would be avoided and a first aid kit readily available with an ice cold Bud Light Lime.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Pops and a mud hole
Pops, Crazy Redneck Jr., and I were duck hunting. We had gone to the back of the lake near a marshy area. The hunting was a little slow so we, that means Pops, came up with a plan. Pops was going to get out of the boat and walk around the lake. He was going to set up in the marsh in hopes of flaring some birds back out to us. We were going to set up in the neck of the channel. We had the decoys up and Pops was just going to hide in the vegetation. It all sounded fine and easy. Birds fly in, Pops shoots at them, birds fly out and we shoot at them. An hour into our plan Jr. and I have not heard a single shot from Pops. We have not even seen him. I was checking the shoreline trying to pick him out. We decided we should go look for him to see if he wanted to go, no birds were flying. We picked up the decoys and headed in. As we get near the end I could see movement coming out of the marsh. At first I thought that I had finally seen a Sasquatch, I later realized it was Pops. The closer we got the more we could make out his situation. He was walking slow and looked exhausted, he was dragging what looked like a shotgun behind him. It was more of a big brown blob than a shotgun. He was covered in mud from six inches below his chin to the bottom. As we pulled up we began laughing and taking pictures while listening to him yell something about not being pleased with the mud. It turns out he found the perfect hiding spot, somewhere that had never seen a human, that should have been a hint. As he "snuck" into it he began sinking. At first he thought he was alright and just tried to pull his feet out one a time. Now he was up to his knee's. Here is where most people would yell at the boat to come help, Not Pops. He keeps squirming and wriggling making his situation worse. Mud is past the waist, "now I'll use my gun to help." Mud up to the arm pits, no worries I'll lay on my stomach and swim out. An hour later, missing one wading boot, and digging a trench with the but of a shotgun, Pops makes it to solid ground. He looks up and see's us in a boat. "Why didn't you just call out for help?" Pops, "I didn't want you to laugh at me." Well, we continued laughing at him all the way back to the boat ramp. Another one of Pop's great plans.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Wardog's ingenuity
Now Wardog is one of the smartest people I know, he could build a nuclear reactor out of an empty tuna can and a nail. So it came to no surprise to me the day we were sitting on the edge of a cliff spotting bucks. We had seen a few nice bucks and were trying to wait for the right one. The sun was coming up and was starting to get in our eyes. As any good hunter I wear a hat with a bill. Not Wardog he has a beanie, obviously to keep that inventive brain warm. After a short time of watching him squirm around trying to see into the sun I noticed that he had calmed down. He was glassing peacefully and quietly. That is when I began to start craving taco's. I looked a little harder at Wardog and noticed that he had fashioned a hat with a bill out of tortilla shells. Now I have seen a lot of improvising in my day but this was a first. What put it over the top was watching him snack on his hat.
It wasn't' long after that, and several "hot plate" comments, that I saw the bucks leave the draw. I was following them out the bottom and they were moving along nicely. I was trying to get Wardog on them so he could get the shot. It should be noted that Wardog is the best long distance shooter I know. I have seen his 800+ yard shots and have no worries about him hitting these bucks. The bucks are 200 yards. They are just leisurely walking out in line. I'm calling out locations, "the one in back is the four point." Now they are 300 yards and still no shot from Tortilla Hat. 400 yards, nothing. I look over and he is still setting up. He's readjusting himself, moving a rock here and there, adjust the tortilla shell over the scope and basically driving me crazy. Apparently he was waiting for the challenge because he did not get on the big four point until he was over 500 yards. I call out the range as he dials in, checks his range card, adjust for wind, holds ten inches high and "BANG." It was all over, the smell of gunpowder in the air, the small ring in the ears, and the sight of the four point walking away. Yes, super sniper hit right where he was aiming, just over the bucks back. After all the preparing and adjusting he forgot to hold ten inches over the vitals and instead help over the top of the buck. I promised I wouldn't tell anyone, so lets just keep this a secret.
It wasn't' long after that, and several "hot plate" comments, that I saw the bucks leave the draw. I was following them out the bottom and they were moving along nicely. I was trying to get Wardog on them so he could get the shot. It should be noted that Wardog is the best long distance shooter I know. I have seen his 800+ yard shots and have no worries about him hitting these bucks. The bucks are 200 yards. They are just leisurely walking out in line. I'm calling out locations, "the one in back is the four point." Now they are 300 yards and still no shot from Tortilla Hat. 400 yards, nothing. I look over and he is still setting up. He's readjusting himself, moving a rock here and there, adjust the tortilla shell over the scope and basically driving me crazy. Apparently he was waiting for the challenge because he did not get on the big four point until he was over 500 yards. I call out the range as he dials in, checks his range card, adjust for wind, holds ten inches high and "BANG." It was all over, the smell of gunpowder in the air, the small ring in the ears, and the sight of the four point walking away. Yes, super sniper hit right where he was aiming, just over the bucks back. After all the preparing and adjusting he forgot to hold ten inches over the vitals and instead help over the top of the buck. I promised I wouldn't tell anyone, so lets just keep this a secret.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Ol' Man timing
Once again I was hunting with the Hillbilly, Mike, and my Pops. It was during archery season and it had been a long hot day with no shooters spotted. One of us noticed a nice buck, that means any legal buck to Pops. This buck was bedded under a tree and was not spooked or nervous. Then Pops comes up with a plan. He tells the Hillbilly that they should count to three and both shoot at the same time. This was their first archery buck and they wanted to make sure one of them hit it. The Hillbilly agrees to the plan and they began their stalk. They tiptoed up to this buck as quiet as the wafting wind. They are now about twenty yards away. Pops whispers, "ready?" The Hillbilly nods, "yes." Pops yells, "onetwothree" and a shot goes off. Now Hillbilly was still drawing his bow when the count went out. Hillbilly pulls as fast as he can. Pops shot goes high and sticks in a tree. The buck stands up to look at the two camouflaged blurs, just as Hillbilly's shot goes off. That shot goes low and sticks in the tree. It was over in a split second. One yell, two bow shots and a laughing buck bounding away to tell his story to others.
Was their a lesson learned in all of this...............Nope, Pops still comes up with plans that we foolishly follow.
Was their a lesson learned in all of this...............Nope, Pops still comes up with plans that we foolishly follow.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Mike and a little 380
This is a quick story about Mike. We were scouting in the Marbles and we heard a bear tearing up a log. I wanted to see if it was going to be worth hunting when the season opened. I asked Mike if it was alright if I called it in. He had no idea what I was about to do, so he said yes.
Now to make it clear I was carrying a 44 mag, and am a fast runner. Mike has some knee problems and only had a small, unreliable 380 semi auto.
Well I called the bear in and it worked perfectly. It was a very large Cinnamon colored boar. He ran in to about fifty yards of us. I whispered to Mike, "don't move." The bear jumped up and down, grunted, tore up the ground then walked away. I thought it was a rather succesful practice of my calling ability. However, I looked over at Mike and it is safe to say he was not holding still. I noticed that he was shaking and gyrating like a lab pup when they hear the decoys being loaded into the truck. I asked Mike what was wrong. He could only form enough words to say something about shooting me in the leg so he could get away.
Mike no longer allows me to call in bear when we are in the woods. He has no sense of adventure, but the good news is that he did buy a real pistol finally.
Now to make it clear I was carrying a 44 mag, and am a fast runner. Mike has some knee problems and only had a small, unreliable 380 semi auto.
Well I called the bear in and it worked perfectly. It was a very large Cinnamon colored boar. He ran in to about fifty yards of us. I whispered to Mike, "don't move." The bear jumped up and down, grunted, tore up the ground then walked away. I thought it was a rather succesful practice of my calling ability. However, I looked over at Mike and it is safe to say he was not holding still. I noticed that he was shaking and gyrating like a lab pup when they hear the decoys being loaded into the truck. I asked Mike what was wrong. He could only form enough words to say something about shooting me in the leg so he could get away.
Mike no longer allows me to call in bear when we are in the woods. He has no sense of adventure, but the good news is that he did buy a real pistol finally.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Getting Started.
This is just a blog to talk about hunting and all things associated with hunting. I love to hunt, starting with Turkeys in Spring and ending with Geese in January. When I'm not hunting I enjoy sitting around telling stories of past hunts and looking at the pictures. I started this blog to do that. When I am not out and about what better way to share stories. At least this way I may hear some new ones, have you ever noticed how you and your friends sit around telling the same stories over and over.
So come in and enjoy. Share a story or give some advise, either way I hope you enjoy the ride.
completehunter.zlio.net
So come in and enjoy. Share a story or give some advise, either way I hope you enjoy the ride.
completehunter.zlio.net
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