A kids first buck (January 2011)

With the season winding down we went for a late-season chance to get Tyler a deer this weekend. Two years ago he took his first doe. Last year he hunted hard, and he passed on some smaller deer, but he never got a shot off.

This year he again hunted very hard. He’s on the swim team, so many weekends he can’t hunt due to swim meets. This weekend he got up at 0515 Saturday morning for a swim meet, then his momma drove him down to meet us for the afternoon hunt. What seems to be typical for the weekends he hunts is sub-freezing temps, wind, and precipitation…it’s a wonder the kid keeps coming back. This weekend the weather ranged from snow and temps in the 20’s to rain and temps in the upper 40’s.

 Saturday afternoon he almost got a shot off on a doe but right when the deer was about to walk into his shooting lane it started to trot and denied him a good shot. We finished out the evening hunt with no luck. We then did a long hike back to the truck over some difficult snow/mud covered terrain. No complaints from the kid…he did ask to stop once because his fingers were “burning” from the cold. We took a minute to warm them up then we marched on.

 Sunday morning we hunted a big corn field on a two-man ladder stand. This would enable us to sit side-by-side so I could provide guidance. I thought we’d see a small doe and let him bloody his new rifle. We got to the stand about 0630…this was a little later than I wanted but it would work as we still had 5 minutes before legal shooting time. The first few minutes on stand were spent alternately scanning the dark expanse before us for activity and getting his gear set up. After roughly 4 minutes I saw a large bodied deer emerge from the standing corn on the left side of the field. It was clearly a much larger bodied deer than I normally see so I was excited that this would be a good shot opportunity. I leaned over to him and whispered “deer”. At that moment the adrenaline began to flow into his blood stream like jet fuel into an afterburner and the shaking began.

 I pulled my rifle up to get a look at the deer through the scope and while I couldn’t tell how big or small the rack was I was confident that it was a buck. Trying to pick out antler mass against a wet cornfield in low light conditions is a difficult proposition…especially as the range increases. This deer was 142 yards away and standing there in the dim early light of an overcast winter morning. It was late in the season and the kid needed a deer and I was sure this was a big bodied specimen and it has some headgear so I leaned over to him again and whispered with a sense of urgency “kill that deer.”

 Now the shaking really kicked in. He was shaking so violently that it was like sitting in the stand with a running jackhammer. I swear you could have cracked walnuts between his knees they were knocking so hard. From my perspective it seemed like an eternity. Once I gave the order to shoot I felt very exposed…like that deer was about to figure out exactly where were and would bolt. I knew this deer wouldn’t stay long on the field. He was still just barely out on the field…he was so close to cover that it looked like his tail was still in the standing corn…two steps and he would be gone. Two steps and the kid gets nothing for the year. Two steps and three years of hunting goes by with no shot on a decent buck.

After about 5 seconds (felt like days) Tyler told me that he was shaking too hard to get a shot off. Despite the urge to scream “HURRY UP AND SHOOT!!!!” I did the proper thing and calmly told him that it’s OK…just take your time…calm down…focus on the fundamentals…and when you feel like you’ve got a good sight picture just do your thing.

Another few seconds goes by with me alternately watching this deer and watching my son’s body violently shaking under the load of moment. I glanced over and noticed that his finger still wasn’t on the trigger…I’m stressed at this point. All I can do is watch.

 When I see him take the safety off and engage the trigger I look downrange and wait. His rifle cracked the silence of the first legal minute of shooting light and set in motion a chain of events that he will never forget.

 I was shocked with the quickness of the deer’s reaction. It turned around and bolted into the corn so quickly that it looked like it was under rocket power. It didn’t exhibit any of the signs of an animal that was hit. It made a terrible racket as it busted through the standing corn and took off to parts unknown. Tylers first question to me was “do you think I hit it?” All I could tell him was that it didn’t look like he did but we won’t know for sure until we get down there and check. It was everything I could do to keep him in the stand…he really didn’t like the fact that I was going to wait 20 or 30 minutes before we started tracking. Interestingly enough Tylers perspective on this chain of events was perceived much differently than my own. As is often the case in high stress situations the brain reduces the tempo of your perception to slow motion. When I asked him what he thought of the deer’s reaction he said “it just turned around slowly and walked off.” I had to laugh at that…he was definitely in the pressure zone.

 Ultimately we got down and didn’t find any sign that the animal was hit…no hair…no blood. I set off in the direction I thought it went and over the next 30 minutes we found no sign that the deer was hit. We then went back to the scene of the crime and I asked him how he felt about his shot. He said he felt very good about it. He said he had a good sight picture, his breathing was good, and he had a good trigger pull. The kid can shoot and I trust his judgment…so I went back to tracking. I pushed further up the field and ultimately found a corn cob with blood all over it. At that point I told Tyler we’ll get this deer…if you leave blood I’m going to find you. His spirits lifted immediately. I can only imagine the sense of hopelessness he must have felt as he was relying on someone else for everything and it was all turning up negative until we found that blood. Once I showed him the first sign of blood he exclaimed “ I KNEW I hit him!”

This turned out to be one of the most difficult tracking jobs I’ve ever had. The deer left very little blood which concerned me. Tyler got a great lesson in tracking and was a very good helper in this process. The blood trail died after about 50 yards and we were left to doing some very basic search patterns until we found the next sign. Ultimately I found a single drop of blood that filled in a 100 yard gap that had no sign at all. We got our big break when I found a track in a creek bottom that led my eye to a single drop of blood in the snow. This was good…the deer was running straight toward a snow covered corn field. Even the slightest of blood would show up easier than in the mud and leaves we had been tracking him across earlier.

I called Tyler up to my position, put him on the blood trail, told him to keep his rifle ready, and to track that deer down. We had gone about another 50 yards toward some woods when the trail dried up again. I searched for a moment then announced “there’s another drop of blood” and he answered back “and there’s a dead deer.”

 After more than 2 hours of tracking I couldn’t believe the words he had uttered. I bent down and looked into the woods and sure enough there he was. Laying in the snow with a bloody corn stalk that he had dragged the whole way.

It took three years of hard hunting in some difficult conditions but the boy got his first buck…and a dandy at that. I couldn’t be prouder of the kid for his hard work and his great attitude…and I couldn’t be happier for him that he put this deer on the ground. That night he got to tell stories and feed the guys at camp with fresh venison tenderloin.

That was a great weekend…neither of us will ever forget it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crappie fishing in Feb

Crappie

Fishing season is almost upon us and this year I have big plans for going after the South’s number one game fish…the Crappie.  This fish is known around the country under such aliases as the “paper mouth” or “sac-au-lait” or “calico bass” or even “speckled bass”.  Whatever you prefer to call them crappie are tremendously popular because they are fairly easy to catch and they are delicious.

Crappie fishing in the south isn’t just popular…it’s a way of life.  Many people save up their vacation all year and use it to go crappie fishing.  They monitor forecasts and local reports and they use historical data to try to time the best two-week period for fishing success.  They want to be on the lake during the crappie spawn when the fish all come up shallow to mate.  If you don’t know anything about the crappie spawn picture a high school dance where there has been some drinking going on.   Picture Barry White songs, some slow dancing, some romance, and if anyone gets in the way of it there will be a fight.

We are still a month away from the high point of the spawn though, so the fishing is a little different.  It’s late February and the fish are still hanging out in deeper haunts.  A buddy of mine from our firms IT department and I decided that we’d hire a guide to take us crappie fishing so we could get up to speed on current gear and tactics.  This would enable us to optimize our entry into the sport.  With a good education up front we wouldn’t have to waste a lot of time trying to reinvent the wheel.

As our day drew near our hopes soared higher but the temperature forecasts all dropped lower.  In a week’s time the forecasts went from low temps in the 40’s to a low of 32 degrees on the morning of our departure.  By the time we actually got to the ramp it was 29 degrees and there was a thin coating of ice on the boat.  One mis-step could send us slipping overboard.  Now might be a good time to say that I am a fair weather fisherman.  I DO NOT fish in the cold.  I define “cold” as any temperature where I need to wear gloves.  This was cold.  With ice on the boat this was looking more like one of those Alaskan crab-fishing reality shows more than a crappie fishing trip in central Mississippi.  As far as I see it the word “Ice” should never enter my fishing lexicon.

As we boarded the boat I noticed that my partner looked slightly under-dressed for the conditions.  He assured me he’d be fine.

The Dam

Without any fanfare we launched the boat, left the marina harbor, and blasted toward the middle of the lake.  A word about Sardis reservoir is in order here.  This is an Army Corps of Engineers flood control lake.  It has a huge earthen dam at one end that is covered in rip-rap and the lake itself stretches 13 miles from the dam to the other end where the Little Tallahatchie River feeds into it.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with it, “rip rap” is the term for a collection of big rocks that you line the shore with to prevent erosion.  By “big” I mean they are stones that weigh perhaps 20 lbs and each the size of a small watermelon.  Now picture millions of these rocks piled up along the dam.  These rocks form a wall 100 feet high by two miles wide in front of us.  By now you should be picturing the Great Wall of Mississippi.   It is a massive amount of stone and there is no way you can look at it and not wonder how long it took to get all those rocks in place.  As you move up the lake it transitions from the deep open water near the dam to a middle section that starts to have some standing timber (picture tall telephone poles sticking up from the middle of the lake), to the upper end that is almost entirely full of old dead standing timber with logs and debris under the surface.

Since the crappie were still hanging out in the deeper water we’d start near the dam.  As we motored to our spot the first thing I noticed was the crowd.  There was an armada of boats perhaps 40 strong all huddled up on one spot just up the lake from us.  Our captain had us away from the crowd where he had caught a bunch recently.  With any luck we’d catch fish here and not have to deal with the armada.

The technique we would use today would be “spider rigging”.  This involves arranging 8 rods in holders that fan the rod tips out around the front of the boat in an arc of about 180 degrees.  The rods start off with the first rod pointing straight off the left side and they go all the way around the front of the boat and to the other side until the 8th pole is sticking straight off the right side.   With the poles arranged like this you simply ease along at ½ a mile per hour and when a fish hits one you simply lift it out of the water.  It’s so easy a caveman could do it.

Start fishing

As we were getting seated behind the rod holders I noticed that the sun was coming up but the temperature wasn’t.  Adding to the problem was that the wind was now picking up.  Before we had caught our first fish the wind had built to perhaps 15 MPH out of the east.  15 MPH was bad…but “from the east” was far worse.  From that direction the wind is able to push down the length of the lake with no interference.  With nothing to break its momentum it whips the lake into a heaving fury of white caps and rollers that rock the boat, play havoc with bait presentation, and cut through your clothes to chill you to the bone.  It seemed as though the wind would first turn us to ice cubes and then smash us into the rip-rap covered dam, breaking us into smaller ice cubes...crushed ice if you will.

I was dressed in most of the heavy hunting clothes I had so I could tolerate the weather.  The guide was dressed warmly too as he is out there all the time and keeps a range of clothes on hand.  My buddy from our IT department however hadn’t dressed as robustly.  If there had been no wind he might have been OK.  But with the wind we had today it was clear that he could be in for a very rough morning.

After perhaps 15 minutes we had our first line get hit.  I quickly jerked the rod out of the holder and there was a nice eatin-sized crappie onboard.  This weather might be turning rough but I was optimistic about the fishing.   Another 20 minutes went by with no activity but the wind.  The wind was relentless.  It had the whole lake frothing.  After a while another rod bent over and I snatched another fish from the cold rolling waves upon which we bobbed.  My buddy froze in silence next to me keeping a vigilant watch on the rod tips.

It seemed as though we were being tortured.   We were sitting side-by-side in chairs on the bow of the boat so we bore the full brunt of the rocking motion.  It was as if were on one end of an aquatic see-saw.    The waves were coming from behind us so when they hit the back end of the boat it would lift, because we were on the bow it would send us down into the trough left by the previous wave.  Then as the wave passed under the boat it lifted us high into the air.  Over and over and over we rode up and down those waves.  All the while the wind whipped and we watched the rod tips like hawks watching a field mouse.  We ignored everything around us and watched the rods with laser-like focus.

No luck vs. Bad luck

After an hour or so of riding this freezing, windy, see-saw with little action our focus began to slip.  I had been silently watching a boat ramp about a mile and a half away.  There was a mid-size four door car sitting in the middle lane of the launch ramp and it had been there for a long time…much longer than it would take to launch a boat…and there didn’t appear to be a boat over there anyway so I had no clue why he’d be parked there.   After a while I saw a small figure to the left of the ramp…right down where the water meets the rip-rap…and there were flashes of white crossing him diagonally perhaps every two to three seconds.  Amid the howling wind my brain was slow to process things but my logic circuit eventually completed and I realized what I was seeing.  The guy I was seeing in the distance was bailing water out of his boat with a white bucket.  He’d dip the bucket down into his boat and then swing it up to the right as he tossed the water out.

When I announced this to my fishing partners the captain immediately laughed and pointed out that the reason we didn’t launch from that spot this morning was that the three foot rollers that were making our life so difficult were smashing directly into that boat ramp.  Through ignorance, lack of thought, or perhaps inexperience this guy had backed his boat into the maelstrom.  I’m guessing that he took water over the back of the boat in the process of backing it in, and when he managed to get the boat off the trailer it promptly sank.  The wind and the rolling waves then pushed his boat up against the rip-rap and concrete like a piece of flotsam…where it was currently trapped.

I could imagine the sound it made each time the waves smashed and ground his hull into the concrete and rocks.  He was bailing as fast as he could but it wasn’t looking good.  Mother nature had 50,000 surface acres of water to use against him and he had only a ½ gallon bucket with which to defend himself.  Ironically he was bailing water back into the lake so mother nature really had an infinite supply of water to throw back at him.  From our vantage point it looked like he would lose this battle.

Since the fish still weren’t biting and we were tired of watching rod tips riding up and down three feet on the waves…the guy on the boat ramp became our only entertainment.  Nobody’s life was in danger and there was nothing we could do for him so we just watched.  He’d bail water until he got tired and then take a break, during which I imagine mother nature filled the boat back up.  At one point I saw him start unloading gear from the boat in an attempt to lighten it or perhaps save what he could from a lost cause.  I quickly checked on David to make sure he wasn’t frozen yet.  Then we all looked back toward the boat ramp guy.  Even from this distance you could see his frustration as at one point he threw his bucket violently to the ground.  It was too far and too windy to hear any of the activity but I had a real good idea of the words he used when he threw that bucket onto the rocks and none of them are fit to print here.   We weren’t having any luck…but I realized that this is what they mean when they say that having “no luck” is better than having “bad luck”.  We had “no luck” fishing…the guy on the ramp had “bad luck”.

It’s easy to laugh at your own misery if you know there is someone else suffering worse.  So we bobbed up and down in our arctic climate and laughed at the only thing we could find humor in…that dudes sunken boat.  As we laughed amid our suffering another line got hit.  We pulled it in with no fanfare, re-baited the hook, and redeployed it.  Our hopes of a fun day of fishing were as sunk as that guys boat…now we just hoped to catch a few fish and live to tell about it.

Boat after boat had been leaving the lake all morning.  The wind and cold were too much.  Of the 40 boats that were in the armada earlier there were perhaps 8 remaining.

Still cold

Few outdoor adventure stories are complete without some form of hardship being involved so I guess it’s appropriate that Dave was under-dressed for the freezing cold.  I’ve heard grown men complain over conditions much less harsh than what we had now…but my computer guy was mum.  Maybe his mouth was frozen shut but he didn’t complain once.  I could tell he was cold because every time I looked over he was in the “I’m trying not to freeze to death” position.  Most outdoorsmen are familiar with this position.  This is basically the one where you have your fists clenched and your arms pulled in tight up against your body and your legs clamped together and you are arched over almost into a fetal position as you try to preserve what little body heat that you have left.  As the gale continued to blow we talked him into taking some gear from us.

We swapped some clothing around until we were satisfied that Dave wouldn’t succumb to frostbite. To his credit he never asked for any gear…here sat a guy who would stoically take whatever mother nature threw at him.  He knew he didn’t dress warmly enough and he never once asked anyone to give up some gear so he could get warm.  In fact the first three times I brought it up he refused any help.  Most people in the firm think that “IT” stands for Information Technology but today Dave proved that it actually stands for “Incredibly Tough.”

Having persuaded him to take some gloves and a windproof shell we were satisfied that he wouldn’t die.  If that happened then the tables would turn and the guy on the boat ramp would be laughing at us…and we couldn’t have that.

Safe Harbor

After another hour or so of suffering we decided to find a spot out of the wind, so we went back to the shelter of the harbor.  When we entered the harbor it was as if we had left the Bering Sea and entered the Gulf of Mexico.  The protective landscape surrounding the harbor totally blocked the wind which left us to bask in the sunshine like a lizard on a rock.  I couldn’t believe how comfortable it was inside the harbor.  We actually began shedding clothes because we were too warm.

The fishing in the harbor was a crowded affair.  It was obvious where all the boats from the main lake had run to when they left this morning.  Boats were close enough that you could talk to everyone as they passed you.  It looked like a boat parade that had lost its traffic coordinator.  It was so crowded that I knew we’d end up hitting someone even at speeds well under 1 MPH.  Half the people on the water knew our guide and everyone had something to say.  This crappie fishing is more of a social sport as there is lots of sitting around and talking involved.  I now realized that this is going to be the perfect type of fishing for my wife.  Once it warms up she can sit in the sun and talk for hours as I just sit there and listen and re-bait hooks.

We were out of the wind but there was still a sense that we might see more danger.  There were two guys in a small boat that was perhaps 14 feet long.  They were both sitting in fishing chairs on the bow which is a typical arrangement while crappie fishing.  Their boat was so small however that with the weight of two men on the front it almost pushed the nose of the boat underwater.  The back end was way higher than the front and they had maybe three inches of clearance before they started taking on water.  If one of them stood-up too fast I imagine they would have sunk.   It looked like a comic-book type drawing that you might see in a boating-safety pamphlet.   I figured we’d be fishing them out of the water before long but somehow they managed to not sink it.

Everyone caught some fish in the harbor but nobody was wearing them out.  The crappie, it appeared, would win today.  By noon we had only 7 fish in the boat and rather than grind it out another 3 hours we decided that the best course of action would be to quit early and head to the best burger joint in MS.  There is no way we could lose there.

An hour later we stood in front of the Velvet Cream burger joint in Hernando MS.  I had a big cheeseburger, cajun fries, and a peanut butter milkshake in me and I was starting to forget about the cold morning we had endured.  I could have laid down on the asphalt in the sun and gone to sleep if it weren’t for the traffic.

Ultimately I learned a lot.  I learned the appropriate gear and tactics for crappie fishing.  I learned to be careful of the wind when choosing which boat ramp to launch from.  I learned that our firm has one tough IT guy.  And lastly I learned that I am really going to enjoy crappie fishing for a long time to come.

Reloading saved a rifle today

Last year I bought a .45-70 Handi Rifle from a friend of a friend. It had a nice Nikon scope on it and I was told it was in good condition. He was asking $250 so I figured I couldn't lose...especially with the nice Nikon glass. 

Well I got the gun and it shot like garbage. It constantly threw 8 inch groups with every type of factory ammo I tried. Nothing was loose on the gun or scope...it appears as though I had bought a turd. 

I was at the point of keeping the scope and throwing the gun away...I had just put around $120 worth of factory ammo through it and there was no way I could hunt with it. 

I bought a set of dies for it earlier this week and I figured I'd give it another chance with some reloads to see if I could find a load it liked.

I prepped 20 shells and used the same bullet and seating depth for all of them. The only variable was the powder charge. I loaded three variants.

All rounds were loaded with Reloader 7...I used 44, 46, and 48 grains under a Hornady 325 grain bullet.

The 44 grain loads shot around a 6.5 inch group. Ouch...looks like I wasted about 100 bucks on reloading these. 

As I was cursing the gun under my breath I remembered that a buddy had given me 4 shells that he swore worked magic in his gun...they were 250 grain bullets and I had brought them with me. After the disappointing results with my first load I switched to the 250 grainers my buddy supplied. 

Boom, boom, boom, boom...and i had a group that measured about 5 inches. Ugh. No hope in sight.

I wanted to quit and throw the gun in the lake so it couldn't live to frustrate anyone ever again...but then I remembered that someone in Lord of the Rings threw that ring in the water and years later someone found it and it caused a lot of problems and I didn't want that to happen so I got back to work. I decided I needed to shoot the other two loads I created just to be thorough.

The next load was the 46 grains of RL7. My first shot was the benchmark...the second through fourth shots would define my "group". On the second shot I saw what I believed to be the worlds biggest coincidence. The second shot hit the same hole as the first. "Weird" I thought "I must have screwed something up."

My third shot went down range and after the gun recoiled up and over I searched to get the target back in view. Whoa...the third shot hit the same hole as my second shot. "No way this is happening." 

Fourth shot...boom...touching the same hole as the first shot. At this point I sat back to analyze what I was seeing. 

I had put maybe 70 rounds through this gun using a variety of ammo and achieved average groups of a horrendous 7 inches at 100 yards...but now this same gun was tearing a ragged one-inch hole in the target in front of me. A few minutes earlier I would have sworn this rifle was incapable of such an achievement.

I've never seen such drastic change in my life. This gun is like a spoiled brat...if it doesn't get exactly what it wants it pitches a fit. Good news is that I found exactly what it wants. I'm writing the recipe down and that's all I envision loading for this gun the rest of the time I own it...which will likely be til death.

If you listen close you can hear them grow up

Last Saturday evening I was sitting alone in a cold, gray, drizzly swamp in Mississippi.  The only sounds were those of an occasional squirrel or rabbit and the rain lightly pitter pattering in the woods around me.  Suddenly and with no announcement the silence was shattered by the sound of my son growing up.  How did it come to this?

There are a thousand incremental steps a boy takes on the way to becoming a man.  It’s awesome when we are there to watch them take those steps, and even better if we are able to recognize the significance of what we are observing.    

Over the years my son has transitioned from watching me hunt, to hunting on his own with me doing the observing.  His first trip to the field was when he was three years old.  In those early years he’d just go and watch.  He loved just being out in the woods and as a new dad I loved watching him out there.  Until that time I didn’t know that simply jumping up on a log in the woods and walking it like a balance beam could be so entertaining for a child...I guess I was going to learn as much as he was as these trips took place.  

I was hoping in these early years that he’d grow to like hunting and we’d be out there together every year.  If I could have an activity that my kid loves to do with me then I’d be guaranteed to have a good connection with him long after he’s grown up and moved away.  Time would tell.  

As he grew older he got to go on more trips.  Pretty soon he was going with me almost every weekend.  He learned to safely handle a gun, to shoot well, to track deer, to stalk deer, and more...basically he learned everything I had learned over the years...all of my  knowledge and ethics were simply passed down to him.  Taking game for the dinner table is such a normal thing to him that on his 5th Thanksgiving when his momma brought the turkey to the table and  he leaned in and asked “ooooh...who killed it?”  

When he was seven or eight years old he got his very own rifle.  I’ll never forget the first time we went out with it.  It was a typical cloudy and cold winter day and he had his new rifle cradled in his arms and he looked at me and asked “Where’s your rifle?”  

I replied “I’m not the one hunting...you are.”  

The smile that took to his face when he realized he wasn’t in my shadow anymore was priceless.  At that moment he realized that he was the hunter.  He wasn’t there to watch...this was HIS hunt.  If a deer came out, he would shoot it, he would be the one putting the meat on the table.  That smile was priceless because it was much more than just a smile...it was a moment when he realized he had just grown up a little.  He had worked hard and responsibly and he had earned this moment...and on that occasion I got to watch him grow up a little bit.

As he started his career with his own rifle I was always there to answer questions and help guide his decisions.  I’d sit right beside him every time. Rather than simply tell him what to do I wanted the process to foster an analytic approach...I wanted him to be the one thinking things through and coming up with the answers.  I’d ask questions and let him give me the answers.  If he had questions for me I’d walk him through the hints and let him find the conclusion.  It’s amazing how quickly kids can learn and even more impressive to see how they put those lessons to work on their own.  He killed several deer over the years with me by his side just watching.  

As an observer I have a great time.  It’s always fun to watch a kid try to deal with the sensory overload of a massive adrenaline hit that inevitably arrives the moment you realize success or failure is at hand.  Their hands and legs are a trembling mess as they try to get their brain to focus on the task at hand.  They have the knowledge and they have a target, now they just have to force themselves to settle down and make a good shot.  I get a kick out of watching that every single time.  

Recently I started talking about him hunting on his own.  The first time I asked him if he wanted to do a solo hunt he thought about it for a moment and then told me “nah...I like hunting with you...there’s nothing like having your dad cracking jokes for three hours while you’re waiting on a deer to show up.”  I smiled when I heard it...my plan was working.  

All of this leads us back to today.  It’s been tough to get on the deer this year so he decided that tonight we’d split up.  I dropped him off in his spot on the southern boundary of the property and then I made my way to the swamp on the north end.  

I sat in my spot eager to see not only what my own hunt might deliver, but I was really excited to see if he’d get a shot on one of his first solo hunts.  As is always the case with an afternoon hunt, it gets dark far too quickly.  You never really want the hunt to end.  

 

As the light faded I was shocked that I hadn’t heard anything from my son.  I just KNEW there would be deer coming to feed in the area he had chosen to set up on.  

The  evenings silence was punctuated occasionally by the soft and distant thunder of duck hunters on the river a few miles away.  As sunset approached they were eagerly taking the last few ducks of the day. 

My mind alternated from scanning my surroundings and studying every hole in the swampy vegetation, to wondering what my son might be seeing half a mile to my south with the same darkness closing in around him.  Was he bored?  Was he unable to move due to too many deer being close to him?  Was he currently locked in a struggle with adrenaline?  How would he do if a deer emerged without me there for support?  Was he even awake?  I smiled and shrugged off the thoughts...he is good enough to handle whatever happens...if he wasn’t then he wouldn’t be allowed to hunt alone.  If he messes up and spooks a deer it’s just all part of the learning experience.  

With those thoughts out of the way I re-focused on the task at hand.  I resumed scanning the silent landscape around me with no shortage of surprise at the lack of activity.  By this time there should be deer trying to travel past me to get to the agricultural fields to my north.  This is a dynamite spot and I thought that if they’re not moving here then they must not be moving anywhere until after dark.  Now I felt a little disappointed that my son would end this hunt without seen anything at all.  

KABOOOOM!!!  When his single shot shattered the late afternoon silence and echoed it’s way to me I immediately recognized that I just heard my son grow up a little bit more.  I had no idea what he had shot at...but I knew that whatever transpired on that field to the south had caused him to raise his rifle and fire a single shot.  One shot.  No follow up. 

Half a second later my own heart started racing with adrenaline.  I wanted to jump out of the tree and run down there to get the story.  I could hardly contain my excitement.  After a moment I calmed down and figured he’d wait at least 20 minutes before he started tracking it and it was dark so he might not even do that until I got there.  I decided I’d finish hunting the last 10 minutes of legal light and then head down.  Those last minutes were spent trying to picture what had happened on that field.  I could picture his hands shaking after the shot...they always do that...so I knew at least that much about his hunt.  What had he shot?  There is a gigantic rub at the back of that field...could he have shot the monster buck that left it?  Did he see a coyote and drop the hammer on it?  I had no information at all...only a single gun shot from his location.  

After waiting perhaps the longest 10 minutes of my life I began heading that way.  Halfway there I met him.  I saw his flashlight on the dirt road as he made his way back through the dark woods to meet me at the barn.  The moment I stopped the ATV I could hear him telling the story...he talked faster than I thought was possible.  He was talking faster than I’d ever heard his momma talk...and that is saying something.   It had been nearly 20 minutes and he was still so full of adrenaline that his voice and hands were shaky and he couldn’t quit talking.  I was smiling so hard it hurt.  My face actually hurt from smiling so long.  

After a quick drive back to the scene of the crime I finally got the details on the hunt.  He had been surveying the field in front of him when out of the corner of his eye he noticed something to his left.  Perhaps 40 yards away a deer was on the edge of a plot of standing corn.  It was actually just inside the first row or two of the cornfield.  His first thought when he saw it was “Man that’s a big squirrel!”  Then it lifted it’s head and he got a good look at what it was.  It was a single doe.  He said he started to shake immediately.  Not only was he shaking but he had to reposition to get the angle for the shot...he was worried he’d make noise doing it which caused his shaking to increase even more.  

Like a seasoned hunter he slooooowly eased everything into position.  You can’t rush that shot...not with a deer that close.  There was nothing but open ground and thin air between them.  If it sees you or hears you moving it will be gone before you could get the gun up, and your emotions would crash from the great heights of expectation to the great low spot of failure.  Success hinges upon gathering lessons you’ve learned and executing them perfectly on this cold, darkening field, alone and under great pressure.    

He said his last thought before pulling the trigger was “I can’t believe how steady these crosshairs are.”  BOOM!  The shot heard round the county was unleashed.  His new 30-06 barked with great ferocity, the familiar recoil pushed back into his shoulder, the cold air smelled of burnt powder and the deer crashed down in a heap right where it stood.  He was no longer alone...his new companion was success.  With words still flowing from his mouth faster than the speed of sound he told me that he was so excited that he wanted to shout right there on the spot even though he was by himself.  

In the end he took all the hunting lessons he had learned, threw in a lot of tenacity and hard work, and put it all together to create success.  Maybe someday he’ll get to hear his own kid take a similar shot...only then will he realize just how great a shot that was.  

As for me, I can’t wait to hear him grow up some more on the next trip.

A redneck finds peace just inside cell-phone range

It was a Thursday and the forecast was for clear skies and overnight lows in the mid-50’s...perfect conditions for camping.  I had a new piece of gear that I wanted to field test and this weather was the perfect excuse to get away.  The only thing that stood in my way was Friday...and it’s a bit of a stretch for a grown man to skip work so he can go camping and fishing for a day.  Luckily I have some flexibility in my schedule...I decided that camping was the better choice and that work would be fine without me for a day.  

As soon as I saw the forecast I began a checklist in my head: tent, sleeping bag, camp stove, fishing gear...I wouldn’t need much more than that and it wouldn’t take long to gather it all up either.  I just about ran from the office once I decided I was going camping.  I had to gather up some supplies with a quick run to Bass Pro Shops and I had to swing by a buddies place to borrow some gear but after that all I had to do was hook up the boat and go.  

By the time my wife got home I was completely packed.  She had recently given me a BioLite stove that burns wood and has a USB recharger for iphones and other devices and I was excited to try it out.  Now you might be one of those types who decries technology on camping trips...but I derive great pleasure from snapping pics and sending them to friends who are stuck at work while I am playing hooky.  I revel in the insults they hurl back at me from their cubes as they wait for quitting time to come.  And if you take the anti-technology thing too far you end up looking like Ted Kazinsky (the Unabomber)...so lighten up.

After kissing the wife goodbye and giving her the grid coordinates to begin searching for my body in the event I don’t come back...I jumped in the truck and eased out of the driveway.  It is 100 miles from door-to-dock and I had no deadlines to keep.  I was going to be arriving at the marina after dark so speed was of no concern...launching at 9 PM was no different than 10PM as far as I was concerned.  I snaked across north Mississippi with the setting sun to my back and I just enjoyed the sights of wildlife coming to the fields and small towns slipping quietly past me in the fading dusk.  

Two hours later I was passing the small empty guard-house that sits at the entrance to the state park.  The park appeared to be completely empty when I arrived.  The only light around was from the marina and the full moon above.  

I went through my pre-launch routine with the intensity of a kid unwrapping presents on Christmas morning.  I simply could not wait to get the boat in the water and slip out into the dark river channel.  Soon enough I had all the cargo from the truck loaded into the boat and was backing down the ramp.  After tying the boat to the courtesy dock I parked the truck and returned to the helm.  

Now it was real.  Now it hit me.  It was a weeknight.  I was officially skipping work tomorrow and I was sitting at the wheel of my boat...the sonar dimly lit in front of me, the motor purring softly and patiently behind me, a full moon above, and only one decision to make...which way to turn when I leave the marina?

Before I left the dock I snapped a quick picture to send to my wife (keep quiet all you anti-tech types) snugged up my jacket, and grabbed a plug of Redman.  I cast my lines from the dock and eased away from not just the marina...but from civilization itself.

Plan A was to head south for a few miles downriver and camp on a gravel bar where I caught a great smallmouth bass last summer.  I know the smallmouth may not be there now but the bronze-back battle that took place there has forever cemented the place in my mind...it is hallowed ground to me.  To camp at that place with a fire on one side and great memories on the other would be perfect...it would verge upon being spiritual.  The wind was out of the north tonight and this spot would be sheltered by a big forested hill that rose steeply from my camping spot.  

As I slipped past the big rock-wall jetty that shelters the marina I left the artificial light of street-lamps and dock-lights and transitioned into a purer form of darkness.  This one lit only by the silvery-white light of a full moon.  The weather was perfect which allowed me to see as far downriver as I cared to look...and from my current location I could see that Plan A was not going to work.  2.5 miles away I could see the inviting orange-yellow flicker of a large campfire on the gravel bar I had intended to use for the night.  That was the only light I could see downriver...no boats, no houses, no planes...just a single campfire in the wilderness.  Lucky for me I had a Plan B.

Plan B was to head a few miles upriver and camp on another gravel bar that forms the mouth of what is perhaps the most beautiful cove on the entire Tennessee River.  It is a cove with high walls on three sides that forms a bowl.  In the back of this bowl a waterfall crashes down from timbered heights into the placid waters below.  This place shall remain nameless in the interest of keeping it all to myself (BWAAHHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!).  

Giving one last wishful glance at the campfire to the south, I turned the boat north, hammered the throttle and enjoyed the rush of the boat getting up on plane.  The bow rose for a moment and as I trimmed the motor out, the hull slid effortlessly out of the water and began to glide right on top of the surface.  The water was uncommonly smooth which made for such an easy ride that if it weren’t for the wind rushing past your ears you might think you weren’t moving at all.  Forward into the darkness I went, the wind and the water my only companions.  My boat sits low in the water...low enough that I can reach out and touch the surface.  From this vantage point you are almost one with the water.  One of the simple joys of nighttime navigation is watching the very front of your wake splash across the glassy water next to you.  On a night like this when I look to the right and I see countless moonlit droplets of water being thrown across the glassy surface it looks like diamonds being strewn across black onyx.  It’s dazzling and twinkling white lights rolling across a glassy black sheet...it is a captivating sight. If I left right then it would have been worth the trip.

A few minutes later I approached my destination.  There are a few coves in this area and in the dark it might take a few minutes to determine which one is mine.  The moonlight is enough to degrade my night-vision so all I can see ahead is a pitch black mountain of land.  I can see a rough outline of the ridge-tops a hundred feet above the water, and an occasional sliver of shoreline as small stretches of rock reflect the moonlight.  I pulled back on the throttle, idled closer, and then cut the motor.  Now the only sound that existed was that of the water rolling past my hull as I drifted to a halt.  Peering into the darkness ahead my body language transitioned from the craned neck and furrowed brow of a man trying to hear something, to a broad and relaxed grin as I heard the dancing sound of a waterfall crashing to the surface of the lake.

I’m here

I idled the boat the rest of the way in so I could enjoy every bit of my surroundings.  I pushed into the cove with the gravel bar on my right.  The water was low and the bar rose higher from the water-line in terraces to a height of perhaps 6 feet where it topped out in a wide triangular shape big enough for perhaps five or six tents.  The gravelly point soon transitioned to dirt and then woods and then straight up to the top of the hill that formed the right side of what is basically a bowl with a waterfall at the back.  

Louder came the splashing as I glided deeper into the hollow.  Soon I had reached the back and I killed the motor.  I sat in absolute awe, floating at the base of the falls.  The water cascading down those rocks in the moonlight looked like a mountain of pearls falling down a black marble-staircase.  In terms of natural beauty I don’t know that I’ve seen it’s equal.  The sight, the sound, and the surroundings combined to create what might be described as heaven on earth and...unbelievably...I had it all to myself.  It’s a bit surreal to think that these falls could be here every night looking this beautiful and for the most part nobody is ever here to see them.  Natures beauty exists all the time whether we stop to notice or not...I guess I could think on that the rest of the night.  At this point I was just glad that Plan A had gone to pieces...it also occurred to me that it is an absolute insult to refer to this beautiful place as “Plan B”.  I might have to just call this “Plan A” all the time even if I don’t intend to start with it.

After a few minutes enjoying the beauty and solitude of the falls at night I decided I needed to get to work.  I nosed my vessel onto the sheltered side of the gravel bar, secured my anchor and began unloading the boat.  

I decided that the campfire would come first.  I also realized that the wind had picked up which made fire location a bit tricky.  I’m no Eagle Scout...but I do have Eagle Scout friends...so I know that there is an art to starting a fire...which is why I cheat.  I had no plans of trying to start a “one match fire” tonight.  I had a boat...and a boat can carry stuff...so in addition to packing in my own firewood I also brought my own kindling...and...wait for it...a small ziploc bag of match-light charcoal briquettes.  Yes...yes...you can thank me for this wonderful idea.  I bask in your applause and adoration as I get my fire started quickly and easily.  

After getting the campfire started I made a few trips to unload the boat.  As I was getting the tent set up I realized that there was already a heavy dew setting up...my shirt was damp from the last 10 minutes of being exposed.  As a precaution I donned a jacket and threw the rain fly on tent.  

After a few more minutes of toiling I had my camp set up...and you tech-haters better cover your ears for this next part...I realized I had enough cell coverage to get a text message out to the world from my little peninsula of paradise.  This would be the start of several texts that would anger rednecks from South Carolina to Tennessee and motivate at least one to skip work with me out of solidarity.  This had all the makings of a  small revolution.  

With my tent set up and the fire taking hold I got to really sit back and relax.  As nice as the moonlight boat ride was...this was an order of magnitude better.  A 50 foot waterfall and a crackling campfire provided the soundtrack to my evening.  I sat on my campstool and looked across the river to the Alabama side and I could see nothing but wilderness.  I’d never noticed before but you can’t see a single bit of manmade light from this spot on the river.  Things just kept getting better.  

Sitting in the glow of the campfire I began playing with my new toy...the BioLite stove.  I packed it full of twigs and got a pot of water boiling, then plugged my phone in to slowly charge while dinner was cooking.  Ahh...the joys of being a modern high-tech redneck.  While the water was boiling I grabbed a fishing rod from the boat and slowly fished my way around this gravelly point.  I didn’t expect to catch anything but it gave me something to do while waiting on dinner.  Each time I looked back at the camp it was a reminder of how lucky I am to be here.  A rolling campfire casts a glow that just screams “warmth” and “comfort”...two things that were increasing in importance as the wind picked up and the temperature dropped.  

A few minutes later my water was boiling and it was time to take on the role of camp chef.  This involved pouring the boiling water into a foil pouch.  The directions tell me that 15 minutes later I should be dining on Pad Thai Noodles.  Can you imagine?  I’m sitting alone on a gravel bar on the Tennessee River, right next to a campfire and a waterfall...my camp-stove is charging my iPhone and I’m eating Thai food?  Dude...what are the odds of this?

The rest of the evening is spent exchanging insults with friends who have cursed me for rubbing this spontaneous trip in their faces.  The sounds of the falls and the fire are now joined by the occasional vibration of my iPhone as their digital responses arrive in my analog campsite.  The first message I sent was a picture of my Woodsman's Pal machete next to the campfire.  “Where ARE you?” came the initial inquiry.   This from a friend who expected to see me at work the next morning.  After telling him my location and advising him that he wouldn’t see me at work the next day he sent a message that’s not fit to print here...though it made me smile.  

Their malevolent responses and insults came and went like the wispy clouds that crossed the sky and they brought me no shortage of entertainment as I poked at the logs in the campfire and pondered the next days fishing.  As the night went on the one thing that really hit me was that I need to bring the family back here next time.  As good as this place is by myself...it would be so much better with someone to share it.    

Those were my thoughts as I watched the last of the logs burn up.  

A hot bed of coals beckoned me to stay awake all night but the day was done.  I needed to get up and fish in the morning.  I finished up my campground chores by stowing my leftover food so the raccoons would’t get it, I doused the coals with lake-water, and after one more glance upward at the full moon I crawled into the tent.  At this point I was very glad I had put the rainfly on because the dew was so thick it looked like rain drops on top of the tent...thankfully the interior was bone-dry and comfortable.  

I laid there in solitude with the waterfall lulling me to sleep.  The sound of the falls changed constantly as the water took an ever-shifting path from the precipice above to the lake below.  These subtle changes caused the sounds to echo and shift back and forth as if the water were sometimes drawing nearer or moving further away.  Slowly and without a care in the world...I fell asleep.  

Call of the Redneck

For those unfamiliar with the sound of a Pterodactyl I urge you to Google the sound of a Heron.  This is a wonderfully graceful bird whose voice couldn’t possibly be more mis-matched with it’s visage.  Imagine a ballerina who sounded like Janice Joplin.  Or a small child who sounds like Jabba the Hut.  This is the type of mis-match I am trying to convey.  The heron is a hunter...it stands tall and lean and graceful in the shallows as it stalks it’s prey.  With lightning speed it’s sleek body strikes...its a wonderful bird to watch...one of the few I would take the time to watch really.  But it’s voice sounds like a lifelong smoker hawking up the worst sort of lugie you could imagine.  And it was this sound that awoke me from peaceful slumber at exactly 3 AM.  

My first thought was “you’ve got to be kidding me.”  My next thought was that I need to go out there and run that thing off.  But...as they say “third time is a charm”...my third thought was that I have no neighbors...I’ll just lay here and yell at that thing to leave.  Which is what I did.  The call of the heron was answered that night by the call of the redneck.  In that little slice of paradise I described earlier it went like this:

All silent in paradise as gentle waves lapped at the shore and the waterfall remained engaged in it’s game of perpetual motion when a great heron silently glides through the dark of night and gracefully lands on a gravel bar totally unaware of the tent 20 yards away.

The bird feels the need to express something...perhaps it feels the need to shout about the sheer awesomeness of it’s surroundings so it says at the top of it’s lungs “GRAAAUUUUUGGGGGGGHHH!”

From my spot in paradise it sounded like the Jolly Green Giant just puked on my campfire.  Though I’ve heard it a million times before, I couldn’t believe the volume or the ugliness of that sound waking me up in the middle of the night.

After running through my options I called back to the bird at the top of my lungs “SHUT THE @$%# UP!!!”  The bird harfed another lugie as it took flight, and then made fading puking noises as he flew off into the night to bother someone else...it was kind of a doppler effect of vomiting.  

I smiled at the fact that I could yell that as loud as I liked without waking or offending anyone.  That was one of the simple joys in life...and I was still laughing about it as the bird left and I fell back to sleep.

I awoke the next morning to low grey skies and powerful winds.  I decided to skip breakfast and get straight to fishing before the weather got worse.  I soon got a text message from a friend advising me to fish fast because nasty weather was soon to be upon me.  

As I broke camp and stowed everything back on the boat I noticed something.  At the edge of the gravel where the hillside starts to climb is where the first vegetation exists.  Under grey overcast skies and amid the dull browns of the late fall woods something blue popped out of the ground clutter.  I wandered over to it and was amazed to see a single blue flower growing here.  

Even to an ordinary redneck this would be something worth looking at...but to a married redneck it’s even better.  You anti-technology folks pay attention here...I took a picture of this beautiful blue flower and texted it to my wife at home.  She awoke to digital flowers from her husband who was away...BOOM...instant points with the wife.  Write that one down...use it...you don’t even have to give me credit...but trust me, it will help you get away on more fishing and hunting expeditions.

I wish I could regale you with stories of huge large-mouth and stout fighting smallies but the fishing portion of the trip was a complete bust.  I motored over to the falls to get a quick picture and when I turned around to leave I was floored.  As I looked at the mouth of the cove it appeared as though the wind was pushing the lake like traffic down a busy highway.  There were 2 to 3 foot rollers and white caps rolling south (left to right) like a freight train.  A quick word about my boat is in order here.  You might recall that I said my boat sits really low to the water...it’s not a big craft.  It’s 18.5 feet long and it doesn’t like rough water.  This water was rough...almost ugly...and my small craft certainly doesn’t like “ugly” water.  Luckily they were heading my way so it wouldn’t be too bad...but the trip back wasn’t going to be fast or fun.  

I caught one bluegill before leaving the protection of the waterfall cove...then hopped from cove to cove as I headed south.  I got a call from a buddy while in one of those coves who said that after seeing my pics from the prior night he decided to take a day off and go deer hunting.  We wished each other luck and then got back to our tasks.  

I left the lake with no luck on the fishing but the peace I found that night at the falls is as valuable a memory as any I’ve ever had on the water.