The Wild Life

2012 Sea Duck Tournament

2012-01-30T17:17:00.005-05:00

“Well, that’s about enough of this BS,” I said as I wrapped the magnum bluebill decoys and shot-put them towards the shore.

It’s not like I’ve not been skunked before. Even the recurring headaches from the rowdy night before and a pair of waders that let saltwater flow in and out like a bait bucket didn’t damper my spirits. Hell, it was a fun morning drawing into a beautiful evening, standing near a mangrove island staring out into the Gulf.

And we saw ducks – bluebills, mergansers, buffleheads, redheads, and scores of Distant Black Dot Ducks, but none wanted to work the decoys, and none happened by on accident. With sea duck hunting, it’s not all that much of a surprise. It’s often a crapshoot in every sense of the term.

No, what was more troubling were the boats to the South blasting away that led to the head-shaking. For the third straight year I was on the losing end of our Annual Sea Duck Tournament, the Booze & Blast. Got half of it right - other half pretty lame. I had visions of cupping redheads and the other boys high-fiving while my BPS gathered rust, cold barreled and fully shelved with ammo. It was too much to bear.

Cole’s party dusted the hooded mergansers in some secluded area he pointed us far away from. Sawyer’s team had a pretty stout lead after the morning hunt, and it sounded like he was padding his lead, as well. It’s the luck of the draw and all of that, but God is it frustrating to hear the reports echo across the bay while you try to will even one duck to err on the side of a trigger.

We gather every year off the Nature Coast for this event. Silly as it sounds, we were in far more productive locations earlier in the season hunting serious ducks and talking about this late-season gamut that leads to a bag heavy with mergansers. The lure of redheads is enticing, and a few died this trip - just not by my hand. The friends, the wives, partying the night before, the uniqueness of the hunt – it’s an annual draw.

The morning started well, though not without its share of difficulties. Drew captained his mudboat out the mouth of the Little Homosassa River. The tide was terribly low, even for the winter. If you’ve never launched out of this area, I wouldn’t in the dark. It’s treacherous, with oyster and limestone islands and their arms of bars and rocks ready to claim their next lower unit, prop or skeg even without the extreme winter tides. We scraped and banged, luckily without totally chewing up the vessel, out to Fun Island, a location eat up last year with waterfowl.

One redbreasted merganser quickly complied with the setup, PJ dumping him in the spread. And then the guns fell silent. As the morning wore on and dreams of country-fried steaks started taking hold, we lifted our gear and proceeded back to port. Unfortunately, there was not enough water to return that way. We pointed towards the Gulf to circle back into the Big River.

That ride was revealing. One, not a whole lot of ducks were rafted in the open water per usual for this time of year. With a mild, mild winter, it just didn’t seem many ducks got down here, or perhaps kept pushing farther south, as we’d heard good reports of bluebills towards Tampa. But, we’d also heard tales of non-mergie divers towards Crystal River.

That afternoon we towed the boats north. A man at the ramp said there were a few redheads around but not in any large groups. But I didn’t pay much attention to him – I was more focused on the two chaps wanting to launch their 24-foot wooden outboard into this maze of rocks and crags. They reminded me of the two fellows from “Jaws” who used a wife’s roast to try and catch the shark – they had an inkling of a plan, but no solid idea of what they were getting into, and just may have to swim back to safety if things went wrong.

So Cole and Sawyer hunted south, and we elected to hunt near Crystal River. If there’s one tip I can offer about this style of hunting it is this: Don’t sea duck hunt with me. I am an albatross. White pelicans hooted and grunted behind our island, and cormorants were steadily pouring over. But the ducks gave us nothing to work with. With about an 1 ½ of daylight remaining, we picked up to try another island, scattering a couple healthy flocks of bluebills and mergansers.

I expected the bluebills to return, as they are wont to do. But, a fishing boat rode in and whooped and hollered as the sounds of distant gun blasts tore at my nerves. Enough was enough. And we couldn't wait out last shooting light with the tide now steadily rushing west. Sawyer’s team gathered the championship for the weekend, actually getting out of bed to hunt Sunday while the rest of us slept in. And duck season was over for me.

As always, we’re planning for next year. We were late with a logo for the tournament shirts but should have that ready for 2013. And we’ve commissioned a trophy to be fashioned with a redbreasted merganser standing on an Evan Williams bottle to pass around to the winner in the years to come like the Stanley Cup. It’s gonna be cool. Hope to win it one year and cover myself in glory.

If anyone lets me board their boat again.

An Open Letter: I Hate You, Bowhunting

2012-01-18T10:37:00.007-05:00

Dear Bowhunting,

You clumsy b***h! Why must you make everything so eff-ing difficult? Really! From having to tune you, to your annoying wrist release that clinks on any piece of metal it can find to the point I’m convinced it’s magnetized, you are a chore. Anyone who claims they prefer you over a firearm I have to scan with a Jeweler’s Eye, seeking out that skin-deep flaw that'd betray a symptom of the obvious internal psychological or physiological defect that’d cause someone to say something so foolish.

I prefer a rifle. I am a Cowboy, not an Indian. Take this last weekend. After months of deer hunting, finally, a buck trots by my climber, albeit, behind me. Instead of quietly spinning around and clicking off a safety, I have to rise from my seat, draw back, and try to squeeze an arrow through a maze of twigs and branches. He didn’t wait long enough for me to even straighten my knees. Deader than fried chicken with my .300 or even my .45-70.

Then, as the memory of him fades, a line of does creep down the same trail. This time I was ready. But as I focused in on a gorgeous chocolate-coated nanny, I guess my binoculars knocked the nock because when I hit full-draw, the arrow fell from the string, tinging onto the Viper’s rail as carbon met aluminum, and the does high-whitetailed it out of there.

And if that’s not enough for a day of suffering, consider the evening hunt. An old, old doe came creeping from the palmettos nervous as can be. As luck would have it, she managed to slip right into the one clear five-foot shooting lane I had in that direction. At fifteen yards, she should be between a hamburger bun cozied up with a slice of cheddar right now, but instead, she’s still out enjoying life as the Rage greased her back hairs and planted into the sandy pine soil. Whisker Biscuits, Pendulum Sights...these aren’t harmless consumer products, they are the names of torture devices.

You are a sadist. It is not sportsmanship, as others proclaim, it is lunacy. I personally like venison in the freezer and antlers on the wall, and a bullet is the most efficient means of achieving these goals. I mean, for the time and money I invest chasing a smart animal in his own backyard, I gotta send my best when opportunity arrives. If someone has a great round of golf, they don’t go out the next day with half a bag of clubs and whiffle balls. Chess players don’t say, “Ah, screw it! I’ll play without my rooks today.” If I were a star NFL wide receiver coming off the game of my life and I decided to play the next tilt with one hand tied behind my back, coaches, family, and friends would pull me aside and counsel me on destroying my career and reputation. To choose bowhunting over a rifle for any reason other than paid endorsement or a large wager is impaired judgement. Smell the air for alcohol.

But here’s really the part that chaps my behind – I neeeeeeedddddd you. You are the Belle of the Ball. You get me into these exclusive, A-list hunts on great public lands. Somehow I’m the blight in this relationship, and it...

Forget it; I’m done with you for a near-length of a baseball season. If you think you’re going hog or gobbler chasing with me this Spring, you are the delusional one. Enjoy your stay in the dark of the case in the darkest corner of the closet.

Peace be with you. Until August.

Ian

PS – Tell your cousin, Crossbow Hunting, I said hello.

The Last Days of Whitetail Season

2012-01-12T17:41:00.005-05:00

Travis and I cornered a 90-degree turn on the local hard road that halved our hunting property at the time. It was a cold, wet, blustery mid-January weekend, and the stand hunt that morning did not pay off. The rut had ended in November, and the rubs and scrapes were stale. So, as we headed back to the fire to dry off and warm up, I was astonished to see a spike lingering around a myrtle bush a few dozen yards off the road.

We parked his Chevy a hundred yards down the road and crept back onto our property and stalked up to the buck. He wasn’t alone. With him were another couple spikes and a young four. The eight-point that popped up after T had shot the four-point was the best buck I’d taken so late into the year – an unexpected treat. These bucks were far from any stands or anywhere we’d even considered placing a stand. They were basically camped out here in the far corner of the land, away from our intrusions – though, apparently, vehicles didn’t seem to bother them. Too bad for them I still have an eye for antler at 45MPH.

These are difficult days for deer hunters. The crops have been harvested, the hunting pressure has mounted, the rut is over (in most places), the underbrush and browse has largely dried up and fallen away, and the deer just don’t move as much or have gone nocturnal. Late-season deer hunting is a trying exercise. But - unless you are especially cruel on your deer herd - there is still game left and, staring at the calendar, the fall is a long ways off.

Late-season deer hunting is not without its merits. It’s always a fine time to round out your freezer with a doe, or a younger buck, if the spirit moves you. Possibly even a wall-hanger. The weather is tolerable for scouting. And it gives you the opportunity to try other hunting methods you wouldn’t normally attempt during the prime times.

So let’s take a look at a few ways you may be able to bag that last deer of the year, or at the very least, improve your knowledge of the property and woodsmanship.

1. Deer Drives and Still-Hunting – When the season starts and I’m hanging from a tree, I’m very timid about hunting pressure. I want fresh fish and not stink up the area or unnecessarily spook my quarry. When there’s nothing left to lose, why not switch up tactics? In places where it’s possible – namely smaller blocks of pines or hardwoods or dry swamps – it’s common practice to organize a deer drive.

It’s not like you need to hand out pots and pans and raise a holy racket to drive deer. Stage two or three pushers – in blaze orange, is a good idea - upwind of the area you are driving and sit a couple blockers downwind. Space everyone out and slowly slip the pushers through the woods. Often time the pusher will get a shot – and the blockers benefit by the jostled game.

Likewise, if you’re hunting alone, still-hunting from the downwind side can often produce. The gist is to get otherwise bedded and holed-up deer on their hooves and moving towards a barrel. By the time next season comes around, your stink will be long gone. Unless you really smell, dirtball.

2. Scouting – While you’re walking around doing either of the above activities, it’s likely you’ll notice things about the property you’ve missed before. As I said, the underbrush is gone and game trails become more obvious. You can locate hidden rublines or a lone oak or persimmon or honey locust in the middle of everything that’ll produce feed for hidden deer in autumn.

I can’t tell you the number of times – no matter what state I’m hunting - I’ve slapped my forehead and thought, “Damn, I should have been hunting in here back in October.” It’s highly unlikely you’ll find, or want to seek out, such places in the heat of the summer.

3. Hunt the Weather – Those gray days of winter get depressing, for sure. Still, the leading line of the foul weather that accompanies cold fronts will have deer and other game animals up foraging before the bottom falls out and they hunker down to wait out the storm.

I wouldn’t suggest sitting on the borders of an open field, but trails inside wooden edges of fields that head in and out of bedding areas are solid bets. And any place that serves up munchies such as wet areas that still support green grasses or cold-hardy vegetation. Or corn feeders.

4. Discover the Secondary Rut – This phenomenon is tough to get a bead on. In the South, the rut is often so stretched out that it’s hard to define when a secondary rut occurs. In northern states, I’m told, it’s a little easier as the rut is condensed to just a couple weeks during the fall. Then, the secondary rut comes in about a month later when unbred does go back into estrous. Many of the same strategies that are employed during the rut, but after a month of cracking rifles, the deer are a bit touchier and hunting areas discussed above is prudent.

5. Hunt Places with a Rut – Sections of Texas, Alabama, SW Georgia, NW Florida and stretches of Central Florida all have late ruts that run through January and into February, in some instances.

I try to be a Rut Groupie. In the past, I’ve traveled different states trying to hit the prime times. These are typically clustered around October and November, but I know it’s not worth a late December North Carolina hunt when the Georgia lease is still host to rutting bucks. When January rolls around, Central Florida still has a rut. (In fact, you could hunt the rut almost every month from August to February just traveling through Florida.)

Deer hunting, by and large, just isn’t a productive in January as it is when the leaves are still falling. Yet, the deer are still there. It just takes a little more planning, a switch-up in strategy, and more than a little luck.

Bush Pigs and Brush Deer

2012-01-11T18:25:00.002-05:00

Last week PJ and I set out for a coyote hunt on our little lease in Central Florida. Largely scrub land with orange groves bordering two sides, this property is rife with predators. Turkeys were not outside the realm of possibility when we signed the lease, but certainly not what sealed the deal. It’s just not a turkey-ish looking place. Which made the land all that more exciting when a flock of hens and jakes tripped a camera before Christmas. As a far-gone gobbler crank, I couldn’t get these birds out of my mind.

So anyway, we were out to try our hand at the dogs. But wouldn’t you know it, the orange groves were being plucked of fruit. The reverberations of trucks and machinery complemented by the plastic thuds of citrus tossed into tubs were punctuated by the deep bass of Latino music. Not exactly how they draw it up in the Coyote Hunting Handbook.

Still, nothing ventured and all that. We went ahead and set up in a shallow drainage that descends from the Western grove into the only swampland on the place. PJ and company lured in a dog here a month before that slipped into their laps before they realized he was coming. I wallowed under an oak seeking a decent seat, digging though the spiderweb of intertwined weeds and branches surrounding the tree. I’d have one shooting lane to the front towards the swamp. The orange-dotted green of the grove was off my starboard shoulder, obscured and high of my eyeline thanks to the contour of the land and the brush.

PJ hit the remote to the caller, and that God-awful wailing rabbit call came from his new FOXPRO. I immediately spied movement to my right, up towards that grove - slate-colored with a bobbing motion like a flock of hens.

I broke cover from the low elevation of the drainage to get a better glimpse of the birds and count the flock. Instead, from a now-unobstructed view, I witnessed a field-worker in blue jeans hauling a ten-foot weather-worn aluminum ladder horizontally on his shoulder, the rungs perpendicular with the ground, rising and falling with his footsteps.

What a boob.

This spit happens in the field. Some combination of excitement and low-light and fragmented views of objects has a way of distorting reality until it conjures images of what’s not actually there. The dourest amongst us will quickly point out that this is how hunting accidents occur - shooting at things without getting a clear understanding of what’s being aimed at. And these people would be correct.

More often, thankfully, these incidents end with a funny story. And no hunter I’ve met is immune. One of my favorites happened 8 or 9 years ago – sadly well before YouTube. Typical for this time length, some details are murky but, really, no one should seek the absolute truth and interfere with the crux of the humiliation.

This boy - and I believe he was hard-of-sight which should excuse him, but who are we kidding – was hunting on private land with a couple pals in South-Central Florida. He was fairly inexperienced as evidenced by his revolver and Bowie knife strapped on his belt. He spotted a hog at the end of a palmetto flat. His buddies weren’t convinced and tried to wave him off, but the guy persisted and, much to his accomplices’ delight, began his stalk, hunkering over and creeping close to the ground, slipping out to his prey.

Well, when he got close enough, he gave that hog a half-cylinder of .357’s. The pig wasn’t all that impressed. It didn’t flop over. Or even run off at the shots. The poor guy slinked up to his target and discovered it was a charred pine tree stump. D’oh! Those charred stumps will get you every time! He did the walk of shame back to his buddies who were all too understanding and sympathetic…wait, that’s not true. His name is, still today in certain hunting circles, synonymous with this gaffe.

Don’t think I’ve not given a stump – or tractor tire or dark culvert pipe – a three-times-over with the binoculars when I’m fired up on a hog hunt. To date, I’ve not pulled the trigger.

The thing is, even without pistol rounds whizzing by them, hogs move quite a bit. If there are any doubts, just wait a minute and you’ll catch movement and assure yourself of the target. But when movement is added to inanimate objects, it’s easy to be decoyed.

I call them brush deer and bush pigs. These tend to creep out at first light or right at dark. That right wind-whipped weed or fern or jostling bush in the shadows is enough to catch your attention and get the pulse racing. Most of the time, they’re easily dismissed, but every once in a while you’ll catch yourself intently dedicating the binoculars on this phenomenon.

It happens to even the best hunters. A few years back, I watched, with much amusement, a bobcat stalk a cattle egret in my folks’ horse pasture. The large cat would hunker to the ground when the bird stopped moving. When he thought his prey wasn’t paying attention, he’d scamper forward. Then the wind would blow and the egret would scoot further away.

After ten minutes or so, the cat got within pouncing range. As you may have already surmised, the cattle egret was really a white plastic grocery bag that was slowly tumbleweeding through the back yard. After his attack, it looked exactly like you think it would if you were letting a bobcat out of a bag. Last I saw of that wildcat was him clearing the five-foot back fence in obvious haste to distance himself from that embarrassment.

Spend enough time in the woods and you’ll eventually be hoodwinked. Should this occur, keep in mind three critical things:

1. Always be sure of your target before pulling a trigger. No need for injury. Seriously.

2. If you find yourself running afoul, pray to the Heavens no one is watching. Social media is a very real threat these days.

3. If you find yourself in the company of someone who has run afoul, it is your responsibility to call as many people as soon as possible and relay the story in as much exaggeration and enthusiasm as you can muster.

Seriously.

Walk-In Duck Hunting

2012-01-03T14:34:00.006-05:00

As I wrote in my last post, Travis and I had set up in a little slime pond hoping to bust a few beaks the morning after Christmas. We’d known of the spot, as we knew mottled ducks and whistlers knew of the spot. Our hope was a few teal would swing through, as well.

It didn’t happen. We spooked the whistling ducks early and had a few woodies fly overhead but it was pretty lame - which made it all that much better that I was able to bust a gorgeous mottled drake. I guess you could say I limited out since the bag for mottleds is one, but it wasn’t the duck hunt we’d hoped for. But, if you did read my last post, a little additional scouting remedied this problem as that evening a pile of whistling ducks and a few teal met their demise. For the record, my personal bag for the day was the one mottled duck, a bluewing teal, and 4 whistlers - awesome for this style of hunting.

Over the last three weeks I’ve about run gamut of Florida ducking hunting opportunities. Hunted the bigger lakes of central Florida for ringers and teal. Per usual, there were plenty of ducks and a few have died, but as also typical of a mid-December hunt for these birds on public waters, they were rather shore-shy from being blasted at for a few weeks especially having had no recent cold fronts blow down fresh birds. I hunted Lake Okeechobee one afternoon and was perplexed by the lack of birds I saw there, though a party did well the next morning, blasting ringers and teal.

From there, I hunted STA ¾ and had an exciting shoot, again increasing my bag of ringers and teal. December 26th will go down as a memorable day for all the whistling ducks, but a few days later, I hunted up by Cedar Key for sea ducks – bluebills and bufflehead. What a neat place to give waterfowling a go! I scratched down one hen bluebill – my first - and a common merganser, but the action was limited. That’s a lot of water out there, and it didn’t seem a lot of these ducks had arrived south yet. When you don’t have many sea ducks in that expanse, the shooting is typically limited.

It’s been fun, though, my limited knowledge of duck hunting increasing with each venture. I don’t want to disparage hunting from a boat with a large spread of decoys, mostly because I really, really enjoy a boat full of buddies emptying to their plugs on passing ringers. And I really, really want to continue to be invited on these hunts. With all the rivers, lakes and shorelines in the state, the ease of opportunity is there, but the most successful hunts I’ve been on have involved no motorized boats and far less hunting pressure. And that’s what I want to focus on today: increasing duck hunting opportunities through walk-in hunts on private and public lands, not only in Florida, but really anywhere you may want to pop a duck or three away from the crowds. These places are shallow water venues that require merely a pair of waders to retrieve birds and are fine spots to innoculate that Duck Hunting Disease

So, let’s delve through this spectrum of possibilities. The whistling ducks and mottled duck died on private land. The land is largely South Florida prairie pockmarked with sloughs, wet-weather ponds, flag lily ponds, and cattle ponds. All of these features are attractive to puddle ducks including the aforementioned mottled, but also whistlers, wood ducks and teal. The duck hunting has been fickle over the last several years due to drought that allowed tall dog fennels and other weeds to thrive in these depressions, choking out the ducks. The main trick to success has been finding where the ducks want to be and adjusting accordingly, as my opening tale related.

To take it out of the state of Florida, we did something similar in Montana last year. We hunted flooded shallows on the edges of wheat fields. Ducks rafted on the nearby river would shuffle over in the mornings and evenings to feed. 2010 was sort of a down year for our trip, but a group this year pounded mallards and other puddlers that came into water barely ankle deep.

I mentioned wood ducks earlier; they are extremely conducive to walk-in hunting. Here, they’ll settle in cypress swamps and creeks surrounded by oaks. In Georgia, I’ve blasted them in beaver ponds and probably could when I visit North Carolina each year if I weren’t so fixated on deer. It’s quite an experience to have a flock of woodies whistle down through the treetops first thing in the morning. Like above, the trick is figuring out where they want to be. I believe woodies - even more so than other waterfowl - wake up in the morning knowing exactly where they’re headed and little will sway the stubborn buggers, so not each puddle will hold them.

This all translates on public land, as well. You know, mottled and whistlers are largely unique to Florida, and many WMA’s share the same features of the private ranch I’ve hunted. And duck hunting is allowed on most WMA's during open seasons for deer, hogs, or small game hunts. Many more WMA's have an abundance of cypress swamp land that woodies call home. The Green Swamp, Chassahowitzka, and Lake Panasofkee are a trio of public lands where I’ve noticed a plenty of wood ducks recently. And since most folks are concentrating on deer and hogs, the potential is there for great shoots.

For the ultimate walk-in hunts on public land in the state, the STA’s are the cat’s meow. These lands are designed to clean runoff water before it reaches the Everglades and is loaded with a variety of ducks. If you live anywhere outside of South Florida, it is a haul to get down there, but it is worth a trip or two a year if you draw the tags.

The STA’s require a touch more planning than a few of the other options. Last year, we waded through the hydrilla to a line of cattails. We got a limit easily but ached like Hell after slogging through that mess, dragging weeds behind us like wet wedding dresses. This year we toted kayaks down which made it a lot easier to get hunters and gear in and out.

But that’s as complicated as these hunts should go. Typically we’ve hunted with few decoys, if any, in the case of wood ducks. If you’ve done your scouting and know – or reasonably hope – the birds will be there, tons of dekes are burdensome. A couple decoys and a Mojo Duck never hurt mallards or teal, but sea duck-like spreads of them are unreasonable. For blinds, just cut surrounding vegetation (check regulations on WMA’s!) and put those Boy Scout badges to work. In Florida, cutting long palm fronds and planting the stalks in the mush is a popular method of concealment. Of course, care must be taken on where you splash the birds; most of these joints are wader-friendly, but the deep spots may require a retriever - either by canine or by a fishing pole with a snatch of some variety.

Duck hunting, oftentimes, is what you want to make of it. As I said, I certainly enjoy hunting from a boat on the lake with buddies and hoping for a limit of teal and ringers. It does happen, especially early in the season and after cold fronts when new birds wing South. There is something to be said for going beyond this formula, though. Not everyone is gonna get excited about that one bird limit of mottled ducks. Or even three wood ducks.

But it’s reasonable to expect, with a little scouting and luck, to enjoy a day of waterfowling without worry about other hunters or hauling a boat around.

Hunting Black-Bellied Whistling Ducks

2012-01-02T13:36:00.008-05:00

The pre-dawn morning after Christmas, Travis and I snuck out to a wet-weather slime pond with a handful of decoys, a teal Mojo, and palm fronds to prepare an assault on the local waterfowl. In Florida this time of year, one could reasonably expect mottled ducks, teal, and black-bellied whistling ducks arriving to feed in the pinky-deep water on duck weed and other aquatic grasses.

The whistlers had beaten us there. After we’d left the truck, we could hear them peeping and chirping and, yes, whistling, in the reeds. Our arrival spooked three separate flocks up and out of the marsh, each group consisting of a couple dozen birds. We hurriedly fashioned the palm fronds into a makeshift blind in a swath of reeds and awaited daylight, convinced the birds would return.

They did not.

As the morning lengthened, T and I listened to the chorus of birds that had settled in another wet area to the north. We backed out of our set-up and crept up to the other pond. There, a flock of 30-40 whistlers were in a holding pattern over the wetland. As they dropped down, another flock of 20 popped up, those bold white bands on their wings flashing brightly in blue of the morning. This continued for 20 minutes as we watched mesmerized as flock after flock of black-bellies would rise and fall into the marsh. Hundreds of birds. I’d never witnessed anything quite like it in Florida - the afternoon would be a great hunt.

Black-bellied whistling ducks, also known as black-bellied tree ducks, are odd birds. Taxonomists categorize them closer kin to geese than true ducks. They don’t dabble. They don’t dive. They wade in shallow water with their spindly legs and use their long necks to bend over to graze on grasses and aquatic vegetation. Beautiful in flight, these dark chestnut-brown birds have bright-white wing patches with a pinkish-orange bill and feet that hang behind them. Hens and drakes share similar patterns with a slight deeper contrast in color for the drakes. While flying, they can not be confused with the buff-colored fulvous whistling duck also found in the same regions – or any other duck, for that matter.

Whistlers don’t migrate, in the true sense of waterfowl, but they flock up in oftentimes huge groups to travel back and forth across their range. As the moniker “tree duck” implies, they nest in holes of trees, and their webbed feet have needle-sharp talons to help them perch on branches. There’s also a reason they are known as whistling ducks. They are very vocal; their peeping whistling while in flight betrays their approach (listen here).

These birds are found in great numbers across Central and South America where, in some locales, they are referred to as “Cornfield Ducks” as they plague grain fields and are treated as such. In the US, their range is limited to Florida and the southern limits of the Gulf Coast states, though wayward birds have been found in northern states. Their population is actually increasing in these areas and bag limits of six represent their availability. In Florida, they’ve become rather commonplace on golf courses and around cattle pastures with a little bit of freshwater and year-round availability of fresh-growth grasses.

From a hunter’s standpoint, whistling ducks are user-friendly. Since they do not migrate and endure the salvoes of gunfire from Canada south, they aren’t particularly hunter-savvy. Also, they don’t get a lot of hunting pressure locally because they prefer environs that differ from the standard-issue ringneck or teal. While I'm sure several are splashed each year in such places, whistlers aren’t likely to decoy for a ringneck spread on the bigger, hydrilla-covered public lakes and rivers popular to state duck hunters.

To purposely hunt them, waterfowlers should focus on areas where whistlers can wade for their food. The STA’s in South Florida hold their share of birds. I’ve witnessed flocks of thousands flying around Lake Okeechobee where they’ll settle down in the shallow marshes. Wet-weather ponds, flooded cow pastures, dug ponds, and flag lily ponds surrounded by trees will attract their share of birds.

As these birds expand, more will be learned about hunting them in the future. I’ve seen them decoy, but suspect we were just where they wanted to be more than them being attracted to teal dekes. If you can get their calling pattern down, I’ve watched folks mouth-call birds around to investigate, but no commercial calls are available that I’m aware of. Whistlers aren’t all that tough to bring down, either. Number 2’s or 4’s is more than enough from a 12 gauge, 3-inch chambering. And their meat is very good, indicative of their diet grasses and grains and avoiding long-distance travel that’ll make migratory birds a touch gamey by the time they hit the Sunshine State.

Travis, Don, and I gave them the full nine yards that evening. As we scrambled to set up a Mojo and a handful of Big Duck decoys, the whistlers were still there doing their thing, circling and rising out of the marsh like a busy airport. After the first shot, hundreds of birds flapped their way out of the flag pond like something you’d see on a wildlife documentary about Africa. Between the constant whistling, the passing flocks of so many birds, and the frantic re-loading, it’s tough to honestly detail the flurry of action. We splashed our limit – and a couple bluewing teal – in short order.

I badly wanted one for the wall, but none I could claim that afternoon were worthy. They lacked the deep roseate pink bills of a trophy. That drake came, though, the next morning. We returned with a few other hunters and added to the weekend bag, though the action was not as steady as many of the birds retreated for happier grounds after the first few blasts. I’d put one on the ground, and as I walked to retrieve it, a lone drake cupped into range and the BPS folded him without so much as a ruffled feather when it hit dry land. Sadly, my Nikon took a swim that morning which prevented me from getting a picture. But he’s in the freezer now awaiting a taxidermy trip.

It is beyond me why so many birds were congregated in that small marsh. No one who had hunted this ranch had seen anything like it – it was truly a special opportunity that quickly snuffed out any thoughts of deer hunting. I will say, it’s an exciting thought knowing the populations of these birds are healthy and expanding. As I said above, if this trend continues, we’ll know a lot more about hunting whistling ducks in the future.

They are unique waterfowl. It is a unique hunt.

Easy Fried Venison Chops

2011-12-13T16:57:00.003-05:00

I remember learning to fry venison in college. No, it wasn’t a class. Wish it was – I would have actually attended. I always had plenty of deer meat but little in the way of cooking experience, especially frying. As with other aspects of collegiate life I was inadequately prepared for, I blame my parents. My mother rarely fried foods, I guess, caring for our hearts more than our appetites. The backstraps and tenderloins were left whole to grill, and the rest was generally converted to ground venison for tacos, spaghetti, and the like. So, frying venison chops in the apartment was an exciting proposal.

And the fire alarms were exciting as I invariably filled the room to the brim with smoke. See, somehow, I had it in my mind that the proper way of frying anything was to heat the oil on the stove at the highest setting. Made the oil hotter faster, why not? The chops were always over-cooked coated in singed breadcrumbs. Delicious when covered with enough BBQ sauce and after several adult libations.

Luckily, these meals never ended in fire trucks and smoke inhalation trips to Shands. Turns out I became a whole lot smarter after I left college than when I was enrolled there, and I slowed my act down. It seems one can fry foods without a rolling plume of smoke emanating from the stovetop.

I bring this up, not only to satisfy my insatiable need to ramble and relay inane stories, but also to pass this knowledge around to others who may be in similar straits. The Internet was very much in its infancy then. I searched and surfed for recipes and help but found little. Recipes I did find took it for granted that any Joe Shmoe knew what they were doing in the kitchen.

The key elements to fried venison are a cast iron pan, canola oil, and medium-high heat. With this combination, you can fry just about any cut of venison. But for today’s purpose, I want to stick with fried venison backstrap chops.

In the field, leave the backstraps and tenderloins attached to the backbone and have your butcher cut bone-in chops about an inch thick. You can, of course, make boneless chops on your own; I like the little handle of bone to eat without a fork and knife like a savage.

In the kitchen, pour oil in the skillet until it’s about an inch deep. The oil will shimmer when it is ready. If you have any doubts, take a few fingertips of breading and flick it in the pan. It should immediately bubble and cook on the surface, and as they say, you’re now cooking with grease. If you're the anal type, though, use a thermometer to gauge when you hit the optimal temperature of 360-370 degrees.

Defrost your chops – talk about a mess if you don’t – and soak in icy cold water for 30 minutes or so to remove blood and gamey tastes, if you’re concerned about such things. Trim any fat or sinew away from the meat. Pat dry and press into Vigo Italian Breadcrumbs.

Place the breaded chops in the hot oil until browned on both sides for medium-rare to medium and remove to a paper towel-lined plate. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes. Nothing wrong with A-1 or a Mustard-Style BBQ sauce for dipping.

It’s not all that hard and is delicious. I’m a constant advocate for trying new things when cooking venison. If you’ve not tried frying a batch, you are missing out.

And remember, always put out grease fires with salt or an extinguisher. Never use water. Or adult libations.

Trust me.

Field and Kitchen Care for Wild Hogs

2011-12-09T12:18:00.003-05:00

A lot of wild hogs are going to die in Florida this fall and winter. The signs are everywhere for a fine season. I’m seeing rooting everywhere – even along public roads and highways. It’s a weak acorn crop in many parts of the state, and the hogs compensate for this cash crop deficiency by increasing this destructive, hatred-breeding feeding style. Hunters are reporting plenty of swine activity. I’ve not set foot on hunting land in Florida the last three months and not seen a hog - total opposite from last year where you’d slide across acorns like marbles on a tile floor. The hogs fed at their leisure, limiting their daylight movement.

As we move out of the deer rut in most parts of the state, hogs will become the primary target of opportunity. Let ‘em have it!

Well, let’s pretend you snuffed out a hog. What to do now is critical to fine eating pork, a memorable mount, and even your health.

Things to consider as you slice your swine.

1. Taxidermy Tips – Starting on a high note, let’s say you have bagged that monster boar for the den, garage, camp, or wherever this animal head will fit with your spouse’s décor. Avoid dragging the hog with his head hitting the ground. This could burn off his hair and even potentially wreck those chompers on a pine stump or some other debris. Most large boars will have a thick shield over his shoulders. It behooves the hunter to cut well behind this and peel everything down from there. The taxidermist can then deal with the extra hide. Ice it down immediately and keep it on ice, making sure it’s not sitting in a puddle of melted water. Freeze or take to the taxidermist ASAP. A buddy of mine shot his first boar a few years back in pretty warm weather. The taxidermist’s best guess was the hog was either sick or improper care led to a mount that stunk so bad, the boy had to keep it in a shed outside after getting it home. We tried knocking it out with Febreeze, Lysol, and even scent-killing foot pads. The flies enjoyed it. By the way, you’re likely to pay more for a boar mount than a deer; it’s just that much more work for the taxidermist.

2. Hose that Bad Boy Down – If you have a water hose available, wash the animal thoroughly. Get off all of that caked mud, dust, dead ticks, or whatever. One, this helps prevent against contaminating the meat once you commence to dress it. And two, hog hide will dull a knife quickly; the extra dirt and grime will accelerate this process. Put that piggy through the wash.

3. Wear Gloves – I’ve never heard of a hunter getting sick from cleaning a hog. I’d have to believe contracting a disease from a tick from their hide or even from a mosquito hanging under the lights of the cleaning shack would be more likely. However, wild hogs are known carriers of human-transmittable diseases such as swine brucellosis. Simple, cheap latex gloves from the grocery or drug stores are invaluable in your day pack.

Here are the recommendations on hog handling from the FWC:

Wild hogs, though not originally native to Florida, are now found within all 67 counties, and like any wild animal, can carry parasites and diseases - some of which can be transmitted to people. One such disease for hunters to be concerned with is swine brucellosis.

The FWC is advising hunters handling wild hog carcasses to take the following precautions to protect themselves from exposure to this bacterial disease:

- Avoid eating, drinking or using tobacco when field-dressing or handling carcasses.

- Use latex or rubber gloves when handling the carcass or raw meat.

- Avoid direct contact with blood, reproductive organs and fecal matter. Wearing long sleeves, eye protection and covering any scratches, open wounds or lesions will help provide protection.

-Clean and disinfect knives, cleaning area, clothing and any other exposed surfaces when finished.

- Wash hands frequently with soap and water.

When cooking wild hog, as with any wild game, care in handling is an important part of disease prevention, and the meat should be cooked thoroughly to 170 degrees. Swine brucellosis is not transmitted through properly cooked meat.

Brucellosis in people is called undulant fever and could be transmitted if a hunter cuts him/herself while field-dressing a wild hog or was exposed to the animal's blood or bodily fluids. Symptoms include a recurrent fever, chills, night sweats, weakness, headaches, back pain, swollen joints, loss of appetite and weight loss.

Hunters who exhibit these symptoms or may have been exposed should contact a physician.

4. Meat Care – Ice down well after cleaning the hog. Now, here’s where people separate. Some folks prefer to brine wild hogs – boars, especially – to remove a lot of the gamey taste out and tenderize the meat. It’s a long process of salt, water, large coolers, and time. Some hogs are just going to be poor without brining. But I am ignorant of this procedure. I don’t have the time, space, or the need to keep large hams frozen for any length of time.

5. In the Kitchen - Generally speaking, I’ll put the whole hog in a coffin cooler and take it to a processor. The hams I’ll have cut into cube steaks or roasts. The shoulders are rolled into roasts. I prefer the roasts because I can put it right in a crockpot and slow-cook it. I’ve not had this fail me yet. The backstraps can be kept whole and marinated and is quite delicious when cooked over low-heat. Or, sliced into boneless chops and grilled quickly. Or, I’ll have bone-in pork chops cut. The chops and cubed steaks I like to fry and simmer in gravy to tenderize. Ribs are good if meaty enough; if not, it gets ground into breakfast sausage or links. A lot of people do this with boars in lieu of brining. Fat should be trimmed – it’s not nearly as delicious as on domestic swine. For grilling, wild hog begs for marinades; Stubbs Pork Marinade my favorite, followed by Italian dressing. (Feel free to go through my recipe archive for ideas.)

There ya have it. From loving life to your fork and knife. My Porky-Senses are tingling – it’s gonna be a banner year for the wild hog hunter. Best of luck on the hunt and keep these things in mind to keep enjoying your kill after the hunt is completed.

Treestand Time Waster Apps

2011-12-06T13:42:00.006-05:00

2007. The year started with Bulgaria and Romania officially joining the European Union and signed off with the conclusion of the Massive Big Dig construction project in Boston. Between those two marks, not much else exciting happened either - except for one event that changed the world of treestand hunting forever.

On January 9th, Steve Jobs introduced the iPhone, ushering in the Age of the Smart Phone. No longer did hunters have to concern themselves with just poor cellular reception. We were then confronted with the possibility of weak Internet signals, fragile phones that aren’t exactly built for outdoor use, and batteries that die within a couple hours of going off the charger. It became a brave new world.

See, despite consuming copious and irresponsible quantities of Kentucky Water since that time, I do recall what Treestand Living was like before we could wield this powerful new technology. All we had for entertainment during the Dark Ages was to sit in our perches and appreciate and revel in the beauty and glory of Nature. Thank God that’s over.

Case in point. This last weekend I bowhunted Lake Panasofkee WMA on a Special Opportunity Hunt. I saw a spike, a doe, and a young boar hog, but these encounters were fleeting, leaving plenty of down time. The wind was blowing 30, the rut was all but over, the bucks weren’t moving. But I was still able to accomplish a lot including harvesting crops in my virtual rural community, photograph my surroundings, keep tabs on my wife and kids – or vice versa – and stare at my pitiful bank account in a vainglory attempt to figure how I’ll pay for Christmas gifts and an upcoming duck trip to Okeechobee. Even killed a few rampaging dinosaurs in the interim.

No, these phones are great tools, and I’m very pleased with my iPhone. It’s so much more than could have been imagined before 2007. I’m not sure how they don’t cost thousands of dollars. Luckily, you can make up this difference by purchasing apps – which I hope is a term everyone is familiar with by now.

Many hunter-helpful apps come installed on the factory phone. Weather apps give you up-to-date radar and forecasts. The maps app on my iPhone provides a Google-powered aerial photo of where you are or want to be; a fantastic scouting tool. I’ve taken my first videos of deer with the phone and uploaded them to YouTube, all while swatting mosquitoes and listening to armadillos rustle in the palmettos.

Then there’s the social media. I’m now able to tweet every excruciating minute detail of a hunt, from swatting mosquitoes to the activities of said armadillo. With Facebook, I can update my status and wait for responses from family, friends, and acquaintances. (Example response – “You’re disgusting! Hunting again while your wife is home with infant twins?”) And, of course, stay updated on football scores and baseball trade rumors.

But there are other special apps you can download through the App Store. Some are free; others come at a nominal fee. These are the ones I want to cover today; ones that help slay the slack in stand-time while waiting for Bruiser Buck to bumble by. Not that this has happened yet. Perhaps I’ve been too busy fooling around to notice him.

So without further delay, here are a few of my favorites.

1. GroupMe – If all you do these days is text your hunting buddies, you are mired in the mid-2000’s. GroupMe is an app that allows groups of friends to text and banter in an open forum. It’s neat to compare notes on what’s being seen when a few people are on the same trip, or get reports from those in other places. And it’s positively devastating to get these messages when they are hunting and you are not. You can text pictures of your latest kill, or kill time with mindless banter, insults, and jokes.

2. Oregon Settler – This game is based on the old Oregon Trail game we played on PC’s in grade school. In this version, your pilgrim is dropped in the middle of God’s Country with the objective to raise a town, improving its economy, and care for the livelihood of its citizens. Wild animals gallop through town that you can blast for more food. It’s realistic in that it takes me typically 3-4 shots to kill a deer; unrealistic that after every shot, a food icon falls off, like you are blowing hams off the animal to collect. Really, it’s the ultimate game of socialism. Your character runs around harvesting crops, raking in monies, and solving each level’s new challenges. All the while, a herd of shiftless citizens plague you to solve their medical and social ills without even an offer to help around town. (HINT – move all your sick people to the far end of town and let them croak. It won’t affect anything other than your conscience.)

3. Carnivores: Dinosaur Hunter – Pretty self-explanatory. You are dropped off on a distant planet with a handgun to hunt herbivorous dinos. After accruing enough points, the game allows you to upgrade your arsenal with rifles, shotguns and, inexplicably, a crossbow. After honing your skills on plant-eaters, you can trek down the carnivores. You'll probably be eaten a few times before getting the hang of it. The ultimate goal is a trophy stegosaurus – no, wait, it’s the tyrannosaur. He can only be killed with a careful shot to the eye. If you miss, he tramples everything underfoot to catch and toss you around like an orca pitches a baby seal around its pod. There are dinosaur calls, you have to play the wind; it’s a solid hunting game. Your biggest kills are displayed in a virtual trophy room that can be shared with your family, friends, and acquaintances on Facebook – weirdo.

Last I read – or have totally made up – there are hundreds of millions of apps for your pleasure. The hunting world is well-represented. As I’ve said, they are great ways to kill time in the stand. These above are all free, but many others will be happy to take your money.

If you have any you’d like to share, please do. I have three more deer hunts this year, and my town doesn’t have much more room on which to build.

Reconciling The Wild Life

2011-12-05T17:11:00.004-05:00

I hate not hunting. Truly despise the thought. Work or weddings, enmity seeps from otherwise bloodless and paralyzed veins when collared to another facet of the Real World. Every hunt I make is an event I’ve looked forward to my whole life. And each time the sun sets, a creeping feeling whispers that this may be the last time I get to hunt. Silly, but certainly palpable. There are no pills for this fear. I suppose this is one of the reasons I write - to maintain a written history of the fun and remember the Good Old Days.

This is the second anniversary of The Wild Life, in its current form. Also, the 250th post. And, oh, there’s been no lack of hunting. Over the last couple of weeks I’ve gone back and visited with the past. What a strange chapter to a long-ish, fairly productive hunting career.

When I got this site cranked up, I was fading out of the trophy deer hunting. The previous five years, I dedicated myself to leases and the pursuit of nice bucks. I was successful meeting my expectations some years and exceeding them in a couple others. But with the money I wrapped into this, I realized I was missing out on a lot of the rest.

If you’re a far gone antler crank, good for you. But living in Florida, whitetail expectations are little tempered compared to the Holy Land of the Midwest. I wanted to snoop around more, spread myself thinner in the hunting world. And in this, too, I’ve been mostly successful.

Over the course of this blog, I’ve really come to enjoy gator and duck hunting. Not just the actual hunts but learning about these pursuits. The gear has been fun to collect. After a dozen years of deer and turkey, one kinda maxes out on what he or she wants to buy. I think, also, the factors that make these hunts so much fun is what is lacking in today’s deer and turkey hunting world.

One is opportunity. Deer have gotten expensive. When I started out on my Antler Quest, a Georgia lease was a reasonable number – as was gasoline. Quality deer management took hold, and all of a sudden, bragging about big bucks became taboo because no leaseholder wanted to lose their spot to someone with big bucks of the green variety if word leaked out about local monsters. Leases in Florida are even worse since the demand for land is so high. Osceola’s are part of this equation, too.

Duck hunting, in particular, is on the rise in these parts because of the lack of deer opportunity. Public lakes are accessible, as are most coastal waters, and there’s plenty of game at which to shoot. They may not all be Duck Commander-style hunts, but if you can’t find a place to splash waterfowl in Florida, you simply aren’t trying that hard.

The other thing that I enjoy about ducks is the camaraderie. Now, I love a treestand. It gets me right in ways years of therapy would be unable to accomplish. I feel recharged after a cool evening in the stand. And I love venison a whole lot more than duck breast. But I have quota tags for a duck hunt and a deer hunt for the same weekend in January. When I study my chances of catching up to a six-point or better on public land with a bow, or BS-ing with buddies in a duck blind, blasting away at teal – well, it may take more than a flip of a coin to get me to ride that climber up a pine. Heck, I even flew to Montana, Land of Mulies and Pronghorn, to shoot ducks last fall. Would do it again in a heartbeat.

So, yes, I’ve chronicled a change in my Fall Routine, and it’s been fun. Luckily, gator hunting doesn’t interfere with deer. It sure is exciting, and I wouldn’t have bothered paying for those tags if I’d had feeders to fill and food plots to plant in another state. Two years ago, I took a December weekend off of deer to hunt bobwhite at a Georgia plantation. I’ve done more predator hunting since this blog’s inception than ever before. Done more small game hunting, in general. Yikes, I’ve even gotten married and had twins since two Decembers ago.

The other thing that has changed in this transition has been my utilization of public land. Besides a missed opportunity on a gobbler a couple springs ago, I’ve not really tapped into much luck on these properties. But, I will say, I’ve learned a lot. Mostly, how gorgeous and well-kept most places I’ve been are. I’m impressed. The game is there, and it’s not necessarily the land’s fault I’m not tagging out – I’m not really left with as much time to scout as in the past. That’s a critical component to success. A public land buck and gobbler is high on my list of priorities at the moment. I need to work harder at it, which I should probably do soon.

For despite the embarrassment of riches I’ve lightly detailed above, I want more! I’m toying with the notion of another Georgia lease. It’s not exactly the most financially sound decision in the world, but I feel the itch to chase that Antler High once more. The way I figure, friends have to stop getting married in October and November eventually. I’m not that popular. That should open up a few weekends a year. Ducks can be done on the weekdays if all is planned correctly and after the rut in November. I’m not sure how this will fit with potential invites to other states next season, but I’m sure it can work. I feel like a running back carrying multiple defenders on his back just trying to cross a goal line that never gets closer.

That’s my bag of issues, though. Want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read, comment, or otherwise visit my site. I try to keep it entertaining for those who want to burn some time; informative for those looking for answers. I’m a Jack-of-all-Trades and legitimate Expert-on-Nothing.

Looking ahead, it should be a productive next couple of years. Duck season has only just begun. Hog hunts a-plenty coming. I just signed on to a new lease in Central Florida with a few deer, hogs, and it's going to have an awesome dove field. There's also a terrific number of predators. You can guess what I’ll be doing come February after the other seasons fizzle. Then gobblers, hogs, gators, early deer, early duck, blackpowder..it keeps coming...hopefully.

(If you have any suggestions to improve the site, please share. Content, design, whatever. Also, feel free to read back through the archives. Enjoy and Thank You!)

Oyster Ideas

2011-12-01T09:12:00.004-05:00

I don’t want to waste people’s time posting recipes for some creature I didn’t wrangle down myself. Like, I cook a pretty evil chicken cordon bleu...but, it’s not anyhow, anyway, anytime appropriate in a hunting forum. Even if I pursued feral chickens. It’s just not proper camp food. If someone cooked and served chicken cordon bleu in one of my camps, I’d be sleeping in the bunk farthest from. This person would be clearly touched in the noggin with no realization of where he or she is.

Oysters are different. True, I am not an oyster hunter, or farmer, or collector thereof, but I don’t think anyone would rationally fault me for procuring them from the market. And they are excellent camp fare. Some of my best days on God’s Green Earth have come at the expense of a hot campfire, cold beer, and a bushel of fresh oysters.

Which is weird. I loathe most vegetables. I’m allergic to onions, repulsed by tomatoes, and generally dislike most greens. But slimy oysters? Sign me up!

In North Carolina a few weeks back, I indulged in the saltiest bivalves I can recall in some time. They were harvested from the waters north of Wilmington and Wrightsville and tasted like they drank the Gulf Stream dry. This, naturally, got the hankering flowing for more when I returned home. Krunk bought a half-bushel from Publix a couple weekends ago. The lady said they had just come in; otherwise he would not have bothered. Once they get too freshwatery from multiple icings, they lose much of their charisma. I never order them in restaurants for this reason. Bleck. These were good, though – not North Carolina good, but a passable addition to a day of football. Bought more in Homosassa this last weekend that certainly hit the spot. I don’t know if it really matters that you should only eat oysters during months with an “r” in them, but cool weather is definitely more comforting when designing an oyster feast.

I prefer oysters raw out of the shell. But after so many, it’s never a bad thing to dress them up a little. The usual procession routes its way past the straight-from-the-shell routine and on to a few slapped on a saltine and topped with Louisiana hot sauce or horseradish. Then you get the ones that are difficult to shuck – the Tough Mothershuckers. I flip on the ol' gas grill. A couple minutes on there loosens their hinges and steams them in the shell. But if we’re gonna heat them up, let’s just take it a step further.

Now, this isn’t completely original, but I forget where I learned this, so there are no pangs of guilt for plagiarism. However you do it, whether you steam them open or shuck them raw, arrange a couple dozen on the half-shell. Turn your grill to medium-high heat. In a coffee mug, melt in the microwave one stick of salted butter with two tablespoons of Worcestershire sauce and a few dashes of garlic salt and fresh ground pepper. Place the oysters on the grill and drizzle the butter combo over them, then top with shredded parmesan cheese – get the good stuff, not the generic brand. Cover and cook until the cheese and butter bubble. Some people refer to these as charbroiled. Or a hybrid of this method – when one converses with passionate oyster aficionados, however, you never can be too sure that what you’re doing is kosher. I just think they are delicious.

A bushel of oysters goes a long way. There are a lot of different ways to eat them. Nothing seems to get a group of hungry hunters – at least ones I know - excited more than when someone arrives with a cooler full. Give this recipe a try for a quick change-up.

Unless you are a Chicken Lover.

The Gadwall Experience

2011-11-30T17:31:00.007-05:00

Duck hunting is a lot like bottom fishing a reef or wreck. You get your spot, toss out some baits – in our case, decoys – and await the action. Most times, you’ll get at least a few nibbles from a variety of species. After a while, you come to expect what’ll show; but once in a while, something special unexpectedly screeches that drag. Those are the days to remember.

Travis and I set sail for Lake Toho Thanksgiving morning. It is a budding ritual. Last year, we shot several ringnecks and bluewing teal – standard fare for the area. Turkey day ’11 was my second outing on Toho this season. The morning before, our crew of four splashed 8 ringers. Not shabby for a public lake that’s hit hard the first week of the season But, we saw plenty of ducks, and I was cranked up for the next day, though I’d have to meet T by 3:45am to beat other hunters to the ramp.

T motored the boat to a floating mass of aquatic plants caught in a massive flotilla of hydrilla, a preferred duck food in these parts, mercifully not yet sprayed by the FWC. We got our decoys - a spread of a couple dozen ringer dekes sprinkled with a few teal fakes and a teal Mojo - deployed an hour before shooting light. We lined the boat with pre-cut palm fronds thrust into a PVC tubular rail along the gunnels of the boat, fashioning an effective blind. The time then came to sit back and await shooting light, enjoy the crisp November morning of coots and assorted water heints, with the occasional shooting star or airliner coming or going from Orlando International for the full sensory overload.

About 10 minutes before legal light, a flock of a dozen teal wheeled over the decoys, flipping and flopping in the air as they are trained to do. Soon, a lone ringer swam across the channel, scooching through the decoys like a wind-up toy. It was just about Go-Time.

I promptly missed my first duck, a passing ringer that barely cleared the horizon. When ducks of that fighter class zip out of the gloaming, shots are all too often fleeting and desperately late – which made the circling flock of big ducks all that more exciting.

Big ducks, in these parts, are typically mottled or whistling ducks. Whistling ducks are gorgeous, but slow as snot, loud as Hell, and prefer soggy ground to open water. So, it was evident this flock circling the decoys to Travis’ hail calls weren’t whistlers. Mottled ducks are very common, and that was the thought when they locked up on the decoys as we stood to shoot.

In two blasts, we had four of ten birds splashed. Which sounds great until you realize the limit on mottled ducks is one per person. With an over-abundance of law on Toho, we were in a bit of a pickle. No biggie, though. Friends were close by, and if they didn’t have any mottled ducks, we could swap out with ringers or something.

It was an honest mistake. And not the only one we made during that assault. The morning progressed with the ringers, clearly shore-shy from a week of hunting, keeping to open waters. Travis pounded a beautiful drake wood duck. But as the sun rose, our encounter with the mottled ducks took on new light as well.

For one thing, mottled ducks are pretty vocal. They quack and chuckle like your standard-issue mallard. These ducks were stone silent, I thought. These birds floated smaller in the water. Then Travis said something that really stuck – “Hey, mottled ducks don’t have white on their wings, do they?”

“Nope, blue or green.”

We decided to call the morning early to satiate our new-found curiosity. Wigeon were possible.

By Gadfrey, they’re Gadwall.

For those not in the know, such as me prior to Thanksgiving morning, gadwall, or gray ducks, are medium-sized ducks more common to the Mississippi and Central flyways. They are drab in color, but with striking white speculums and reddish wing plummage. Of course, I'd seen pictures of them in books and read about them in the Hunting Literature, but they are much more pretty birds than either describes.

I’ve heard of hunters harvesting them in Florida, notably along the East Coast where you find more pintail and wigeon, but these were the first I’d laid my eyes on. And coupled with my lack of overall waterfowling experience, the low-light, and being similarly colored birds I’d never figured they were not mottled ducks. We were relieved to keep things legal, but disappointed by the missed chance to shoot to the plug on a lucky draw of birds.

Of four, we retrieved only three – one was lost to the hydrilla or turtle or gator or something. We’d been keeping our eyes on it for the morning, yet it all but vanished when the time came to retrieve it despite searching for half-an-hour in every reed bed and grass patch nearby. So we were forced to settle with two drakes, one with almost-full plumage, and a hen, the female as pretty as the males, in my opinion. For sure, I’ve had more spectacular shoots, but this hunt was for the memory bank.

Now I have a drake gadwall in the freezer awaiting a trip to the taxidermy man. It may not be a big deal to those in other time zones who see them regularly. Odds are I’ll catch up with more before the grave. But on this lake, on Thanksgiving, and the surprise of learning their identities…events like these makes duck hunting worth the early mornings.

Footnotes to the North Carolina Hunt

2011-11-22T09:21:00.005-05:00

I tried to keep my story about this year’s North Carolina hunt short; I wanted to focus on deer success, for a change. If you follow this blog regularly, you know a lot of posts are dominated by hunts that bear no fruit. I do this not just to chronicle trips, but to also highlight lessons and circumstances that lead to an empty cooler. It’s not exciting, for sure, and folks tire of reading such tales – heck, anyone can Not shoot game. But I enjoy the reflection lest fall into the perils of an unexamined life.

Even with a successful hunt, there is still dissection of information to process. With that, I want to run through a list of addendums to this last hunt.

- Always check your rifle’s zero, especially if you suspect something may have knocked it off. The boy who missed the Big 8 did not. His rifle had taken a pretty heavy hit, sliding out of his back seat and landing on the scope. He didn’t figure it’d be a problem. Not only did he miss the buck, he also whiffed on a doe during the same sit. The next day he took it to the range. The bullet was off the mark by 6 inches. Of course, no one was with him when he re-zeroed...but I’ll take him on his word this time.

- Novice hunters are often shocked that deer don’t always drop when shot, especially with magnums. The biggest doe I plugged took off and left a feint bloodtrail. The distance was close, and I was shooting a .300 Win Mag with 180-grain Winchester XP3’s. The bullet zipped on through without much energy transfer. Plus, I hit no bone which would have grounded her. Probably. Always check carefully after a shot. Each game animal reacts differently given distance, bullet, shot placement, temperament, whatever.

- On that note, when following up, take your time. I knew the shot was good by the bright pink spoor. But she took off into some God-awful country. She didn’t dash fifty yards, but she did a figure-eight, more or less. Her trail switched back several times, and the path we figured she’d take was way off. As I said above, even with a great shot, the spoor was limited. With two others with me and our noses to the ground, we found her, but not without some CSI sleuthing along the way. One person would mark the last known sign while the other two spread from there. Don’t just assume a deer will run in a straight line. Don’t assume anything.

- I made a horrible shot on my first deer – but I have an excuse. Another hunter had placed a homemade blind around the top of the stand and secured the netting with zip ties around the rail. I couldn’t shoulder the rifle without the barrel catching the netting. The one small hole cut in for shooting was poorly suited for covering the trail the deer typically use, much less the bait pile. It was well-intended, but not conducive for beanfield hunting. We corrected the problem after my first hunt, but the blind still encumbered a steady rest. In the past, I’ve used a rectangular seat cushion strapped to the rail for those long shots. Anyway, the blind kept me from doing this. At 150-175 yards, I aimed for the doe’s shoulder but never could get comfortable, sprawling out in the stand trying to steady the bouncing crosshairs. I cleanly got her in the neck, but it certainly wasn’t where I aimed. Don’t go out of your way to conceal your stand if your efforts hamper the ability to make a rested shot, especially if shot distances get into triple figures.

- Not all spikes are bucks that’ll never grow large antlers. It’s amazing to me how rampant this train of thought is, even today. Some won’t, many others can grow. A wide variety of factors affect antler growth. Unless you have trophy management experience on large tracts of land over a considerable length of time, you probably don’t know. Best to let them walk if you’re goal is more trophy bucks.

- I didn’t realize how attractive sweet potatoes are to deer. They often ignored the corn and soybeans. These spikes I saw would stand in the pile, pick up a tuber, and fumble it in its mouth like an old man playing with his dentures. Or they’d stick a paw on the tater and rip it apart. They prefer them fresh. After a few nights in the woods, the potatoes will start to rot away and the deer will abandon them.

- And finally, with nothing to do with hunting - normally the Georgia Highway Patrol is stiff resistance on I-95. And they were out in full force, for sure. But South Carolina took the cake this trip. One member of camp got a speeding ticket riding home through the Palmetto state. The offense? 73 in a 70mph zone. That’s low rent officiating.

The 2011 North Carolina Hunt

2011-11-21T17:48:00.006-05:00

The old doe hung up in the back of a rugged pine clearing, head up and ears forward as her young counterparts fed in the sweet potato pile. Earlier in the morning, I’d shot a younger doe at a long distance that required serious binocular work to ensure I didn’t pop a small spike. There was no doubt on this girl - not at 50 yards, and certainly not with her long nose and nervous demeanor.

My arrival at the box blind that evening had been delayed. I’d not hunted this stand, The Dirty Hole, in 6 or 7 years, and the time fogged my memory for where I needed to go. So, too, my driver's. He dropped me off at a culvert along the road, and I followed a trail until it ended in unfamilar thick brush. It began to dawn on me. Some of the boys had taken an ATV in earlier in the day to drop off corn and check the trail camera - didn’t appear any four-wheelers had been here recently. I jumped on the iPhone and hailed Uncle Dennis; I had been released on the wrong piece of property.

Though there was a heavy scrape along the trail, with looming armed trespassing charges a real possibility, I was relieved to see the red Chevy roll in. We had a good laugh as I loaded into the bed. Turns out, we’d cluelessly shot our mark by a mile. Dennis dropped me back off at a similar looking culvert and trail with an 1 ½ of daylight remaining. This time, the path was obvious and ended in a wooden box blind. Soon after settling in, the yearlings emerged from the thick North Carolina brush.

Both deer were 80-90 pounds, but clearly young. Still, a huge storm system was barreling at the state, and I needed freezer meat. The wind was already switching and the evening had become muggy with dormant mosquitoes awaking for a meal. But, I held off. One deer was a button buck, and the doe clung close to him preventing an ethical shot. That’s when the old doe arrived.

This was our annual pilgrimage to Newton’s Crossroads in Sampson County, NC. It’s more of a family reunion. Most of us have hunted together for twenty years. I grew up with these folks hunting private land in Central Florida. These days, we assemble here from parts as far as Central Florida, Pennsylvania, and Maine. The camptalk is depraved, suitable more for a Hunter S. Thompson novel than civilized society, and hunting takes a backseat to the camaraderie. But that doesn’t mean the hunting isn’t wonderful, too.

The timing of this trip was less than wonderful. This section of the state is rancid with deer, but 80-degree November temps and finicky winds are never great ingredients for deer hunting. That and the rut was on its downside, this coastal area expecting the peak around the end of October through the first week of November.

One beautiful 8-pt was seen and promptly missed by one member of camp. Besides this, one small six and a rugged cull six were taken. Along with the usual passel of does. Everyone saw small bucks – mostly spikes and adolescent four-points. Most came to feed in the soybean fields or bait piles, showing little rutting inclination. The big boys were holed up for the week.

Which is a shame. I’ve long coveted a trophy buck from this area, and there are plenty of them, but that’s how hunting goes. Luckily, there was enough deer activity to make hay.

My first doe stood out in a soybean field at first light Tuesday morning. I was hunting the Corner Stand that overlooks 400 acres of soybeans with fingers of oak and pine running through it. Over the years, I’ve killed a lot of deer here, and a big buck was spotted three weeks back at last light a mere 20 yards from the stand. Monday night, I’d glassed through a trio of spikes, the smallest antlers not even visible by eye at 100 yards. I nearly cranked him down but luckily a 40-pound runt fed behind him preventing a shot. Then, one last look through the binos revealed those thimbles on his head.

So I was hesitant to let loose in the thin light of the next morning. As the deer fed 150-175 yards away, two of the spikes from the previous evening ghosted into the sweet potato pile gnawing like rodents on the orange tubers. One was a large-bodied deer with long spikes; he clearly lacked the age you’d want with a cull, though. With luck, I’ll catch up with him again in the coming years.

As the light increased, I realized that first deer looked more and more like a doe, and I became confident that she wasn’t that miscreant from the evening before. The morning wore on and she would soon tire of feeding in the open. It was early in trip, and the freezer begged for backstrap. I rested my Savage .300 Win Mag on the rail of the ladder stand and planted her in the field.

After that, the pressure was off, so I wasn’t in a hurry to take any dicey shots at the Dirty Hole. The old doe slowly crept from behind the brush, feeding on browse and leaving the bait for the youngin’s. Soon, a good-looking four-point strode in. Enough daylight remained that if I could grab a shot, I’d take the doe and hope for more action after. She’d just have to give me a window.

I leaned my Savage out of the portal of the ground blind and tracked her in my scope. Ever careful, she slowly slipped to a gap that’d allow a clear shot. I took one last careful look around to make sure no other deer had appeared and settled the crosshairs of the Nikon behind her right shoulder. At the shot, she head-plunged into the Thick; the four, the doe, and the button buck springing like quail in every direction.

The last minute of legal shooting hours expired before another deer showed. I’d crawled out of the stand and saw a dark silhouette on the edge of the clearing. The deer stood like a statue, surveying the area as the Honda rumbled up before finally disappearing back into the woods.

The Gator Mount

2011-11-11T16:25:00.006-05:00

Never figured to be in the market for an alligator head - mostly because, until recently, I never appreciated the trophy value of such an item. If so desired, they are easy to purchase from just about any South Florida truck stop or curio store. It’s like with bobwhite. If I want a mounted quail, I’ll buy the table with a covey under glass from Cabelas and be done with it. A gator head is a gator head. Big deal.

Well, that was dumb thinking. Taxidermy is about preserving memories, and that trophy gator from August was quite the experience. Still, even with the gator boated, I had no illusions of a mount. That decision was aroused out of desperation.

See, I cleaned that gator myself without benefit of a hoist, fork lift, or walk-in cooler. The other hunters had to be at work, and since I held the tag, it was my burden to bear. Think about this before setting off after your own leviathan. The intelligent option was to take it to a processor, but being cheap as the day is long, this wasn’t an appealing option. Plus, I figured I could handle it on my own.

Problem was – and I hadn’t really thought it through beforehand – that gator wasn’t coming out of that boat after the three of us had miraculously rolled him in. I’d have to carve it where it sat. So, I towed gator and vessel out to my folks’ place. Since they live on a few acres out of town, I figured I’d come up with an idea of what to do with it there. Plus, I needed Mom to take pictures.

Since this is a family website, I’ll spare the disgusting details of dressing a stinky 600-pound monster in the August heat. It was an ordeal. After I’d cooler-ed the tail, I was left with this immovable gator carcass and nowhere to go with it. Mom and Dad have a bass pond in the front, but – well, they still have to live there, and if it floated up...yikes. I wasn't about to sweat further burying it. Their property borders Lakeland Highlands Scrub Preserve; I could pitch it over the fence. All ideas were muted anyhow by that pesky problem of getting it out of the boat – lift with the knees, Mom! No, I’d need a team of oxen and a system of ropes and pulleys for these tasks.

Maybe it was the onset of heat stroke, but an idea germinated. The time had arrived to push frugalness aside; I may have to buy my way out of this mess. Let me call the taxidermist. Maybe he’ll have a place to dump the body if I agree to have the head mounted.

I dialed up George Norwood in Plant City to see if he taxidermized alligators. He quoted me $11 an inch. I asked how much of the gator he required. He replied to just bring what I wanted mounted. I asked again, and he picked up on what I was intimating. George laughed and said he’d charge more to dispose the mess than mount the head.

Long story short, I ended up finding a place to unload the gator – it took three of us risking serious hernias, Mom included, to roll the gator back out of the boat and down into a sand pit on private land. But on the ride out there I was calculating and rationalizing.

That’s not a bad price. It IS a trophy animal. Who knows when I may draw a tag again or find an animal that size?

I froze the head – cut off behind the jowls for that extra size effect - and the next day took off to Mr. Norwood’s. I didn’t have anything particular in mind. I knew I didn’t want any teeth replaced. Several of the front ones were chipped and broken like the smile of an old bulldog. Also the eyes. Poor eye color or setting devastates a mount, to me. A lot of gator mounts have these lime-green eyes like they’d been swimming near a nuke plant. I wanted something darker and more sinister. Beyond that, the bangstick hole would have to be patched.

I was surprised to get the phone call last week that the project was completed - with deer season not yet in full swing, he had plenty of time to work on it. I’m very pleased. The hide along the jaws is pretty firmly attached. It’s not like caping a deer where you can easily skin it off and tan. The whole head had to be submerged in a foul-smelling pickling solution. Before this, Mr. Norwood had to cut out as much meat in the jowls as possible. Once it was removed from the pickling solution and dried, insulation was packed into the back of the head and secured with wooden slats. This was then sealed with a black epoxy compound.

Anyway, the mount looks great. My only regret is I didn’t have more of it mounted. The head is certainly impressive, but that alone doesn’t represent the girth of the animal. That’s gonna have to remain a memory.

So it is now proudly displayed in the kitchen, lording over the pantry and scaring the bejesus out of the unaware who come in the side door. Couldn’t be happier. Everyday I walk in and stare at the beast and remember what a great hunt that was.

Hunting for Hunting Answers III - Accessing Private Property

2011-11-09T16:31:00.006-05:00

This is a popular query I receive: How can I gain permission to hunt private land in the South?

In a word – money. But, there are other ways, too.

A buddy of mine from Maine was aghast to discover I lease property. He wasn’t unsettled at the concept of me trying to buy deer like the Yankees buy ballplayers or that the money I have spent on such things treads in irresponsible waters. It was more that I exist in this situation. To hear him tell it, in Maine you can drive out to the Boonies, park your truck on the side of the road and march out into the Wilderness, provided the land wasn’t posted, which little of it in his area was. He hunted moose and whitetail before moving to Florida and found land access restrictive, not to mention our moose population largely a figment of Jack Daniel's imagination.

Heck, I couldn’t believe to learn in Montana last year you could do just about the same thing on un-posted land. With the proper license in your pocket and a desire for bleeding feet and burning lungs, one can just traipse off into the mountains for a wide variety of big game. It’s still amazing to me stories I read about approaching farmers in the Midwest and elsewhere about hunting the Back Forty. Knock on the door of the Ol’ Family Farm with an offer to help with the harvest seemed to be the ticket for wonderful whitetails.

It’s a sweeping generalization, but not without its truths, that the culture of private property is different in the South. Whether it's xenophobia or an intense protective nature of privacy, it's downright difficult for Willy off the Turnpike to go door-to-door seeking hunting rights here.

Florida is particularly difficult. Add the once-rapid suburbanization and associated property values with the commodity of Osceolas and the fact large tracts of private land are held by huge corporations, and chances at free land are scarce. Because of the demand, leases here cost more than equivalent lands in Georgia and South Carolina. By far. Things ease up as you move up that way which is why – not from a perceived lack of game non-resident hunters assume about the Sunshine State – Florida hunters travel in droves up I-75 and I-95 each year to chase deer. And by the time you get there, the value of QDM managed land increases to the point that a lease is about inevitable. There are fewer whitetail dummies these days. If a dollar can be made, assure yourself it will.

Before we go too much further, I’d be remiss if I didn’t say Florida, Georgia and other Southern states offer a lot of public land. If I desired, I could leave my house now – and I do - and choose from several hundred thousands of acres to hunt in a shorter time than it’d take to get to the Peach State. But, a lot of it is heavily pressured. The hunting is difficult in the swamps and palmettos, and quota hunts, while they are great resources, are one-shot deals, none too conducive to planning a hunting season around. Without question, bagging game is easier on private lands.

Now, I don’t want to go spiraling away from the subject of this post. If you are counting on hunting private land, search and find a lease (read my post about that here). The ones I’ve been on were ultimately enjoyable, and I’ve met some great hunters along the way. And that networking has opened doors for me.

But I digress. It’s not totally hopeless to locate a few open gates that'll lead to fine hunting without draining the bank. Knowing where to start and how to approach folks about hunting their property are the biggest keys. In Florida, though they sit on a gazillion acres of game-rich property, phosphate giant Mosaic and anything with Ben Hill Griffin’s name on it probably won’t get you far. The former doesn’t care much for hunting and potential lawsuits, while the latter limits their property to only family, friends, and guests. The thing to do is search small and work from there.

My boy PJ has the right idea. He checks with real estate agents for hunting lands. Back during the housing boom, these companies locked up land with the idea of development. Now that that has pooped the bed, they are still sitting on this land. Many probably have cattle or other agricultural ventures for Greenbelt exemptions, but this doesn’t mean they won’t consider offers on such things. To date, he’s not gotten any free access, but he’s built relationships and good leads on properties to lease. One day, he’s gonna bring in a big buck that he paid little to nothing to bag.

Other options to try are small agricultural holdings. I’m thinking orange groves here in Florida, but any soybean or peanut farmer with 100 acres who doesn’t have the time to control hogs and does may lend an open ear. You’ll face stiff competition from other erstwhile hunters to find these properties, but the key is to network and create contacts.

And I keep using the word free, which isn’t exactly true. As Mattie Ross says in True Grit, “There is nothing free, except the grace of God.”

You’re going to have to put something in, be it help mowing pastures or irrigation work or branding cows or some other chore. If you assume otherwise, you’re sunk before you’ve left port. At least offer help. I’m leaving Saturday for North Carolina for a week of deer hunting “free” land. I’m hosted by lifelong friends, but much of the property we’ll hunt has been obtained through courteous contact. I don’t miss the chance to help out with whatever menial job may be proposed, even if it means skipping an afternoon on the stand. We also make sure to toss in cash for the cost of corn and hospitality. I like hunting there.

Obtaining access will take work and expect disappointment if you start from scratch. That’s how it goes. As I said, the culture is different here and the demand for land is high.

I can tell you how NOT to go about things. One, clean yourself and your truck up. If I were to have land and Homeboy showed up in his 4X4 with dog boxes and a bumper sticker that read “Hog Hunters Do It In The Brush” I’ll probably call the cops. Think about that, seriously. The South is known for its rednecks, but that sorta thing won’t garner positive attention.

Next, don’t just hear that someone has land and offer to throw up stands, corn feeders, and food plots and profess yourself Boss Buck Slayer. If that land is not hunted already, odds are the owner couldn’t care less about your hunting acumen or dreams thereof.

Which brings me - since we’re running long today - to one last thought. I was at a hunting program during the summer in full Mossy Oak regalia. This dude sat down and asked where I was from. When I told him I’m born and bred Florida, he immediately inquired how one finds access to private land in these parts. Before I had a chance to answer, he launched into his tirade. He said in his home state of New York (!) he had no trouble finding hunting land. He used to hunt somebody’s farm, killed lots of deer, blah, blah, blah. He vociferously lectured me – in the stereotypical New York smug and arrogant way of speaking to others – of how much better it is up there, what he’d do different, and basically how things are stupid here. His buddy was even rolling his eyes and clearly embarrassed. It’s not that he didn’t possibly have a point, but after listening to him rant without getting a word in edgewise, I'm confident in the knowledge this guy won’t be setting foot on any private lands here for free any time soon. Not unless he’s pushed out of an airplane and plummets onto it.

I can’t give advice on how an individual manages their interpersonal relationships. But this is what it takes to develop trust. Consider what you’re proposing when you step up to a person’s doorstep. You’re asking a stranger to allow you on their lands with a firearm or weapon to shoot animals. Be well-composed and polite. In a litigious society in this reserved part of the country, it requires stones to do this. Southern Hospitality extends only so far.

But, nothing ventured, nothing gained, and there’s excellent hunting opportunity throughout the South that'll make it worth the effort.

Part I - Introduction
Part II - Do Deer Move More in Cold Weather?

Other People's Bucks

2011-11-07T15:58:00.005-05:00

I had an exciting muzzleloader hunt at Duette Park in Manatee County on Saturday. The weather was fantastic; it was prime rut time, and the game moving. Saw 11 hogs and 3 deer – two does and a button buck. Not too shabby. Since these weren’t legal deer, no shots. The buck quota was met that day, so hunting was out Sunday. It’s hard to do bucks – especially trophy bucks - in a day.

Somehow and out of nowhere, I’ve re-developed the antler craze. Maybe it’s because I’ve not shot a buck of note in three years. Maybe it’s because I’ve been trapped inside with the babies for the better part of this season. It came from somewhere deep, though, because I’ve not really cared too much about chasing bone over the course of the last several years, merrily shooting does and letting young bucks walk.

This has vanished. Quoth Adele, who’d probably never guess in a million years her lyrics would be cited in a deer hunting post, “There’s a fire starting my heart, reaching a fever pitch and it’s bringing me out the dark.”

The antler rule at Duette is four-points or better. I would have whacked a 40-pounder with forked horns that fit between my thumb and forefinger given the chance – which was my last to do such a thing since the next several hunts I’m on have pretty severe antler rules.

Well, whether I can tag this season or not, I’m fairly impressed by the work of some campmates. Gonna have to largely live vicariously until these babies ease up and I can put the effort and hours in to finding Mr. Gnarly Head. Or maybe I’ll get lucky. None of these will make serious Midwest whitetail devotees swoon, but they are fine representations of the areas these guys hunt.

Mike busted this 9-point Scrub Buck at his camp near Cedar Key on Saturday with the wind blowing 20mph. I want – really, really want – one of these bucks for the wall. They do not grow enormous in body or antler, but these deer are so handsome with their deep sienna coats and Colgate White throat patches. I took a young 8-point there three years back, but he didn’t whiff trophy standards. Mike has killed bigger, but this is a nice representative buck.

Dirty J plowed this buck two weekends ago on his place near the Outer Banks, NC. Dirty is not one who typically trophy hunts – no spikes are safe around him. But he has the propensity for finding a nice buck or two no matter where he hunts. This is an excellent coastal buck, and, again, there’s a spot on the wall reserved for a North Carolina buck. I have taxidermy problems.

Finally, my boy Trace arrowed this wonderful Florida buck at the start of October on private land near Orlando. The buck speaks for himself. And it’s none too surprising. Trace is a Natural Born Killer.

All these guys do a tremendous amount of hunting. And that’s really the lesson to learn regarding shooting nice bucks. Time in the woods. A little private land never hurts, either.

Hopefully soon I will be able to share some trophy photos of my own. The fire, no matter what sparked it, has returned with full fury.

Thoughts on Florida's Alligator Hunting Season

2011-10-26T12:14:00.008-04:00

I’m still gushing to folks about the trophy gator we killed in August. What an experience! Three years ago I could barely care about gator hunting. Now, it’s a must-hunt event, provided someone has the tags. In two of the three seasons I’ve applied, I’ve drawn, which totally helps the mood, too.

There’s still plenty for me to learn and hunting methods to try. I'm happy to have acquired the gear. Makes finding a boat ride easier. And any gator capture is a thrilling adventure. Just saying.

For those who have not filled all their tags, November 1st marks the end of the 2011 Florida Alligator Season. Just some thoughts from what I’ve learned and enjoy about gator hunting...

- The Mother-types in your life may rile into a dinner table kerfuffle, but gator hunting is a pretty safe activity. The things one may worry about like losing hands or blowing a foot off with a bangstick just don’t seem to happen very often. I really can’t recall any stories like this, and trust me, if it happened, it’d be all over the news. Spring time headlines in Florida are largely reserved for when a lizard chomps a toy poodle off a leash or when a crackhead takes a midnight skinny dip in the local lake and gets bit. There’s a primeval, instinctual fear of these things that forces hunters to comport themselves in a manner befitting the risks. The real danger rests in navigating waters at night, especially in airboats. But, again, accidents are a rare occurrence. Thankfully. Bring this up next time the hens start clucking.

- These are routinely successful hunts. From what I hear, most people who eat tag soup do so from a lack of time on the water. You know, it rains here in the summer. A lot. And there’s plenty o’lighting. This ruins quick trips, as you can imagine. Plus, Life gets in the way between the time you buy tags and when the season starts. Overall, if you put your time in, you’ll see plenty of game, and if your expectations don’t trend towards gaffing a monster, you have an outstanding chance at bagging gator tail. Can’t really say the same about other game species.

- If you do tag that Legendary Lizard, you have one heckuva trophy. Outside of hunting friends and family, generally no one gives a crap if I bag a nice buck or gobbler. Not so with alligators. Friends of friends and acquaintances ask to see photos of the bruiser we subdued this year. I can’t wait to get the head mount back.

- It's not Swamp People. Curse that show, for that's all people ask when asking about my hunts. We cannot hang baits from trees and shoot them with .22's. And I'm not sad about that.

- I don’t have a yearning desire to traverse the state hunting foreign waters for The One. For those targeting him, though, every year the biggest gators tend to come from the bigger waterways in the state like the St. Johns and Kissimmee. This isn’t to say there aren’t plenty Big Boys in other lakes throughout the state – there are – but these places really pop up in conversations about those that hang from front-end loaders and dwarf the accomplished hunter. If I were to come from out of state, I’d look hard at these places.

- I like morning hunting more than after dark. I can’t say if it’s easier or more successful, but it plays better with the sleep and work schedules. I will attest nighttime hunts are far more exciting, though.

- Like the futility in wishing for $1.50 gasoline, it’d be nice if the FWC came off the cost of tags. It’s about three hundos when all’s paid for – fifty bones for a trapper’s license to even help with the hunt. Though opportunities abound to tag out, it falls just barely within that thin line of good value.

- Having said that, FWC is banking. The popularity of deer hunting is declining a bit in these parts; alligator hunting is trending up – this is probably because the ease of availability, if you get past the cost. This, of course, reduces the individual’s odds of drawing a tag, but it’s nice to see people excited about the sport. Hunting recruitment is ever-important.

- The old trophy hunting adage, “The big ones look big” certainly applies here. You can easily talk yourself into believing a mid-size 9-footer is a stud. Then you see a stud and it changes your opinion of things. Generally, they are craftier and harder to hunt. What’s nice, too, is there’s nothing at all wrong with going after that 9-footer.

- I like the versatility of the hunting tactics. It’s great conversation fodder. We snag ours. Some buddies harpooned their limits by running up on surfaced gators and aiming at bubbles stirred off the bottom when they submerged. And another gentleman I know popped a giant with a bow and arrow attached to line and float. Certainly, different bodies of water dictate different strategies, but you can pick and learn from numerous approaches.

- I love my bangstick.

- These are simply fun hunts. It may not require, per se, a whole crew of friends, but it is better in their company. I’ve compared it before to offshore tournament fishing – everyone has to have a role when the action starts. In the downtime, there’s plenty of slack for the camaraderie. If you’re one of those who require your fingerprints alone to be on every instrument of destruction, I doubt we’ll hunt together. And I don’t understand why you’d want that anyway.

A Doe Management Hunt

2011-10-20T15:54:00.007-04:00

Hogs always need managing. A herd of a dozen piggies ran in front of the Chevy mere minutes after arriving for an afternoon hunt on a private ranch in Sarasota County. We’d see probably 40 more before the day was done - but not without taking a few shots.

I spied three young hogs tossing dirt under a low hanging oak. It was early in day and we were seriously after deer, but these guys did not spook as we drove past. We parked the truck and opted for a stalk. Travis grabbed his pet .257 Roberts. I elected for the Marlin .22 Mag riding in the back; my .300 would have blown swine this size sky-high.

With the wind in our favor, we stalked in the wide open, over a creek crossing to within 20 yards of the hogs who were too busy rooting to care for our advances. Travis was on point and squeezed the trigger, flopping a 50-pound sow. Another hog bounded out, and I fired high as he dipped down a slight depression in the terrain. The next pig was not so lucky, catching that small bullet behind the shoulder and rolling up in the dog fennels. Two meat hogs in the truck and four hours left to find a doe.

This ranch is an amusement park for hunters, and to be allowed to hunt deer – or hogs - here is special. For decades the whitetail population tried to bounce back from a tick-borne disease that severely thinned the herd, as the story goes. Only about 15 years ago did the owners decide enough animals recovered to allow a couple deer killed per year. It’s hard to believe, driving around this 9000 acres of Old Florida pine and palmetto flats and prairie, that this was ever an issue.

These days, bucks are restricted to family members and special circumstances, but the doe program is less restraining. With cooperation with the FWC, the ranch has access to a high number of doe permits based on yearly surveys and harvest data collection. Most years, the quota is never reached. The ranch manager requires information such as estimated weight of the deer, time it was taken, and names of successful hunters to be logged at the cleaning station. The hunter is asked to remove the head, heart, liver, kidneys, and urethra from felled does, and they are turned over to biologists to gauge the overall health and age of the deer. At the end of the season, this information is consolidated and presented in a yearly report.

Over time, the overall harvest account of does and bucks reveals vital herd statistics and is used to pinpoint rutting dates. It’s been fascinating to review over the last few years. All I know is there’s been no shortage of deer on my visits, and I’ve glassed really impressive bucks for this part of the state.

Last year the FWC changed the hunting dates for South Florida to try and accommodate the varied rutting times. In far South Florida the rut could be as early as August. On this ranch, generally speaking, the rut occurs in mid-October, yet it does not occur within a concise measurement of time. The rut is often strung out with a fairly strong secondary rut – if even this can be easily defined. Maybe with the data collection applied over the long term, that’ll get figured out. Regardless, by October, bow and muzzleloader seasons are long retired.

Which pleases me just fine; I love a rifle hunt more than all else. And while bucks were out of the equation, I equally enjoy taking a doe for freezer meat. It’s not carte blanche slickhead shoots, though. One, they want to take older does from the herd, and hunters are encouraged to pass on younger animals. Also, a hunter must use caution that he or she does not punch a small buck. With its sod fields, cow pastures, and prairie, it’s easy to mistake a young spike for a doe at long range. In fact, with a breeding season as scattered as it is, yearlings born early in the Spring easily reach 100 pounds as winter approaches – accidentally blasting a button buck or small spike would be a cinch without a careful forehead review.

With the rut underway, Travis and I expected to see the bucks a-chasing, but even on private lands, the weather can waylay anticipation. A full-moon and lingering low-pressure front hung over the state on this hunt, and it hindered the deer activity. (Which makes it really weird we saw so many hogs because they are typically invisible during full moons.) We saw one small buck with its nose to the ground on the north fenceline but that was the only deer sighting for most of the day.

Besides deer hunting, we also needed to do feeder maintenance. A summer storm had flooded a couple of the older ones, rotting the corn and creating a wretched sour stink that maybe only moonshiners appreciate. Travis and I were preparing for a barefoot slog through the wetland mitigation area – a section of the property protected from cattle grazing and other agricultural activities - to retrieve one of these feeders. I glanced West and noticed a lone deer standing on the edge of a palmetto island.

Though she had spotted us, she was at such a distance that she did not spook, allowing us ample time to check that she was in fact a large doe and not a rutting spike. I found a quick rest, upped the Nikon to 9X and settled on her high shoulder. The last thing I remember before flipping forward the safety was Travis asking if I could hit her at this distance.

My Savage Tactical .300 Win. Mag. - shooting 165-grain Winchester XP3’s - barked and the doe crumpled on the edge of the treeline. I gotta say I was quite pleased with the shot, right around 250 yards. With my rifle zeroed to hit where I aim at this distance, the bullet caught her exactly where I held the crosshairs.

Though confident the doe was legit before the shot, I was awfully apprehensive walking forward to check my prize, hoping I wasn’t tricked by the low light of the cloudy evening and long distance into shooting one of those smaller bucks. Since it is a rare privilege to have access to such a place, you don't want to do anything to ruin the hospitality. Turns out, this was the kind of doe the ranch was looking to harvest – mature, with a long nose and blocky head. We loaded her in with the hogs and went about collecting the feeder as the sun fell towards the Gulf.

Recap of 1st 2011 Bowhunt

2011-10-18T15:59:00.006-04:00

Finally made my first bowhunt of the season. It’d been a long time coming – the longest I’ve had to wait in like 12 years. Per tradition, I failed to sleep the night before and had high hopes I’d bust that bruiser buck. The lock-on stand was in a prime location; I expected wheel back to the check station like a pro.

I’m not going to repeat the last couple of years and write about every unsuccessful hunt I embark upon. No need. Who wants to really read about someone NOT shooting something? Heck, anyone can do that! Even if I have just about mastered futility with a bow, that doesn’t mean I need to share with everyone.

Still, there are always lessons to learn, stuff to report, and experiences to chronicle. When the time is right, it’s probably OK to relate a few of these expeditions. So I do want to review last weekend’s hunt at Duette Park in Manatee County, though I once again came home with a full quiver and a cooler full of excuses.

- I know better, I know better, I know better than to take unproven gear afield. My regular release – the one I’ve used and loved for ten years – crapped out on me Wednesday. Long story short, I broke open the package to the new one Saturday morning and tested pulling back the string before I headed off to my stand. While lowering the string, I don’t know if my finger or a leafy flange off my suit tapped the trigger, but the string popped that dull, hollow thunk of a dry-fire. Panicked I’d jumped the string off the cams and ruined the hunt, I noticed my peep sight had come free. The release needed to be tightened – and was eventually. It could have been disastrous, however.

- A cold front that was supposed to push through the state hung up over south-central Florida. The switching winds made deer sightings in my hammock rather improbable. But my scent control really shined through. First, a very large boar splashed and rumbled out of the swamp and fed behind me. Later, a spike walked practically under the stand. Finally, a button buck fed unalarmed in front of me for 30 minutes while a wind blew on my neck and up his nostrils. Say what you will about small, young, dumb deer, the hog proved something was working. I’d argue they have the best olfactory senses in these parts.

I showered with scent-eliminating shampoo and washed my clothes in scent-eliminating detergent. I wore camp clothes on the ride down with the hunting garb in a trash bag. After suiting up, I sprayed down with Scent Killer and put one of those delicious Scent Wafers on my ballcap. You can’t always control the weather and wind but you can go a long way towards minimizing its attempts to scatter your stink throughout the woods. It's not fail-safe but worth the efforts.

- Speaking of the deer. This is the spike. It’s hard to see since I recorded this on the iPhone. And the video quality really ate it when uploaded to YouTube. He’s actually a little 3-point – naturally, Duette has a 4-point minimum. You can tell he caught me moving while I fiddled with the phone. He did calm down, circled back in front of me and ambled away feeding. By the way, I’m shaking because I’m turned around trying to film. It is NOT Buck Fever.

- And here’s the button buck. This guy was legal but he might have weighed 50 pounds. The Rage would have cut him in half. As badly as I want to fill a freezer, I gave him the pass. What a swell guy I am. Note he’s eating on the gallberry bushes. This is important...

- ...because there are very few acorns down here this year. I haven’t been kicking around too many properties yet this fall but noticed the same thing in Sarasota County earlier in the week. It is gonna be another one of those crazy years, I feel. Anyone else want to offer up an acorn report? Still time to adjust stand locations – but not much time.

- Saturday morning I felt something crawling up the inside of my facemask. I figured it was just another bat-sized mosquito that slid through the Therma-Cell’s defenses. I swiped it away and that was that. A couple minutes later the same sensation returned on the right side of my face. I slapped it harder this time and was rewarded with a sharp, burning pain behind my ear in that spot people put seasickness patches. I struggled to free myself of the mask as a scorpion fell onto my lap, tail lifted and jabbing, claws extended. I flicked him off - I hope he fell to his death and is burning in Arachnid Hell.

Scorpion stings feel like someone extinguished a cigarette on your skin. It burns and aches for about 20 minutes; then, thankfully, peters out. Being a marvelous physical specimen, I am not allergic to these bites. If you are, an Epi-Pen or antihistamine or notepad and pencil to record your last will and testament should be in your daypack.

- The biologist at the check station said the deer are just a tick off from a full-blown rut. Hunters have reported bucks seeking does, but few have been brought to the check station during archery. Dad did say one young man took a fine buck a couple weeks ago. Smaller bucks were taken this weekend. By the time I return with a muzzleloader, it should be on like Donkey Kong.

Hopefully we’ll have a success story, then.

Trail Camera on a Bad Stand

2011-10-17T12:40:00.012-04:00

Trail cameras are neat tools. They are also sober judges of a stand's potential and can overrule a hunter's lofty expectations.

This stand was gonna be a gem. Situated on converging trails in a palmetto flat, it stands between a cow pasture and a wet-weather pond and additional cover. Seen a lot of game in the area. Should have been a homerun for deer and hogs.

Over the last year a few hunters have posted up here and, predictably, saw a few hogs. But we never got the sense it was all that productive. Enter the Covert Cam.

T placed it on August 16th, and we retrieved it October 12th. I literally could not wait to see the pics.

Annnnnnnddddddd, the air was let out of the tires. 1371 pictures - 3/4's of those of four raccoons that visited seemingly nonstop during this time. I may need to camp out here with my .17HMR.

One young black boar showed up the day after the camera was flipped on.

And a full month passed before another showed. Why, I cannot explain. I kid you not when I say this 9,000 acre ranch has THOUSANDS of hogs. And they're not shy around the feeders. Worse still, it was these same two boars that would return sporadically.

Corn will dial in the turkeys...but no gobblers. Again, very weird for the area. And no flocks of hens, just one or two at a time.

There were an assortment of dove, crow, and squirrel pics I'm sure you're disappointed I'm not sharing. But here's some bobwhite!

So this stand and feeder will have to be moved. Just goes to show that corn isn't a magic cure-all. Stand location is paramount to success. There are plenty more places on this Happy Hunting Ground where the animals will appreciate our efforts. Soon, this poor guy will have to cast a hopeful eye elsewhere. At $12 a bag, corn is a little too pricey to feed to him!

Babies vs. Bucks & Ducks

2011-10-07T16:39:00.004-04:00

Mercifully, hunting shows put the kids at ease. Maybe it’s the whispering hunters. Maybe it’s just the noise of the TV. Or maybe – hopefully - they possess a genetic disposition to hunting. But flipping on the Outdoor Channel or Versus has worked far better than ESPN or any number of CSI shows Carolyn watches.

We both look like we’ve been busted in the eyeballs with tablespoons. I find myself alternating between zoning out and rambling like a drunk in the presence of company. My caffeine intake has doubled in the last three weeks. Ever seen a photo of a woman holding a baby and a cigarette? I’m closer to understanding. They aren’t simply white trash; they are just trying to cope. Carolyn stares out the window like a cat most chances she gets to lay down and rests about as well. Otherwise, she staggers about the house like a POW. Sleep has been a thing of the past.

I’ve planned for deer seasons around weather, full moons, weddings, finances and a myriad of other obstacles, but these kids take the cake. Love them both, but man, what work! Carolyn and I welcomed the twins – a boy and girl – on September 14th. I think. The hours have blended together so perfectly we routinely lose track of what day it is. Little darlings. Crying, spitting, pooping darlings.

Well, enough of the jokes. I don’t want to further bemoan our station when we’re so lucky. We are very blessed to have two healthy children; it’s our health I am most concerned with at the moment. As much as we love them, it’s time for a release – in my case, the release to my PSE.

She is heading to Homosassa next Wednesday with her mother – God Bless her – and the children for some River Relaxing. I’ll take off that afternoon for a doe management rifle hunt in South Florida, and then spend the weekend bowhunting. I’m scheming on how much more I can squeeze into this moment. Can I find a dove hunt close? I have an alligator tag left. The wise thing to do is sleep, but…

So while the hunting shows are a relief to the babies, they further stoke the fire. These kids have not dampened my passion. Every time I change a diaper and deposit it in the diaper pail, the warm moist air that wafts from the can conjures up thoughts of sitting on my lock-on in the damp Swamp awaiting Big Buck to meander by during an early Fall bowhunt. Sad, huh?

They say things improve after six weeks. Here’s hoping. My annual North Carolina hunt is tentatively scheduled for mid-November. But, being a guy who doesn’t favor the concept of court-ordered visitation weekends, I’ll scuttle it if conditions don’t improve. That’s as far as I’ll wander, though, and the only time, too. The accrued value of the all the swings, rockers, pacifiers, bottles and other gadgets around this place, I could have paid for a handsome lease in Georgia. I’ve been invited to South Carolina a couple times now with PJ. He’s also welcomed me to join him in Pennsylvania later in the season. A piece of me dies each time I say no. I could probably weasel a hunt to Kansas – but I’m about impoverished these days, and their non-resident tags are obscene.

So it’s close-to-home this year, and I did well to secure a few decent opportunities at a buck. I have deer quota hunts for Half Moon in November, Upper Hillsborough in January, and a Special Opportunity bow hunt at Lake Panasofkee. My dad and I will hunt Duette a couple times. All are within an hour from the house and if I had to bail on them, I wouldn’t be out of too much cash.

If deer doesn’t work out, ducks are an attractive option, though not nearly as rewarding, for me. Lake Toho is 45 minutes away and is an easy before-work hunt. I’ve applied for STA tags, and I’m not above driving three hours south for a quick morning hunt. Spending the weekend at Uncle Joe’s is basically out of the question, and that’s OK. We have our annual sea duck tournament in the works, and Carolyn goes on that trip, ostensibly with the bambinos in tow.

Which brings us to another point – it’s only fair to make sure she has her moments planned. She doesn’t hunt but is very supportive of me. Or has been. As I said, this is a lot of work. Money has long been set aside for Girls’ Night Out and facials and massages and whatnot. Too bad it’s not Beach Season. I hope she takes advantage of every opportunity she has to ditch me with the heathens. One positive of this experience I am very proud of has been how well we have come together to operate and address this challenge. She’s endured more hunting programs than she would have ever imagined just for a few hours of Peace and Quiet.

Well, Feeding Time is almost here – I wish game animals were as predictable in their eating patterns as these two are. The sound of grunt calls and gobbling has been drowned out by the occasional whine and my frantic efforts with the musical mobiles to keep them mum for at least another thirty.

Babies are a major lifestyle change – as if you couldn’t put that together on your own. I look at both of them and can’t help but wonder how they’ll grow. They may grow up to be World Class hunters like their father. Or they may protest the hunting shows that once subdued them and have no interest in the hunt, which is fine, too.

I hope the latter is not true, though. I’ve been told by so many that one of the greatest joys of a hunter’s career is sharing the outdoors with his or her children. Only time will tell.

For now, it’s about time for Ol’ Dad to hit the woods. Maybe I'll find that buck. Maybe I'll just catch a snooze in the stand.

Hunting for Hunting Answers II - Do Deer Move More in Cold Weather?

2011-10-04T13:43:00.006-04:00

Introduction

Do deer move more in cold weather?

Yes, but...

The Public Administration program at University of Central Florida required us to take a year of statistical analytics to earn our Masters. Throughout this course, we used a program called SPSS to determine if certain variables had an effect on a given outcome. Since this was a PA class, the topics were geared around policy questions. For instance, the professor had published numerous papers and actively researched people’s responses to natural disasters and the government’s ability to shape policy around that. His goal was to discover how a person’s demographics, geography, exposure to weather reports, etc., would affect whether or not they would evacuate in case of a hurricane or other natural disaster. He reveled in working with data, as only a university professor can.

The information he utilized had been collected through surveys and other data gathering tools. Responses were coded and plugged into SPSS. If people didn’t evacuate a hurricane, what were the reasons, and which had the strongest influence on a person’s decision? A factor that seemed prevalent in a decision was said to have a strong statistical correlation - those that had some influence but weren’t as dominant displayed a weak correlation. And other stuff. Big words. Tons of fun, as you can imagine, and surprisingly, I actually passed. (By the way, my term project was about how poorly the NMFS regulates recreational grouper fishing on the West Coast of Florida which made me the biggest hick in the class by far.)

I bring this up because it is what I think of when approached by the above question. The wrinkle is, we can’t really go out and survey deer for their personal opinions, and there are so many influences on deer movement – especially during hunting season - it’s hard to say if one in particular relates directly to deer activity.

Most of what we think we know is anecdotal which isn’t all that reliable. OK, my guess is avid hunters would say, yes, deer move more during cold weather. But, you know, we hunt during the fall and winter when it is prone to be cold. Folks may say, “I got my biggest buck on that weekend it was the coldest day in recorded history.” Which could be true, but you don’t always know how that one experience translates into overall deer movement. You also have no idea how many times people have hunted when it is cold and not seen spit. But no one seems to recall that. Having just had kids, it reminds me of all the talk about more births happening during full moons. People want to ascribe that phenomenon to a celestial influence, when really The Man in the Moon is a prominent stamp on the memory. No one ever says, “Hey, I had my baby on a waning crescent.” You just notice the full moon – or cold weather – because it lacks subtlety.

Moon phase, rut dates, available food sources, hunting pressure, predator control, and a litany of other factors influence deer movement. Just think through this small list and compare it to your own history of successes and excuses.

“The deer were feeding all night on a full moon, and it’s a weak rut.”

“Too many acorns this year.”

“Hunters have been in my spot.”

“Darn coyotes have the deer buggered up.”

We hunters can rationalize, but it is prudent to place at least a little stock from stories afield. Again, some condition or combination of natural circumstances do dictate how and when deer move.

Also, "cold" and “move more” are a dodgy terms. One, "cold" is regional. It's not the same in FL as it is across the whitetail's range. Reports of movement are based on hunter anecdotes. What one sees from a treestand in the evening is a small sample size. Too many times have I come back to camp dejected, hadn’t seen a sparrow, and complained that the deer were acting weird this year and suffered through listening to others gush about their day straight out of a Disney movie. Turns out I was just in crappy spots. Don’t discount this.

So, the question is too vague to deliver a concrete answer. This is where I stop, though, lest I start arguing myself in circles. Because it's easy to. As with politics and public administration, there are rarely absolute right answers, just opinions for what seems to work at the time.

From my years of deer hunting, I’m convinced the best days revolve around the crisp, dry air of high pressure fronts. My finest bucks have come when the temperature dropped at least 15 degrees overnight after a high pressure front has settled over an area - also had quite a bit of luck right before the next wave of low pressure wings south.

So when I think of weather, I try not to believe in what I’m seeing in terms of hot or cold, but whether action comes along frontal boundaries. Maybe it’s because the deer are ready to move again after spending a day in wet, windy weather. Or maybe, yeah, the cooler weather just feels better. It sure seems to snap the rut on. And really cold temps will drive deer to the feed...ah, going in circles!

My purpose here is not to be evasive, difficult, too academic or to bore anyone to tears, just to highlight the difficulty in ascribing answers to deer movement. Yes, cooler weather and drops in temperature likely have that significant correlation; however, there are other things hunters should focus on, like locating a prominent food source, and hunting trails and rub lines. I feel it’s much more important to be in the right place than worrying as much about the right time.

One last thought; it is a heckuva lot nicer to hunt when it is cooler, and this leads to longer sits in the woods. The more time one spends hunting will go a longer way towards hanging deer at camp than any other factor real or imagined.

It’s much more gratifying than statistical analysis, I promise you.

Hunting for Hunting Answers I - Introduction

2011-09-29T17:51:00.006-04:00

Being a technologically savvy individual, I use various analytic tools to get a bearing on how many people read my blog – I’m not sure analytics were designed for such small numbers, but still. These programs enable me to see who is reading what, how long they stay on the site, where they come from, their phone numbers and addresses should I disagree with a comment, etc. I can figure out if someone is coming to my page through an e-mail subscription or bookmark, from another website or through a keyword search. It’s groovy stuff.

It’s this last element, however, I want to approach today. Thanks to Google Analytics, I am able to compile which keywords directed a lost soul to my site via search engine. Often, the combination of keywords bowls a strike for the surfer. For instance, “Do Hogs Rut?” is a common search. Luckily for that person I have a post that articulates that quite well, I think. Hopefully the individual is happy and returns again for all of his or her rut queries or stays and reads other posts.

Then there's the person who rolls a gutterball when directed to The Wild Life. “How to Prepare for an Elephant Hunt?” pops up in the keyword manifest from time to time. That user is invariably directed to the post “The Last of the Elephant Hunters” which, besides being the most wonderful thing I’ve ever written, has zilch to do with elephants. I like to think that whoever was searching to learn about his upcoming elephant safari got so frustrated with my flippant article he stormed away from his computer to slap a butler.

And other times someone is directed to a post that kinda answers the inquiry or is within reach of doing so. The typical question is usually location-specific. Like “What was the biggest buck taken in Green Swamp WMA?” I’ve written about bucks and written about the Green Swamp, so they are directed to my page though I’ve never actually written about hunting deer in the Swamp. I am pleased they found my work and hopefully gleaned some knowledge from it. And it increases my notoriety and fortune. Yet as a know-it-all, I’m discouraged I don’t have a solid answer for said person. But, I can’t answer all of these questions and won’t pretend to try – not hunted everywhere, sadly. Now, I get e-mails all the time about particular places, and I help out or try to point people in the right direction, but I can only write about what I know, or think I know.

Which gets us, finally, to my purpose. In these lists of search words are many, many questions about general hunting concepts I’m more than happy to address based on my experience. Like, how to field judge hogs? How to start duck hunting? What weather is best for deer movement? Using my analytic tools I am able to uncover ground I’m missing in my writing. I wouldn’t call it heroic that I want to help others, but it is close. Chivalry-ic, maybe?

I started this column thinking I would be able to bang out these three above topics in a couple pages. Then I realized how complicated the answers are and how limited my attention span is. So, I am going to break them up into several different posts and start a little series. To my knowledge, I am the pioneer of this concept; I will know if others copy!

One funny story – and I’ve learned it’s important to preface my writing with lines and words like “Just Kidding” “Ha!” and “One Funny Story” because there are a lot of knobs out there who are not regular readers and don’t realize a quarter of what I write is a joke - or an irresponsible lie - and probably scrambled off the computer the second they read I could get their phone numbers and addresses from Google Analytics.

Anyway, one funny story. As of this writing, there have been 11,552 different keyword combinations that people have punched into search engines that resulted in a click to my site. They are ranked from 1st to last of most used keywords. For example, “espn wildlife camera” ranks number 1. This doesn’t count the multiple other searches that use some word variation of this concept. (By the way, ESPN Outdoors no longer exists; neither do their game cameras, but please keep searching and coming to me.) Number 11,552 is “you tube wildlive.” Whatever the hell that is.

Coming in at #185 is “nance sucks at bowfishing.” I’m forced to wonder who has been Googling that often enough to put it in the top 1.6% of keywords. I feel friends and family may be snickering at me behind my back. Probably Mom. Or there is another unfortunate Nance fellow in the world who is as incompetent bowfishing as I am.

I may never unearth these answers. Of course, I’m glad I have the exclusive scoop.

Anyways, hope people find this helpful. If anyone has any questions and wants to save me some time scouring through 11,000 different possibilities seeking a new topic, please e-mail.

It’ll help me achieve my ultimate goal of Hunting Website Dominance.

Next post in the series – “Do Deer Move Better in Cold Weather?”

September Duck Stuff

2011-09-26T20:38:00.006-04:00

The only flock of teal Saturday morning were blasted by another group of hunters that had set up super close. Since it’s early fall in Central Florida, huge bluewing numbers on Toho weren’t all that expected. The wood ducks held court.

We got our limit of eight woodies – and somehow managed not to get pictures of that. Two other boats of friends hunted nearby and experience solid action. It was scattered shooting but consistent. This appetizer September duck season was the first serious outing of the fall. But then again, duck hunting isn’t all that serious.

With the newborns, I couldn’t participate in any long range trips. Most of the guys headed south on Sunday to hunt Okeechobee and the STA’s. Word out of Uncle Joe’s in Moore Haven is the water levels were low prohibiting access to the back marshes. Bad news was, FWC officers told a buddy that the level would remain low while a part of the dike around the lake is being repaired. This could carry over into the regular season.

Also, remember to have functioning navigation lights when underway in the dark. The Man ticketed two boats on Toho Saturday morning. Of course, they had to run through their “How Dangerous It Is To Not Have Lights” bit. Nevermind the vessels in question navigated by spotlights and that the FWC boat had no lights itself. But they are safer than us. You aren’t going to avoid a ticket. Their budgets need the money.

The Early Teal and Wood Duck season ends Wednesday the 28th. The daily limit is four ducks, with no more than two wood ducks in your bag.

The Bobcat Mount

2011-09-23T16:31:00.007-04:00

I’ve seen plenty of crappy bobcat mounts. In most cases, the head looks all wrong, as if his skin and fur were pulled back in preparation for a face lift. The tufts that make the cat so distinguishable are flattened; eyes bugging and whiskers lay bare the resemblance of a feline that had been rescued from a storm drain.

And as I’ve written before, I have a personal preference for how I have animals mounted. I didn’t want him chasing a bobwhite, quarrelling with a raccoon, lounging on a tree branch or covering his feces with dirt. Nothing wrong if others choose these poses, I simply prefer a fair representation of the creature’s nature when the Moment of Truth arrived.

Bobcats are also lithe animals that are much more impressive in Real Life. Without antlers, it’s difficult for taxidermy to capture the trophy or quality aspect of the animal. Being skinny creatures, a lot of mounts – especially those in which the animal is lunging for a flying quail – emphasize this. The manufactured eyes are oftentimes searing yellow or grasshopper-green with the queried lifelessness of a politician whose teleprompter died. Or so fake you look for a red button to push so the cat's jaws will move and start crooning "Cat Scratch Fever." It becomes the first thing one notices about many mounts. The eyes on a live bobcat – while hypnotic for sure – typically aren’t the first things I recognize in the field. You instantly see that cunning, fluid animal. As I said, it’s tough for a taxidermist to capture that.

Being one to loathe wasting money, I was trepidatious when deciding to have a large wildcat mounted last February. But I have been taking animals to George Norwood of Plant City for 15 years and know the quality of his work.

I was not disappointed.

I set out with the peculiar set of goals described above. With this cat, I wanted his hockey puck feet visible and not buried in any background. Since he was shot while prowling around after a female, I preferred a semi-stalk form with his mouth slightly turned and mouth open, but not so much that he’d be snarling. I wanted his ample manhood hanging well below his thighs...

No, but what was really important was to capture the body size of this beast. This was a 20-30 pound cat - pretty large for this neck of the woods. Looking through the taxidermy catalogues, I couldn’t find quite the form I wanted and allowed George the artistic license. With that, it just became a waiting game to get the mount back

And here are the results.

In the end, I wish the head was tilted down a little more and those damn eyes were softer. But that's being ticky-tacky - the craftsmanship of this mount is outstanding. The eyes are set well into the head, his muttonchops are prominent, and the half-crouch/semi-sneak pose does justice to the cat’s frame. My photography talents betray the size of the animal, as well as the handiwork. Perhaps I should have put a handle of bourbon next to it for a size reference.

Anyway, very, very pleased. If you ever decide to get a bobcat mount, always ask the taxidermist for samples of his work and a few phone numbers from other clients. Remember, no matter what style of mount you prefer, poor quality is never cheap and approaching it in this manner will leave a bitter taste. Shop around for what you feel comfortable spending – but remember to gauge the taxidermist’s work. It’s a unique piece of work; think value over cost.

This will be my only, foreseeable, bobcat mount; happy it turned out this well.

(If you’d like George’s contact information, please e-mail me at inance880@aol.com. His work is excellent and prices more than reasonable.)

The PSE Buck

2011-09-21T11:55:00.005-04:00

On September 14th, my wife and I welcomed our baby girl and boy - happy, healthy, beautiful, perfect. As one may imagine, the twins have delayed the start of Ol' Huntin' Season. At least for long-range, all-weekend deer.

As much as I hate missing archery season, I should be back on my grind towards the end of October with a muzzleloader.

I took this buck three years ago and the story was posted on my old Polk Voice blog. Since that original website is long gone, I thought I'd re-post this and reminisce.

"All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travelers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken." – Thomas Wolfe

An honest 30-bird covey of bobwhite is a rare sight these days. But here they came, a pair or three at a time, near endlessly scooting out from the palmettos, chirping as quail do, picking their way though the short grasses of the oak hammock in their uniquely nervous, quirky procession. And though given the opportunity I’d hunt them with fervor, just seeing these strikingly handsome birds was a pleasure, just enough to knock me out of a foul mood.

See, my gentle disposition in the woods is dictated, sadly, by favorable conditions; too cloudy, too windy, too rainy, or too hot and I start poo-poohing the hunt, second-guessing myself and moping like a jilted bride. And this day was a steamer. Surely, no deer would get within bow range the way I’d been perspiring, scent killer or no.

Making matters worse, my stand was a Frankenstein job – 8 feet of ladder and seat, with a blind fashioned from PVC and camo cloth, barely wide enough for my shoulders. I couldn’t hang a taller stand in the hammock or I’d never see anything through the branches of the live oaks. I wanted to put a ground blind in here, but didn’t want other light-fingered hunters to relieve me of one. This stand was an abomination, uncomfortable and ill-suited for taking bow shots. But there’s one philosophy I do subscribe to; even if your stand is less than ideal, the only way to kill deer is to be where they are, and this hammock swarmed with game.

But, oh, the heat. The quail, my only entertainment in three hours of sitting Saturday afternoon, abandoned me alone, I thought, until I caught the swishing tail of a young doe feeding under the short oaks to my left. A 60 or 70 pounder; if she got in range, she was going in the freezer.

As she slipped behind some palmettos, I awkwardly rose from the seat, catching the stabilizer of my PSE Octane in the blind, and tangling the Grim Reaper in the netting. Ugghhhhhhh. I worked deliberately to right my situation, mad I’d even messed around building a blind, sweating even harder in the desperation and anxiety of having a target nearby and the entire prospect of success rapidly going to pot.

Thank the Heavens though, even with all this commotion, the doe fed undisturbed. Still, it wasn’t to be as she meandered away from the stand, until finally disappearing back towards a creek bottom.

Discouraged and still convinced that’d be the only action for the day, I cursed my way back to the seat, bow dangling over the edge of the blind, and began second-guessing my stand placement. I should have put it closer to the swamp line. But then again, I’ve hunted this hammock for three years. I’m right where most deer cross in the evenings from the creek to get a mouthful of acorns before entering a palmetto flat at dark - the classic transition zone. And there’s still plenty of light left. Luckily, through all my buffoonery, I didn’t spook the doe and wasn’t winded. Hope remained. Just settle back down.

Around 6:30 a cow bellowed in the distance. Almost as a response I heard the unmistakable, “bahhhh, bughhhhh,” of a grunting buck. I stood slowly, this time avoiding hanging the broadhead in the blind, just in time for a tall and wide swamp buck to come trotting out, a mere 15 yards behind my stand.

I half-expected the deer to keep walking to a small clearing where the quail had been feeding. I slowly turned that direction, but the buck – and remember, while I am in a ghillie suit, surrounded by a blind and oak branches, I’m still only 8 feet off the ground – caught my movement. He stopped, bobbed his head a couple times, peering under a low-slung branch, hoping to catch me screw up more.

Avoiding direct eye contact with him, I waited for him to put his head down. When he obliged, I spun back the opposite way, guessing he knew something was wrong and would return to cover. Call it once-in-a-row, but I was right. Not spooked, but definitely alerted, the buck slowly turned around to head back towards the swamp.

I had one window to shoot through; the buck just had to cross there. As he did, with the bow already drawn, I grunted with my mouth and in the next motion as he stopped, touched the release and delivered the arrow to the strike zone, him taking off with two other whitetails that I’d not noticed.

On the ground, I found my arrow with good sign, but still resisted the urge to immediately follow-up. I returned to the truck, called Dad, and chiefed down a couple smokes, just trying to rein in the adrenaline.

After returning to the scene and an easy tracking job, the beautiful eight-point rode the game carrier back to my Dodge for pictures and the triumphant return to the check station where the biologists took a jaw for aging, and examined the kidneys for fat content while hunters approached to congratulate us. As it turned out, mine would be the only buck taken from the property this weekend – blame it on the heat, or moon phase, or lack of acorns.

For all its aggravations, when success finds you, bowhunting is immensely rewarding, and in a couple weeks, I’ll be back for another round.

In all likelihood, sporting a much better mood.

Moorhen Hunting Mania

2011-09-18T14:57:00.006-04:00

It’s not essential to purchase a specialized moorhen shotgun, but something out of the ordinary waterfowl gun adds to the challenge. I opted for my single-shot H&R Topper 20-gauge I’ve had since I was six, the Twenty more than enough muscle to splash a moorhen (In the picture above, though, is a Mossberg 500). But, since I’ve had this gun since I was six, the firing pin is not what it used to be. Sometimes the round would detonate on the first attempt. More than not, on the third or fourth try. This either gave the bird enough time to run across the lily pads into the safety of cattails. Or, the water exploded under the creature, and we could go collect my prize after enough comments were made about my flinching between dry fires.

Moorhen hunting is prima facie absurd. These are inoffensive water birds that do not dip from the sky into decoys. They do not flush in front of a beautiful pointer. They do not strut or gobble, and there is not enough of a tradition to justify hosting a BBQ after a shoot. But, in Florida, and many other states, they are considered legal game birds, and there is plenty of opportunity to hunt them.

In case you do not already know, moorhen are those water-walkers that inhabit your neighborhood duck hole. They are the creatures that cackle and scream and splash in the darkness, conjuring up thoughts of brain-eaters and other haints and goblins. Not to be confused with coots, there are also striking birds. Mature specimens are dark coal with vivid white markings on their wingtips and underside. Their long yellow legs with spindly, splayed toes and sharp claws enable them to navigate on lily pads and other aquatic vegetation without sinking into the drink. Finally, they have a bright orangish-red shield on their foreheads – coots have a white beak. Honestly, one day I’ll get one mounted to add to my waterfowl display.

What they possess in fashion, moorhen lack in sporting appeal. As related above, they don’t flock into decoys or perform other ritual rites that endear them to hunters. To my knowledge, no Moorhen Unlimited organization hosts chapter banquets with Hooters Girls peddling raffle tickets every year. Hunting them is not particularly challenging. It’s a wonder there is a season for them at all.

But there is, and it’s not without benefits. One, it’s the earliest firearms season in the state, opening around the start of September. Since the good folks at the USFWS don’t deem us deserving a dove season in accord with the rest of the country, this is our first chance to sling some lead – er, steel. And with Early Teal starting at the end of September, a moorhen shoot is often combined with duck scouting. In the past, we have had moorhen tournaments, which is fun. With literally thousands of birds on most duck-huntable lakes I’ve been on and liberal bag limits, it is high-volume shooting. Finally, they don’t taste half-bad breaded and deep fried.

Maybe it’s just the Redneck Human Condition, but anything that involves an early-fall day with buddies burning through a box of shells and ends with food dipped in hot oil has my attention.

Our modus operandi for hunting them is pretty straight-forward. Spot a few birds in the open and motor within firing range.

Now, I’ve never discovered any literature on what it legal or illegal about all of this, so if something we’re doing runs afoul of the law, just take this as a fictional read. The most important thing we do is make sure all motors are off and our forward momentum has halted before shooting. With the vegetation present in the areas moorhen prefers, mostly hydrilla, lily pads, and water hyacinth, coming to a quick stop is no big thing.

Sometimes the birds will fly, and, oh well, on to the next group. Other times they’ll scamper to the cattails before slowing on the inside edges of cover, in which case, bang, bang! Yet in some instances – and we moorhen masters consider this the Holy Grail – they’ll up and fly, and you wingshoot them. Moorhen are not particularly wary, so there are plenty of opportunities if a few individuals don’t cooperate.

As I said, I’ve found no clear laws regarding what is legal or not for licenses in particular to moorhen, but I won’t hunt without at least my FL hunting license and a migratory bird permit as stated in the Migratory Bird Regulations published every year. I usually have state and federal duck stamps by this time. I’m not sure these are required, but it should calm any rattled game officers. Steel shot and shotguns plugged to three rounds in accordance are required.

For meal preparation, let me warn you of one thing – get them cooled down as soon as possible. I lost my entire bag a couple weekends ago, and I am sickened by it. I kept them in a cool spot under the bow until we got to the ramp when I then iced them down. I was unable to dress them that evening, but re-iced them before going to bed. The next morning I got up early to complete the chore. There was still plenty of ice in the cooler. Before I had the first breast finished, the blowflies had covered my work station. The smell of the birds gagged me. The moorhen had spoiled, presumably under the bow. Ice them down immediately.

When you do, the meat is surprisingly tasty. Cut the meat off the breast – it’s not much more than a forkful. You’ll note the flesh is paler than duck. Soak in a little ice water or milk to remove any bloody or gamey taste. Toss in cornmeal or crushed saltine cracker and deep fry for a couple minutes. I had my doubts the first time I reached to the plate. The meat is mild and would be great dipped in a horseradish or deli mustard.

Moorhen hunting is an innocuous event, but with a little creativity, it’s a fine reason to get out on the lake and do some shooting. And in Florida, it’s a cinch to find a place to hunt.

Just need a reliable moorhen gun.

Season September 1st to November 9th
Daily limit 15 per person

(In addition to moorhen, soras and rails also share the same season. Purple gallinules are not legal game)

Dove Hunting, Beyond the Usual

2011-09-13T11:25:00.007-04:00

When it came to doling out dove hunting seasons, Florida got the Purple Nurple. While seemingly every other state in the Land of the Free is sanctioned to start whacking dove on or around Labor Day, the Sunshine State must wait a full whole month before the muzzle music can commence. I’m sure there exists a reasonable scientific explanation for this, but in this battle between Religion and Science, I am siding with Religion. I wish The Powers That Be would open Florida's dove season along with everyone else.

Dove hunting is the traditional kick-off to hunting season for most of the country. By the time it starts in Florida, bow season is underway; but a classic dove hunt in this state is the same as anywhere else, regardless of the calendar – BBQ’s and Fish Fries, friends, lots of shooting over cut millet fields, and SEC Football and celebratory libations afterwards.

That’s the usual practice, though. There’s still plenty of dove action – on public and private lands - that doesn’t necessarily instill the atmosphere of a fraternity party.

Once upon a time, Autumn Dove relied on Mother Nature to provide them with a meal as opposed to erstwhile hunters planting and cutting acres of millet or milo or sunflower. Even today, when plowed fields are unavailable, it is more than reasonable to expect periods of hot shoots if you discover what natural seeds and topography attract the birds.

I’ve written about it before, but many years back, my dad and I, with help from friends, spent the better part of June's weekends planting millet. It was the hard, sweaty work one would expect. The problem was the drought conditions over a good portion of the summer. When rain did finally fall, it was a deluge that effectively washed away our dust basins and malnourished plants. Lots of money was burned.

Well, we’d promised a dove hunt, and by God, we were going to have a dove hunt. Towards the middle of the property was a wasteland of thinning ragweed and dog fennel that had no real value for deer hunting. It’s the kind of mess that you’d hate if you had allergies or fears of small spiders. But the dove loved it.

Once Season arrived, with little work other than spreading out and sitting down on a spinning-top bucket chair, a dozen or so hunters way-laid the dove. To this day, it was my best shoot as we all filled our limits early.

A few years later on a late season hunt in Immokalee, Travis and I gave midday jump-shooting dove a try. It is maddening, I’ll clue you. But, we discovered they hung around wax myrtles, feasting on the little black berries that stick to their branches. One person would stand guard while another went on a zig-zag through the myrtles spooking the birds into flight. I don’t think limits were met, but we collected enough to satisfy the open fire pit at camp.

I’ve hunted fields of cut dog fennel with varying degrees of success – any cut pasture, really, will open up seeds for dove. Sandy creek banks or cattle ponds where the shores are clear are fine ambushes. Dove collect small stones in their gullets to help crush seeds, and they concentrate in washes with sandy substrate to collect these items. Plus, dove prefer to gulp water before calling it an evening. These places should be clear of shoreline vegetation and tall grass as dove are nervous little birds and prefer to keep a clear eye on the horizon.

As you can imagine, I don’t exactly spend a great deal of time scouting such places. They have just kind of happened over the years. However, if you don’t have access to a planted dove field this fall, you will probably be able to bag a few birds seeking them out in similar areas.

2011-12 Florida Dove Season

Mourning and White-Winged Dove Season:
First Phase - October 1 - 24
Second Phase - November 12 - 27
Third Phase - December 10 - January 8

Shooting Hours: First Phase - 12 Noon to sunset
Second & Third phases - ½ hour before sunrise to sunset

Bag Limit (daily/possession): 15/30

Smothered Wild Pork Chops

2011-09-08T15:49:00.005-04:00

With wild pork, sometimes, you just don’t know what you’re gonna get. Take a sow I shot back in March. Her shoulder roast turned into fantastic Mojo pork, but all attempts to make a meal of her backstraps or cube steaks have landed with a thud. Grilled or fried, I was not impressed. She was plenty fat, dropped where she stood, and was properly dressed and taken care of in a prompt manner. In the kitchen, I have marinated overnight and used a tenderizer mallet, but the meat has been tough, tough, tough.

Wild hogs will throw you for a loop. I have eaten backstraps from big boars that cut like butter after grilled and many others that would vacate a soup line at a homeless shelter. Sows aren’t much different. The younger – better tasting – ones don’t usually have much of a backstrap. The older ones can be chewy. And a wet sow? Forget it!

None of these are general rules for wild pork; I just find there are more problems cooking it than one runs across when dining on deer.

So how to cook the rest of this hog? I am brought back to slow-cooking – a crockpot can make an oak coffee table tender. But I had the processor cut chops for me out of her backstraps.

Despite my Southern upbringing and love for all things gravy, up until a couple of weeks ago I was unfamiliar with the concept of a smothered pork chop. I blame my mother – Yankee. I can still smell the aroma of that kitchen where the lady introduced me to them. I would have rolled in it, to be honest.

At once, I understood the benefits of cooking wild pork in this manner. Simmering meat in gravy is a fantastic way of tenderizing your meal, though a little tough on the ticker. I’ve fried pork chops for years. I have slathered gravy over fried pork chops for years. How the heck did I not think to combine the two in the pan? Idiot!

Anyway, it worked. So here is a simple recipe for Wild Hog Smothered Pork Chops. Depending on other recipes you find online, some variations include adding onion or mushrooms. I prefer to skip these and add more salt.

1 pound wild pork chops 1-inch thick
2/3 cup of flour
2 cups of water
1/3 cup canola oil
Kosher Salt
McCormick Grill Mates Montreal Steak Seasoning

Pat pork chops dry and sprinkle with kosher salt. Then coat them with Montreal steak seasoning – the McCormick’s really comes though huge in the gravy. Coat chops in flour and set aside.

Heat the oil in a heavy skillet over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot and shimmering, add chops and brown on both sides, no more than a minute or two per side for these small cuts. Remove to a paper towel-covered plate.

Add water and scrape up the browned bits of flour in the pan with a spatula. Slowly add the remainder of the flour – about 1/3 of a cup – and stir until it thickens and begins to bubble. Shake some more salt in there, if you dare.

Reduce heat, and put the pork chops back in with the gravy, cover, and cook for at least 35 minutes – and going longer won’t hurt depending on how hungry you are.

But, as your house fills with the smell of pork chops simmering in homemade gravy, it’ll be a challenge lasting 20 minutes.

Enjoy.

Learning to Call All Ducks

2011-09-01T16:33:00.002-04:00

At age 31, I’ve decided to call ducks. Never owned a call. Never had much desire to. But I feel - as an outdoorsman of the highest esteem - something has been missing from my skill set.

Plus, I had a Cabela’s Gift Card to blow.

Calling ducks isn’t a requisite talent for killing waterfowl here in Florida. One is much better off paying attention to set-ups and camouflage. Numerous hunters more experienced than me claim birds just don’t respond with the same gusto as ducks do up north. Perhaps because we are largely mallard-poor in this state.

Or maybe because numerous hunters as experienced as me blow wildly on mallard chuckles and teal whistles at passing ringnecks and hooded mergansers winging it across public lakes and marshes to the point every avian creature in the state is call-shy.

I have attempted to make duck-like noises – on the safety of a patio or around a campfire – with others’ calls. The results and insults were predictable. So this, more than actually caring about quacking a duck to the decoys, is what has lit my fire.

But what calls to buy? For answers I went straight to the Cabelas Bargain Cave website. Lo and behold, they had a solution – a combo package with a Buck Gardner Mallard Magic Call and Buck’s Teal Call for about fifteen dollars. Then I got really crazy and decided to purchase a Primos Classic Wood Duck call.

Out of the package, the best I can do with the Gardner calls resembles my doe bleat. The Primos is higher pitched, but basically the same bleating noise. The Mallard Call claims to “easily produce rolling feeding calls, a full vocabulary of quacks up to, and including, mid-range hail calls, snappy come-back calls, and that awesome nasal whine of a contented hen mallard.”

I’m not familiar with a nasally whine from a hen being all that awesome.

Which brings us to practice time. When I was twelve or thirteen and first learning to call turkey, I had endless time to practice after school. If Mom got upset with the noise in the house, I could just tell her to shut up. I can’t do that with my wife. (kidding – about the first thing; not the second.) And when I went into the woods – any time of the year – I could call to turkey and get feedback from my efforts.

These duck calls are very loud and unwelcome in the homestead. I could travel to the local marsh in the spring and summer and call to mottled ducks. The mosquitoes would appreciate that. Teal are non-existent until September. And the mallards around Lakeland would swim up if I wailed on a coyote howl in the full belief my cargo shorts held a reserve of bread.

Soon, though, I will become Duck Caller Commander Numero Uno, and these three calls will hang from a lanyard bejeweled with bands from the waterfowl that cupped and dipped into the decoys at full ease following my irresistible chorus of clucks and chuckles. Or, my hunting comrades will hang me by said lanyard after a couple mornings.

As always, I welcome advice. Below are a few YouTube videos I will be studying.

Provided the house is empty.

The Trophy Gator

2011-08-30T19:41:00.008-04:00

“Never insult an alligator until after you have crossed the river.” – Cordell Hull

Down in a cove on the southwest corner of the lake, the gator moseyed towards shore. A beast, we didn’t figure we could cut him off with the trolling motor. But the surface drive would have definitely spooked him. We had to try – this gator had given us the slip on a couple other occasions, and the situation had grown personal.

Luck appeared to be in our favor. He ceased swimming and bathed in the open. Still, a gator this size could make it to weeds and cattails along the bank in a handful of tails swishes. I manned the motor, hoping to maneuver into a position where we’d block him from reaching the lakeshore where he’d be safe from snatch hooks. At least if he sank in the open, we could seek out his bubble trail. But, the best scenario was for him to stay surfaced - just had to get close enough to pitch the large treble hook.

We reached the brink of range as the gator started feeling the pressure and slowly resumed his cruise towards land, his gnarly head poking above the lake’s horizon leaving an inverted V of a wake to mark his trail. Cole was given the go ahead. This was no fire-for-effect situation – the gator would surely spook once the hook hit the water. It was just a matter of getting the hook and line over his back, reeling quickly and digging a prong deep into his hide.

Cole’s attempt had the distance of a worthy try, but not the accuracy. The three-pronged snatch plopped in front of the gator, missing by several feet. A tannic-stained wave of water erupted as he beat his tail and disappeared once again into the depths of the mucky lake.

Trophy animals – regardless of species – attain their status through the years. A trophy alligator, especially, is a worthy prize. One, they live for decades, surviving numerous assaults like the one described above, to say nothing of the violent relationships with other gators and predators in their youth. I would not depict them as crafty, as one would call a big buck whitetail, but they are certainly of a different mindset than their younger counterparts. Bull gators are often all too visible on lakes and rivers but have the capability to vanish in surprisingly shallow depths, the normal tricks plied to dig out the younger guys rendered ineffective.

And, like other trophies, a combination of hunter effort must usually overlap with an environmental or physiological change that exposes vulnerability in the animal. Take whitetails again. While a great many big bucks are taken outside of the rut, the majority are laid low when they shrug off their normal wary instinct to chase does. The problem with gators is the hunting season does not coincide with their breeding cycle. We desperately needed such an event to get the drop on this bad boy or we’d spend more time in fruitless pursuit, educating him even further.

We returned to the lake the next morning. I had drawn second phase tags for a popular Central Florida lake. By this point in the season, no doubt, the gator, and his hunted brethren, had endured a pestilence of hunters. A trophy specimen mixed with intense hunting activity only distances the odds of triumph. But he was firmly implanted in our minds. I’d never taken a truly large gator and was only lukewarm about taking a meat gator. This morning was sloppy, though. Winds coming from the advancing Hurricane Irene created a chop across the lake, making it awfully difficult to spot heads on the surface. It appeared that a repeat shot at this guy was slim to none.

So, Harris drove us across the lake - opposite the haunt of our villain - to hunt along a shoreline protected from the wind. Wimpy gators – 5-7-footers – popped up and down, but none were of any interest. Then I spotted a barge of a lizard floating in the middle of the lake.

Trophy judging gators is difficult. There are a whole lot of medium-sized reptiles out there that are 8-9 feet long that are big by reasonable standards and represent fine catches, but are not the leviathans of nightmares and campfire stories. And I know hunters probably help gators grow a few feet, too, when carrying a warm tag in their pocket as the nights drag on and on.

But, as the saying goes in trophy hunting, the big ones look big, and this one was a warhorse. This gator displayed his veteran status, as well. He submerged before we got close enough to even think about picking up a rod. I helmed the trolling motor until we neared where he went down and sat back to wait for him to show himself, careful not to kick gear around the boat and create startling noises and vibrations.

Thirty minutes passed and nothing. Good ideas were fleeting, with little hunting time left. We decided to circle the lake in hopes of spotting any action, but the waves thwarted us.

As we started back to the ramp the wind mercifully eased. We noticed an abundance of dead shad floating on the surface. The evening before, a huge thunderstorm dumped several inches of rain on the area. The influx of cool rainwater sank to the bottom of the lake releasing decomposing vegetation that removed dissolved oxygen from the water. Unable to breathe, the fish suffocated. Shad are particularly vulnerable to this in the shallows. We noticed one runt gator on the surface enjoying this feast.

That’s when I noticed our Man back in the cove where he had given us the slip the day before. He was surrounded by dead shad.

This time he allowed us to get fairly close before sounding just out of casting range. But unlike before, he surfaced quickly, hanging in that general area and not beating tail to shore. The shad buffet kept his attention fixed. His vulnerability was exposed.

This didn’t mean he was completely off his grind. The gator went back down as the anchor was lowered. We got a bead on where he was and prepared to wait him out, hearts absolutely racing. When he did resurface ten minutes later, he was off our port side and quickly sank after a quick breath. The gator wasn’t any closer to shore, but given any more time, it was a cinch he could make it there, no sweat. The decision was made to do a little prospecting with the snatch lines.

The gator betrayed no bubbles or other sign, but the snatch hooks were tossed with educated guesses. It was a long shot, but our only hope at this juncture. Time and opportunities were burning. Harris hung something on his third or fourth cast. Near a shoreline with cypress and oaks, it was a safe bet he’d hooked a large, waterlogged treetrunk. Indeed, it was coming up far too easy. We stood on the bow of the boat peering into the muddy water, hoping it was gator.

That warty head surfacing at our toes is a moment that cannot be forgotten. We all jumped back startled and scrambled to find gear with sharp points attached. Those yellow eyes, set so far apart, glanced up over us briefly before thrashing into a tug of war. I grabbed my new rod rigged with triple treble hooks and frantically tried to set another line to him as Harris tried to keep tension on the gator without snapping the line or rod. A gator that size would not be real impressed with one angler, and his thick skin could easily toss the hook. After several attempts – nearly fouling the original line more than once – I struck hide.

The old boy made several runs – not the high spirited streaks younger gators will do; just a constant freight train charge. A harpoon line was a necessity to try to gain control over him as our drags moaned, reluctantly giving up line. He could easily have pulled us into the debris around shore, or that powerful tail could rub through the braided with his scaly hide. I handed my rod off and prepared the harpoon. Finally, enough line was retrieved and a few pumps on the rods brought the gator towards the surface along the portside gunnel. I tried twice to sink the point into whatever leather I could hit but without success. Eventually, I drove the harpoon head in his massive tail, not the ideal spot, but it was what I could do.

I prepared another harpoon line when the gator rolled. The harpoon point and all hooks came loose and he was free. Harris immediately grabbed another rod and began pitching it at the gator, who realized he had an opportunity to reach safety but seemed discombobulated by the action. He whirled close to shore as I rushed to untangle the other lines. Finally, Harris – this hunt would have failed without him – hooked up.

Again, we couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a tree. Harris was unable to budge him. I went ahead and snagged whatever it was with another line and reeled. The line came tight and rod bent over to the water. Whatever it was wasn’t budging.

Thoughts of failure crept in. Almost certainly we were fighting a cypress stump. The object gave no ground. It was like trying to pull a screw straight out of a bolt without turning lefty-loosey first. We kept the pressure on, though. My back began aching and my arms shook from fatigue, sweat blurred my eyes. After what seemed like an hour – but more like 5 or 10 minutes – I felt a quiver on my line and knew we had him again.

He didn’t fight like he had before. The gator was clearly exhausted. Harris and I decided to go ahead and heave him to the surface. That wide, landing strip of a back, resembling tank tread but constructed of blown semi-truck tire, peaked out of the water before rolling over and displaying a dark yellowish underside flecked with scars, leeches and mottled patches of hide.

This time, we put two harpoons in relatively easy despite our remaining reserves of collective strength hovering in the red. The fight had led us into the cattails and aquatic plants along shore, but with four lines in him now, Harris used the trolling motor to free us from this tangle and tried to use the momentum of the boat to bring his head up for the bangstick.

It worked but only briefly. I failed on my first chance, his dome rising and falling without a shot. The anxiety had built to a head; I could not afford to let another attempt slip by. Over the course of several hunts and by the grace of good fortune, he was right where we needed him. But it was not over yet - a gator that size wouldn’t require much more than a solid breath or two and the fight in him would return. I was not confident how much further our luck would stretch.

My first shot was a touch off-center. The gator quickly dove and thrashed. I reloaded. Again, Harris pulled him onto a plane, and I quickly tapped another .44 in his skull. The struggle slacked. The trick now was to get him onshore without losing him. There was no way to get him in the boat on open water.

Harris held the harpoon lines and trolled the short distance back to the ramp. The huge gator was all but expired as we rolled onto the mud. I carefully crawled out of the boat, trying to avoid his tail - if he was to thrash, he’d snap my legs - and put another shot in the sweet spot. It was then we knew it was all over and the celebration began.

The alligator was a real monster. I’m not sure how we rolled him in the boat, but the gravity of what we had done finally hit us. We knew he was big but not like this. The gator taped 10 feet 8 inches. More impressive than the length was the girth. He was a massive bull with the fattest jowls I have seen on an alligator. His claws resembled those of a grizzly, and his hide was scarred from years of fighting the nature of Central Florida. I loathe making such assertions without the proper instruments, but I’m guessing he weighed somewhere in the 600-700 pound range.

As I said, taking a trophy animal is something special. It requires effort and luck and unforeseeable circumstances to help bring one to bag. On an animal like this, you feel the accomplishment from the congratulations of friends to the soreness in your back and arms, and the adrenaline that lingers through the rest of the week. And I’d be severely remiss if I did not give Harris his due; he guided the trip and hooked the gator. It’s as much his prize as mine, if not more so. I just happened to pull the tag and fire a few shots.

Though I am still a novice in the gator hunting ranks, it is safe to say, trophy-wise, years will pass before this Old Boy is matched. And if Time offers up no adequate comparisons, that will be fine, too.

This experience could never be topped.

Thoughts on a Nine Foot Gator

2011-08-28T17:28:00.007-04:00

For us at least, gator hunting is a team sport. True, one person draws the tags and has the claim on the trophy, but there is a lot going on when a gator is spotted and hooked. It behooves the tag-holder to enlist the aid of licensed helpers.

Plus, it’s fun with a crowd. Alligator hunting is exciting and best shared in the company of friends. And when you get a crew together who has the hunting experience and knows each other well enough to handle a pressure situation, the results are impressive.

I don’t mean to brag, but we flat whipped a nine-footer a couple Friday’s ago. Harris had the tags for the first phase. The previous Wednesday he and another group bagged a 10-plus trophy, and I was kicking myself for scheduling work appointments so early in the morning. Friday I did not miss the invite to help punch his second tag.

As I have described previously, our manner of hunting gators relies on spotting the target and getting within range of casting a large treble hook to snag the reptile. Then we put another fishing line in it, harpoon and then bangstick. It’s not all that easy, though.

One, the gators get spooky, especially on lakes with a large number of tags. Gators are easy to spot but approaching them is the tricky part. If you get lucky, they will stay close to the surface, and you can lay a line across their backs. If they submerge before you are in range, you approach quietly by trolling motor and look for bubble trails from where the scoot across the bottom, stirring up the muck. Still other gators will go down and not move, and the goal is to wait them out and hope they surface for a breath nearby.

The first gator we moved on that morning gave us the slip. We had spied him from afar. As we approached, he submerged, but left a solid bubble trail. The problem was, he was moving quick, and we tried to keep pace with the trolling motor – as much as a high-speed chase as you can get in this situation. The hooks were missing their mark. The gator whirled around under the boat anxiety and we lost track of him. We finally picked back up on a bubble trail and watched as a small 5-6 footer surfaced. I guess we scared him up while pursuing the bigger one. He had Houdini-ed us.

I glassed a very large gator across the lake, so we cranked up and made way to his location. While in route, the gator sounded, but we quickly spied another lizard that piqued our curiosity. Harris elected to spend his final tag on him, and after locating his bubble trail, the fight was on.

Getting the second fishing line into the gator is usually the most anxious component of this experience. You have to be very careful not to tangle the other line and pull it loose, and even though you have a general idea of where the gator is, the water depth and the way the animal is swimming or laying on the bottom affect a quick hook-up. On a crowded boat and the intensity of trying to double up lines, confusion can set in and tempers flare.

Someone got the second line into this gator with relative ease. He was hauled to the surface – an angry alligator is the most PO’ed animal I’ve ever seen. I tagged him behind the head with the harpoon and the spinning Death Roll commenced, splashing water over us all and banging against the side of the boat. This guy was beefier that we had thought.

The real problem then came with the position of all three lines. As Harris readied the bangstick, I held the harpoon line while Cole held the two fishing rods, both hooks also stuck behind the noggin. When we’d raise him, he’d surface head-up giving him extra momentum if the spirit moved him to join us in the boat. And this guy could do damage.

This situation proved problematic for the bangstick. The gator was angled as such that a shot would travel through the skull and towards the hull. We needed to get him sideways instead of bobbing up and down in the water column. I tried to pull him up and troll him past Harris, but this put me in the way when the shot presented itself. Finally Cole grabbed the harpoon line from the bow and lifted. This different angle gave Harris a shot and he reached deep to pop the gator.

Harris made a great shot and the gator’s lights went out. We hoisted the gator alongside the boat, taped his mouth and rolled him aboard. All told, it didn’t take 15 minutes from hookup to finish. Probably less. Everyone worked well.

The gator taped at 8”10 with a couple inches missing from his tail – so fairly rounded up to an even nine feet. He was no monster, but a solid gator and the biggest one I had been a part of catching up to that point.

Most impressive was the efficiency in which we solved problems that presented throughout the course of the hunt. It’s an easy game to sensationalize. Between bangsticks and harpoons and snatch lines and toothy beasts, there is a high potential for dangerous incident. It’s important everyone figures out their roles quickly.

This makes gator hunting one of the most exhilarating outdoor sports in which to participate - whether you are making the kill or not.

Camo Dipped Alligator European Mount

2011-08-28T12:14:00.004-04:00

I’m in the midst of a taxidermy binge. Which is great – it means high times afield. My bobcat is close to completion. I just hauled a bull gator to my man for a head mount (story still pending). These specimens were clear-cut trophies, and I am excited to put them on display.

But the mount I’ve most been looking forward to was delivered yesterday.

I am not a fan of altering trophies. I want them to represent the animal honestly and in as close a position to what it was doing when our paths crossed. Hogs, for example. A lot of boar mounts have their cutters pulled out to make them appear more ferocious. It’s a bogus memory. Likewise, I didn’t want my bobcat mounted on a limb with claws and teeth baring and coming off the wall like it was shot out of a cannon. I chose a style where he was in a semi-sneak, like he was pursuing the female cat with him. My wood duck is not in flight because I shot him off the water. Kidding.

To each his own, of course. I just like the memory and mount agreeing on the moment as much as possible. European mounts are different. It’s a skull. It’s a memory, but it’s difficult to evoke the same feelings as a pelt. The skull is cold.

Now, I do think they are awesome. I have several hogs and a couple deer done this way, and they fit well in my taxidermy display. And they are more hands-on figures. People can examine the hog skulls and mess with the teeth. It’s cool. When I saw Matthew Beck of Legacy Skull Preservation offering Alligator European mounts dipped in camo, I knew I had to have one.

If you have not read my interview with him from last month, please do so – or at least visit his site. He works very hard at preserving skulls. In April I took him a skull from my first gator season two years ago, an 8-foot female pulled from Lake Garfield after a week of hard hunting. I had done what every lazy person seems to do with these things – place it in an ant bed, sun bleach it, and tuck it in a closet until I could find the time to reassemble the teeth – which, let me tell you, picking through a fire ant bed trying to find them all is none too pleasant.

The skull had a chalky feeling to it. The lower jaw had splintered and the bone was separating by the nose. I applied glue to hold everything together. When I went to re-set the teeth, I realized I had no clue in the world where they all went. I took this mess to Matt, and he was kind enough to accept the project. It took a while for him to repair the damage I’d done trying to bleach the skull, but the finished product has been the joy of my week.

The camo pattern is called Boggy Vizion. The skull is sturdy and smooth to the touch. The white teeth really pop against the dark camo. I love it. My wife loves it. All God’s Children love it.

Next time I get a large gator I’m gonna have Matt mount it bone white. The camo really hides the work he put into this one. That would make three gator mounts, which is more than fine for my trophy room.

Check out Legacy Skull Preservation!

Best Taxidermy Ad Ever

2011-08-26T12:24:00.002-04:00

Been busy gator hunting this week and have a couple great stories to write. Also close to having the twins so not had a chance to sit at the computer for long - but check back. The tales will cement my legend status.

For now, this will have to do.

Enjoy.

Basic Gator Hunting Gear and Strategies

2011-08-15T16:57:00.011-04:00

This week I will be taking delivery on a new harpoon from Central Florida Trophy Hunts. Their combo package includes a stainless steel base, driver, two Muzzy harpoon points, 100 feet of rope and two Styrofoam buoys. For 120 bucks plus shipping, it ain’t too bad. Just gonna have to run to ACE to get a dowel to mount it on. Shy of a boat, this will complete my crusade for gator hunting gear. But once you have all the gear, boats are easy to come by.

For those of you raised on Swamp People who believe gator hunting is as easy as shooting a gator in the head with a .22 while it chokes on a hooked chicken thigh, know Florida does not allow the use of firearms. Nor baited hooks – baited pegs, yes.

To wit, there are numerous tactics hunters use to land gators, most of which are dependent on the elements of the Happy Hunting Grounds. Some folks, especially those who hunt shallow, weedy areas, prefer a run-and-gun style. They spotlight red eyes and floor it to that location and try to spear or arrow the gator. Or track their bubbles and pitch snatch lines provided the vegetation isn't so thick that it hangs hooks.

For some who hunt large rivers and open waters, using baited lines to chum gators is their preferred tactic. They are not allowed to set lines from shore – and catch those “Tree Shakers.” Baited lines must be hand-held or secured to a boat. Plus, no hooks may be used; only 2-inch wooden pegs wedged into the bait and thrown in the vicinity of a gator or in a likely location. Common baits are beef lung and rotten chicken and are pretty repulsive. The gator swallows the bait and the Tug-O-War begins until it is hit with snatch hooks or harpoons.

Still others take the silent approach, spotlighting gators from a distance and stalking within range with minimal light and by paddle or trolling motor. If the gator sounds, an anchor is eased over. Most times the gator will not travel far. When the gator is sighted again within range, the snatch line is cast over the beast and the fight is on. Hunters must be quiet not to kick equipment and beer cans around the vessel as this noise easily spooks the gators.

I cannot speak much more than this about baits and harpooning and bows and arrows; I’ve never tried these methods. We’ve relied on this final model, and it is the equipment needed for this that I would like to discuss.

Let’s start with lights. Q-Beams are near-essential tools for the gator hunter to spot game at long distances. Not surprisingly, different hunters disagree on how much a spotlight should be used; some feel if you keep it in their eyes, it keeps a lizard from submerging. Others feel you should douse the light and sneak in the dark. I agree with the latter camp only because I’ve not witnessed an effective execution of the former strategy.

But, you must still see where you are throwing. We use low wattage headlamps. It can be difficult for others in the boat to see the game, but for the person wearing the lamp about to cast a line, the light is just enough to shine those eyes.

Which brings us to the pitch rods. Last year Harris introduced a new strategy. On previous hunts with him, he used two stout rods with large treble hooks. The muscle was there, but the casting range was limited and inaccurate. Plus, large three-pointed hooks slinging out of the boat made everyone a little antsy. So, last year he decided to bring a smaller rod with lighter line that cast farther. We were hunting open water, more or less, so we could quickly maneuver close to put more lines in him without much fear of the gator breaking us off. Worked twice in the night.

Dad visited Bridgemaster Fishing Products in Lake Wales to find a gator set-up for my birthday. On the advice of a seasoned hunter, he bought a 7-foot E-Class Roddy Gator Tail with an Okuma Avenger and 150 yards of 80lb. Tuf-Line. The gentleman also recommended rigging a line with three treble hooks and a weight on the end. Previously we had just used a weighted hook, but I can see the benefits of adding a couple more. (I do fear my knot-tying skills for this operation. I’m usually surprised when I tie my shoe and don’t have a finger wrapped in the bow. It's why I wear sandals.) After a gator has been hooked, we try to put another line in him. It's important that people work together because lines will tangle and snap in the frenzy.

Once you’ve spotted a gator and put a line or three in him, the next step is the harpoon. Gators roll up and down lines like yo-yos when boat side. That harpoon line is insurance and makes the situation more manageable. The one I’ve purchased – and there are numerous companies that sell them – is a straightforward design. A harpoon tip is rigged to rope and a float. This is then placed on a driver. The hunter leans into a strong jab to get under that tough hide. The tip comes off the pole and the floats are free to go overboard if the gator takes off. Now comes the dangerous part - getting the gator boatside and subdued.

I’ve written about my bangstick before, so I won’t repeat myself today. The goal is to send the slug in a spot directly between the eyes and two to three inches behind and angled towards the brain for a humane kill. It must only be used when the gator is a few inches below the water and only when the gator is secured to a restraining line as described above.

This typically knocks the wind from their sails, but gators are dangerous critters with small brains. It’s prudent to wrap their snouts - very carefully - with electrical or duct tape. Then, sever the spine behind the skull. Their eyes should shut after giving up the ghost.

As I noted earlier, this is the basic manner in which I have gator hunted. And I will confess, I've never personally dealt with a true dinosaur. How each captain or guide or hunter performs is dependent on their experience, and I welcome any advice should one want to share it. Gator hunting, for us, has been a team sport and very enjoyable as long as everyone is on the same page.

One last thought if you’re the captain of the vessel. Make sure you have all your running lights, throw cushions, flares, and life jackets on board. The Man is relentless. A trapper’s agent license is required of all those who aid in the capture of a gator and can be purchased online and at the local Wal-Mart or sporting goods store.

(FYI: For this year, tags have been applied for and distributed. The first phase begins today. The new hunting hours are 5pm to 10am each day of the 11-week season)

Covert Scouting Cameras

2011-08-09T16:04:00.004-04:00

Just wanted to give a quick plug for Covert Scouting Cameras. As I noted in my last Trail Camera Pics post, my Covert had developed a few issues. The door to the battery case broke. The on-off switch snapped. And the last few pictures were over-exposed.

I wasn’t all that angry because it endured a torture test of varying, year-long Florida weather conditions. It still should have held up, but I really liked the quality of pictures I was getting, the system was easy to use, and the battery life was superb. I wasn't ready to jump ship. A quick e-mail to the company with my concerns was all it took to secure a warranty number and instructions to send it back.

I quickly obliged.

10 days later, sitting on my doorstep, was a brand-new in-the-box camera. Not only that, it was the next model up, the Covert Extreme. All it cost was seven dollars in shipping. I was terribly pleased with this level of customer service.

Covert cameras have an underground, cult following that is well-deserved. You see more of other brands in ads and magazines, but I get alot of praise from others when I mention Coverts in my posts. I've even won a few converts.

The Extreme and my previous version different in very user-friendly ways. Instead of a plug-in control system in the last model, the Extreme has all the controls on the inside of the unit, but the basic attraction of its compact size remains intact. The battery housing is different with 8 AA’s fitting snug into the unit without a weak door. The company claims the Extreme has a 1.2 second trigger time. There are all kinds of settings from photo bursts to videos, and this version is compatible with 8GB SD cards - an upgrade, as well. In addition, the camera is camo-ed in the snazzy Mossy Oak Bottomland finish.

The new camera should be deployed within the next week in South Florida. I look forward to sharing the results with you.

If you have not already, check out Covert Scouting Cameras.

Cuda Dreams, Mullet Reality - East Coast Bowfishing

2011-08-08T17:35:00.004-04:00

The plan was easy enough – arrow a barracuda. Maybe not the smartest plan in the world but a challenge that no one I know has attempted. The idea was to visit a buoy south of Ft. Pierce Inlet where local fisherman stop to sabiki sardines and threadfins for the more serious business of offshore fishing. It is also here where the barracuda lounge around, eating at leisure on the hapless bait and the foraging bonito, jacks and assortment of other piscine predators there to fill their stomachs, as well. It’s 25-30 feet deep here, but if there’s not a lot of boat traffic, the cuda will tread near the surface, tail fins often poking out of the water. Over the years we’ve seen real leviathans, and I wanted to stick one badly.

But apparently Tuesday, August 2nd was a holiday I was unaware of as there was a merry band of boaters on the water. 6 or 7 boats peddled around the buoy trying to fill their livewells. Another 3 or 4 boats were on a plane in that direction. This did not bode well for the prospects of lazy barracuda and easy targets.

We could have maneuvered our way into the mix, but I was downright hostile to the idea. One, I don’t like people stuck all up in my beeswax. There’s every reason to believe I was the first ever who’d visited the buoy with a bow and arrow. Fishermen are a curious bunch, and I didn’t care to repeatedly explain myself. The activity is perfectly legal, but you never know when an ignorant angler may call the law and have to deal with that hassle.

Next, barracuda have this terrible habit of leaping out of the water when hooked by standard fishing tackle. There may be Minnesota-Americans reading this who don’t have a clear concept of what a barracuda is – once it leaves the water, it is a wayward rocket with teeth that clips serious holes into whatever it hits. Occasionally you’ll read stories of one jumping randomly in a boat and chewing up its crew, but more often than not, it’s a hooked fish darting into the cockpit that tears people up. So arrowing one amidst a bunch of boats had the potential for a sad, litigious ending.

Dad and I tossed out a couple spoons and trolled the area for mackerel, without luck, until the boats cleared away. Immediately I could tell the fish were spooked. They were down deep in the crystal water and showed no signs of rising. Oh, we saw plenty – schools in fact, some fish that’d probably hit the 30 pound mark. I did tag one in the side with an arrow - I was more surprised by it than he was - but at the depth he was cruising, the arrow harmlessly bounced off and he sped away.

So we pulled out the SWAT tactics. Dad would cast a surface plug and retrieved it as fast as he could. Cuda love chasing fast-moving lures. And they did, but still stayed deep. The next trick was to rig up the sabikis and try to lure the barracuda alongside the boat with fresh bait. For those of you who don’t know, a sabiki rigs is a gangline of five to six small gold hooks with little white “wings” that you attach a weight to and jig through schools of bait. The baitfish attack the miniscule lures, and it’s a pretty effective manner of filling a livewell with frisky baits. We had one sabiki rig. On the first cast, I hooked into four or five scaled sardines.

Annnnddddd, the line broke sending the rig and baitfish into the Locker.

I was flabbergasted as the clown music was now blaring loudly. Foolishly I expected easy and planned accordingly. This cuda thing just wasn’t going to work out today and the August heat was cranking up. Dad mentioned a grassflat in the Indian River he had fished the previous day filled with mullet. Mullet are on the other end of the spectrum of dangerous game, but I am sure in the annals of African safaris, some lion hunter frustrated with his ill-fated pursuit, soothed his irritations on a herd of impala or dik-dik. So, we left the blue of the Atlantic to head to emerald green of the Intercoastal.

Dad was right. There were plenty of mullet. Also stingrays.

I’m on the fence about stingrays. They are tailor-made for bowfishing. But, what to do with them? Their only real purpose on Earth is to feed sharks, but that still is not enough reason to shoot one. And these were big rays – 30-40 pound rays. I’ve caught enough on rod and reel to know that, unless I brained the fish, it would be a struggle to get it to the boat with what little line I had in the AMS. This is in extreme violation of the fisherman’s affliction with reeling in the Big Catch, but I could log no ethical reason to pop these slow-moving flat fish. Then again, I didn’t have much reason to shoot barracuda either. Silly how ethics works sometimes.

The other frustrating fish were the snook. It is highly illegal – as in, BBQ a bald eagle illegal – to spear snook. And it was out of season. And most of them we saw were over slot size. But linesider after linesider drifted by the boat as I perched near the center console awaiting passing schools of mullet. They’d given me the electric chair had I pegged the 20-pounder that hung off the transom, eying me, almost Triple Dog Daring me to shoot.

Mullet it would be. I shot three in about 200 shots. Two were intentionally shot; the smallest I flock-shot. So, I didn’t bag the biggest fish in the seas.

But unlike stingrays and cuda, mullet do nicely translate into this:

Summer Hog Hunting

2011-08-04T16:27:00.004-04:00

Like singing in the shower, cutting into a herd of hogs with an AR-15 is an unbridled joy. I could have popped the first one easy enough, but Travis was not at a vantage point where he could see the 100 pound sow. Plus, he was in front of my left shoulder just enough that it would have scared me – and certainly him – if I’d launched a round or three at the black pig without him aware of the situation. As we corrected our position, the sow caught our movements and thrashed into a head of willows and deep aquatic grass.

That’s when her herd of 40-50 pound progeny started piling out of the Tall Grass. They were perfect BBQ hogs. The shots would have been fleeting, but, again, with an AR-15 the temptation to go Predator-era Jesse Ventura on them was pretty high. But, I’ve calmed myself in recent years, and believe in the economy of a bullet. The group settled under those willows as we recomposed ourselves and crept in for a shot. This was pure luck; the circumstances of us even being there too convoluted to really comprehend.

The week before we had been at the ranch hanging stands, filling feeders, and preparing for bow season. It was a fine time for the battery in my truck to die. We had to call the ranch manager to tow us out of the woods, humiliated, but grateful, that his Ford Ranger was able to coax my Dodge Mega Cab over ditches and down the trails back to the ranch shed. There, the ranch manager loaned me a tractor battery so I could drive home. We agreed to bring it back at the earliest possible time and thanked him profusely for saving our rears.

We returned the next Tuesday evening to deliver the battery. I had also become concerned with the working conditions of my trail camera, so we decided we’d slip in and grab it before calling it a day. On the path back to the truck, we wandered across the hogs. It’s important to carry a rifle with you in the working hours of summer, especially when pigs are around.

Summer hog hunting is typically an early morning or last light affair. Sure, I’ve rambled across plenty in the heat of noon while driving properties or hanging stands, but by and large, the gloaming of the day is prime time. Exceptions do arise.

The hogs were out feeding well before last light, around 6pm. The caveat was the weather. A tropical wave had buffeted the property with light rain before our arrival which had significantly cooled the area. The conditions were still overcast, and for a Florida July, I’d call it comfortable. In our limited roaming, we saw several deer and a couple hens.

Florida hogs emerge from their swampy hideouts after a rain shower or thunderstorm to munch on freshly-wet green grass. The problem is, down here everything is green during the summer, so it is important to stay mobile. If it’s a blistering 95, that makes hunting awfully unrewarding. So maybe it’s as much me liking to hunt after a rain as much as hogs prefer to eat after one that makes this summer hunting successful. Either way, it is savvy practice to stay on alert during these times, whether you are out stalking or out bumbling.

You could always guard a feeder, but stand hunting in the summer for hogs doesn’t do much for me. The cat’s meow is to park your truck under a shade tree with the A/C and radio humming and glass cow pastures and cutovers, then slip out and stalk up to them. Hogs are the perfect southern animal on which to hone your stalking skills.

What is also nice about summer hog hunting is the lack of hunting pressure. While we were on a private ranch, it gets pretty heavy traffic from September through April, and not all of the guests are as single-minded about deer or turkey as I tend to be. During this time, too, the ranch hands do a fair amount of dog hunting and trapping. This all relaxes in the summer, as do the hogs. Even drawing on experiences from other properties that have not endured the hard-core hog obliteration, the pigs just seem more comfortable in the summer. Wish I could quantify that beyond anecdote, but I can’t.

It’s too bad Florida doesn’t open more public lands to summer hog hunts. Swiftmud is currently analyzing their lands to see which would be suitable for hunting. They’ve been amenable to hog hunts. It’s something to investigate. And those of you on deer leases who don’t hog hunt are missing a fine offseason reprieve.

Wild hogs are also a delightful quarry on which to employ some of those neglected arms in the back of the gun locker. Summer hog hunting is the perfect opportunity to pull out that old lever action or handgun. Or Grandpa’s old military rifles. Perhaps try open sights for once in your life. Any fast-handling firearm is perfect for sneaking up on a sounder.

To wit, the AR-15. Those hogs were bayed in the willows grunting and wheezing. Probably not a great idea to get any closer, but we were game.

From the corner of my eye, I caught what I thought was a boar lope across the road. I swung and fired once, rolling the 150lb sow head over heels.

Just straight up Summer Luck.

Great White Shark off Sebastian Inlet, FL

2011-08-03T20:05:00.004-04:00

OK, this is month-old news, but I figured I'd post it anyway - we are celebrating Shark Week. And I did just spend the last six days enjoying the beautiful beaches and warm waters of Cocoa and Vero, 30 minutes to the north and south, respectively, of Sebastian Inlet.

This diver was supposedly hunting in 150-170 feet of water. The big fish he is shooting at are amberjacks.

It's a pretty cool video and a strong reminder of why I don't spearfish. (Skip to the 3-minute mark to see the shark.)

July Trail Camera Photos

2011-07-27T15:49:00.018-04:00

The Covert Camera was deployed for a week on a feeder in Sarasota County. The next generation of game animals is taking full advantage of the corn - as are the parents.

This fawn and doe were photographed numerous times.

Good picture of a doe. Would love to get some buck pictures. They tend to hang on the edges of the fields and ignore the corn.

Always plenty of hogs...

And more hogs...

I think I shot this one last night (story next week).

Hey, little guy!

And this puts a smile on my face. 2011's hatch of Osceolas. Young now, but it looks like a fair number have survived in this flock!!!

And then I got these photos and realized something was wrong.

The kind lady at Covert gave me the information to send it back under warranty.

Normally I'd gripe and complain, but this unit has been in the woods almost non-stop since last September on four different properties. It endured the coldest winter I can remember in FL. It didn't melt through one of the hottest April's and May's in recent years, and finally slogged through almost non-stop rain in June and early July. All of this while taking thousands of pictures and only one change of batteries.

Not too bad.

I can't wait to get it back. May just buy another.

Venison Parmesan

2011-07-24T19:01:00.004-04:00

Now, before we start, know this - I am allergic to onions. I loathe mushrooms. And I am disgusted by slimy chunks of tomato. I strain even the most watery of spaghetti sauces to purge it of these offenders. So I’m not exactly an expert on what others may consider to be great-tasting – or authentic - Italian cuisine. I have, however, developed an easy recipe for Venison Parmesan that pleases me and most others who have tried it.

It’s worth a stab, promise.

4 Venison Cubed Steaks
Flour
2 Eggs
Italian Bread Crumbs
Canola Oil
8 slices Mozzarella Cheese
Grated Parmesan-Romano Cheese
1 box Linguine or Thin Spaghetti noodles
1 large jar Ragu spaghetti sauce
Salt, pepper, garlic salt
1 9X13 Aluminum Foil Tray
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Follow the instructions on the box of pasta – cook, drain, and set aside. Slowly heat spaghetti sauce and add half a cup of grated Parmesan-Romano cheese.

Soak cubed steaks in icy water for 30 minutes to an hour to eliminate blood and game taste. Pat dry and season with salt, pepper, and garlic salt. Toss in flour, dip in an egg wash, and then coat well with Italian bread crumbs.

Heat canola oil in a cast iron skillet over medium-high heat until the oil reaches 365 degrees - or there about. Cook each side of the steak until golden brown, about a minute and a half a side. Remove to a paper towel-lined plate to soak up excess oil.

Place cooked linguine in an aluminum tray sprayed with Pam. Arrange fried cube steaks on the pasta and top each cutlet with two slices of mozzarella cheese. Add the jar of spaghetti sauce and complement with generous shakes of grated Parmesan-Romano cheese.

Cover with foil and place in the oven for 20-25 minutes or until the mozzarella is melted and bubbly. The sauce bakes into the venison and brings the dish together.

When compared to fine Italian dining, this may be Chef-Boy-R-Dee, but it is quick, easy and a delicious recipe to try with venison.

And, of course, you can always goop it up with nasty vegetables and fungus!

Enjoy.

Deer Plans & Scouting - Lake Panasoffkee WMA Special Opportunity Hunt

2011-07-20T09:30:00.006-04:00

I stood at the gate staring down into the swamp. I wouldn’t be able to drive my truck any further. The road into the dark was steep – a rough ride back up on bike. Bikes didn’t matter, though. I didn’t have one with me. Middle of July, I wasn’t about to walk into that skeeter pit.

This is going to be a tough hunt, I thought.

I pulled a Lake Panasoffkee Special Opportunity Archery permit for 12/1-12/4. With twins on the way in September, my chances of driving far and wide for deer appeared awfully grim, so I made a desperate tag grab for anything close to home. Luckily, it all panned out, and I may salvage part of this season.

The FWC markets Special Opportunity Hunts as the opportunity to hunt “large areas with lots of game and low hunter quotas and (that) provide excellent opportunities to bag trophy deer, wild hogs, quail, wild turkeys or doves.”

Much of this is done in conjunction with other agencies, in this case the Southwest Florida Water Management District commonly known as “SwiftMud.” You pay for the privilege to hunt here. Pay to apply, pay if you are successfully drawn and want the hunt. It is difficult to draw a tag. This is the first time I have been successful. You can apply for as many hunts as you want to help up your odds. I applied for three. Drew Lake P; am currently on the waiting list for two Green Swamp West deer hunts. One hunt I’m 353rd in line. The other, 435th. So I’m feeling pretty lucky about what I did get, especially since this hunt has a limit of 20 hunters.

But, wow, now the work starts. Lake Panasoffkee WMA is nearly 9000 acres of floodplain forest. From Google Earth you can see the land is mostly swamp and wetlands with scrub and flatwood habitat on the northern end of the property. With a large equestrian camp on the premises and being part of the Great Florida Bird Trail, I am assuming the roads and paths – 26 miles total - will be easy to travel.

The greatest trouble with hunting swamp like this is figuring where to set up. For starters, there’s no telling how much water will be standing come December. I betting not as much as there is now – and that makes scouting difficult, as well. All it takes, though, is a hurricane or tropical storm to fill up those bottoms through most of the season. Next, swamps – at least those from my experience – lack many of the funnels and edge territory that one would normally queue on when setting up a stand. Scouting from the sky doesn’t help a whole lot. Also, I’ve not found much in my research about the property.

And to top it off, it’s an archery hunt with a four-point on an antler rule. Really limiting my odds, people.

Ideally, in a swamp like this, I’d find a promising locale, hang a lock-on, and pour corn 'til it shined through the canopy. Of course, I’d probably end up with a whole lot of hogs and not many deer. And it's illegal on public land anyhow.

Hunting in the swamp is much different than hunting broken and mixed terrain. I could sit and percolate on this hunt for a while and makes desperate guesses and assumptions of how it’ll play out, but it’s just going to take shoe leather. Look for some oaks, old rub lines and trails. It's standard issue scouting, just much more difficult to know where to start.

I’ve signed up for a tough hunt, no doubt.

Deer Plans & Scouting - Half Moon WMA

2011-07-18T17:23:00.008-04:00

Whoever checks the sign-in sheets at Half Moon WMA and Lake Panasoffkee WMA probably wondered what kind of lunatic this Nance fellow is who claimed to be scouting at noon in the middle of July. I pulled deer quota tags for both of these lands, and I’d never set a toe on either. This was going to be a project.

Scouting Florida’s WMA’s is challenging, especially those open only to quota hunts. State hunters are lucky to have access to so much land, but if all you have are the rules and regulations yet no real kind of plan, you could be in for a trying time. Most quota hunts last only a handful of days, and the best lands are difficult to pull. So, consistently drawing a hunt from one year to the next is tough and doesn’t exactly help with any sort of institutional knowledge.

And I use the term “access” very loosely. To prevent damage to environmentally sensitive lands, the FWC keeps vehicle traffic on most public lands to a minimum during the offseason. While I’d much rather scout from the comfort of the A/C, that wasn’t going to happen. These places allow scouting days – but they are a day prior to the hunt. I need more time than that.

So, a plan. I drew the tags; that was the hard part. I drew general gun quota for Half Moon in November and a Special Opportunity Archery Hunt for Lake P in December (talk about more in the next post). I had a general sense of where the properties were, but was absolutely delighted to discover their entrances just a few miles apart. While scouting, I can kill two birds with one stone.

The next step was to explore Google Earth and other aerial sources. Immediately, one can tell there’s a major difference in terrain between the two. The solid dark green of Lake P meant swamp. The patchy landscape of Half Moon revealed more edge territory – and I suspected at first glance, more deer.

So I was in Homosassa this last weekend and decided to take a little detour on the way home and put my eyes on these places, get a feel for how far they were from the house, and get a better feel for the place itself. I probably should have taken a bike with me, but I needed to be back in Lakeland for a party.

I loved Half Moon on sight. I’d long heard it to be a popular WMA with a successful deer program. From what I understand, this property is one reason the FWC switched to non-transferable permits. People in the area would have family and friends apply for tags each year then transfer them to hunters. The FWC got suspicious when the same folks kept showing up year after year to hunt what would otherwise be a difficult draw.

I’d never been too keen on general gun hunts, mostly because I don’t want a bullet hole in me. Still, word had gotten around that this was a fantastic place to hunt. I felt remiss that I had yet to see or hunt the property. So when the time came to apply for tags, I decided to go the rifle route. One, because the hunt I applied for was right in the middle of the rut. Two, I already knew where I wanted to hunt for primitive seasons. If I didn’t score on Half Moon, so be it. Turns out it was my lucky year.

The property is 9,480 acres of the most ecologically varied landscape I’ve set foot on. There are 20 different natural communities on this property, from marshes and swamps to scrub, flatwoods, and beautiful mesic hammocks, hosting quite the diversity of wild life. The Withlacoochee River runs its western border and improved pastures of bahia grass hearken back to the old days of cattle ranching.

Now, I didn’t walk too far in, but my initial impression about there being a lot of deer seemed correct. I found a pile of tracks near the equestrian trails by the entrance. The place just felt whitetail-ish. And the good folks from the FWC had the harvest report on the kiosk. Over 5 weekend hunts last year – 2 general gun, 2 archery, 1 muzzleloader - hunters took 66 deer, 37 of which were antlered bucks that had to have at least 3 points on one antler. Not shabby.

Then Dad ran across the Recreation Master Plan for Half Moon that excited me even more. They have estimated the deer density to be around 60 animals per square mile. That’s a high number. In addition, the plan claims that “Hunting is consistent across the property with no ‘hot spots.’”

I’ve almost made it sound too easy. I’d be a real nincompoop if I couldn’t kill a buck here, huh! I’ll probably opt for the ground blind option in the white oaks – it is important to have a couple back up plans, too, if fellow hunters get too friendly.

The edge territory from the varying ecosystems is probably the reason for the high deer population. With the variety of browse, it’s easy to grow and hold more deer than a location with a widespread, consistent ecosystem. It’s always a handy thing to keep in mind when you are looking for a new lease or place to hunt. If the land appears broken and patchy, odds are there are plenty of deer. Add a major river to the mix and you have a right fine piece of deer land.

So, Half Moon, rifle season, November 11-13. I’m jacked. Much more so than I thought I’d be. But there is still a ton of work to be done. I’m going back in a couple of weeks with the bike but even then it’ll be a haul. Heck, the check station is a mile deep into the property. Gonna have to put the pedal to the metal. An opportunity like this deserves a little extra sweat, though.

If anyone has any advice on hunting here, let a brother know!

The Economics of Acorns on Deer Hunting

2011-07-12T17:50:00.005-04:00

Acorns dictate deer movement in autumn. Even as the pre-rut and rut starts, does will be seeking acorns while bucks will be seeking does. They are a deer’s comfort food. When the mast is heavy, deer habitually abandon other crops, food plots and feeders. They love acorns that much. When the harvest is low – you’d better find what they are feeding on and quick. It’s all very frustrating, and when combined with vagaries of weather, hunting pressure, moon phases - well, it just makes you more thankful when you’ve succeeded in taking a nice buck.

I hit a wall the last two years hunting Florida. The oak hammock I bowhunted in Manatee County was devoid of deer activity, and I now believe the variances in the acorn crop to be the reason. While the hunts were disappointments, they have proved excellent case studies on boom and bust years for acorns.

Once upon a time, this particular strip of woods was a haven for game movement. Three nice bucks were harvested in consecutive years, and many more spikes and young deer passed through unharmed. Does and hogs were expected to be seen during each sit. They’d wander out of the swamp to feed on the water oak acorns in the evening before meandering into a palmetto flat for the night. The mornings were the reverse. It was essentially a buffet between rest and play. During these years, one could reasonably describe the acorn crop as normal.

The last two years? Something happened. The deer more or less vanished. Sure, there were tracks, and Dad did kill a young piebald in 2009 from my stand, but by and large this honeyhole lost its sweetness. I could run through the whole history of hunting excuses, but I find final fault in the weird acorn drops during these times.

Let’s start with 2009. It was hot - very hot - during September and October. But beyond this, the water oaks had very few acorns on the branches. Still, I believed the area would still hold deer thanks to the abundance of browse and intersection of trails. History was on my side, I thought.

In six hunts and dozens of hours in the stand, I saw one doe with a pair of yearlings who fed on shrubs and grasses. Occasionally I’d hear a splash of a large animal in the creek, but it could have easily been hogs. The only buck rubs I discovered were from the previous year. The deer had shifted out during hunting hours - as did the swine and turkey – and it took me too long to realize this. I had no plan to overcome it.

2010 was the exact opposite – except for my failure to identify an alternate location to set up. September and October were unseasonably cool – not cold, but with low enough humidity, Florida would call it cool. Acorns of all varieties fell early and kept falling through the hunts. They plunked in the creek at a constant rate. Honestly, I can’t recall a bumper crop quite like it, though 2007 came real close.

Once more, I had a single run-in with deer over six hunts – two does that fed under my stand until they were spooked by a gobbler. I convinced myself that since I was rolling over acorns like marbles on the way to the stand, eventually they’d come out to catch an arrow.

Both seasons were described by the local biologists as off years. The game harvest was dramatically down and staff reported fewer daytime sightings of deer. So it wasn’t just me suffering. I will atone to the fact that I didn’t do enough to make these successful years – had no tricks up my sleeve, no contingency plans, no ace in the hole. I placed one stand based on past experience fully expecting to cart more venison out of that hammock.

So what should I have done? This is all conjecture since there’s no way to go back in time to correct my mistakes and enforce my hypotheses. But it was a learning experience when I started researching acorns and deer movement. Several theories correlate with my woes.

Let’s start with the economics of the acorn crop. When they are plentiful, deer simply don’t have to travel far to eat. Deer hunters rely on deer movement for success whether bucks are chasing food or love. And if does aren’t moving far and wide seeking sustenance, a buck won’t be either.

It makes perfect sense. If fresh hot wings and Hooters Girls were dropped off at the Ol’ Bachelor Pad everyday, there’d be no reason to risk DUI’s and public embarrassment to run down to the local bar or club. Food and sex drive competition. In years with a normal acorn crop and a healthy deer – and hog – population, deer get on their hooves in a hurry to hit hammocks and other feeding stations.

Not so much when there’s a boom year. The pressure to compete for food and sex amongst deer directly leads to hunter success, whether it involves inspiring animals to travel further or leave their beds early during daylight hours. If an animal doesn’t have to move ten feet for a belly-full, hunters are in trouble.

The deer are somewhere, though. The quick answer is to hunt bedding areas. That’s going to be difficult in most parts of Florida and the South. The land – with its swamps and planted pines and cypress heads - is too thick to penetrate without making a holy racket getting in and out. Deer do it easily. It’s not impossible to kill a buck in these conditions, but not always the best strategy, either.

One thing I have started thinking about and focusing on is what kind of acorns deer prefer. This is a project in motion but worth merit to study, in my opinion. Florida is home to 19 species of oak tree, split into two main categories of red and white oaks. The water oaks I hunted are of the red variety. Red oak acorns are bitterer in taste than the whites, and I’ve long heard and read that deer prefer the whites when available. Advanced scouting and knowledge of different trees is really important. As the season progresses, different species of oaks will drop their seeds – it’s worth paying attention to what the game prefers.

In 2010, with the plethora of acorns available, the deer reportedly hung around live oaks – those majestic, moss-draped trees of the white variety. The deer had such an overwhelming variety of food they literally ignored water oaks and went with the sweeter brand.

This is mostly anecdotal evidence talking, but a plausible hypothesis that probably explains some of the dead air where I was. Dad reported more deer than I at his stand of live oaks. He wasn’t exactly trampled by whitetail, either, because - as told above - a ton of acorns inhibits deer movement regardless how much they like one species over another. But, it made his set-up more attractive to action. It’s not a perfect solution but something to consider in years of a massive acorn bumper crop.

2009 was a different problem. No acorns were anywhere. White or red. In Georgia and other southern states where you can focus early in the season on persimmons, crab apples, and honey locusts for deer activity, South Florida is loaded with different food sources and browse and little of the aforementioned plants.

Food plots and feeders mitigate this problem on private properties but is not even a consideration on public lands. Finding game trails is about the best you can do without having one active source to clue in on. The inside edge of that swamp I spoke of earlier was the place to be with its cover, water, and supply of large, broad-leafed, tender green plants. (It’s worth noting the importance of this water source in what is largely sandy, scrub habitat.) They will also feed on younger blackberry bushes and muscadine vines.

None of these sources, though, concentrate deer numbers like acorns. You’d think that with a shortage of acorns, that competition and traveling I espoused as so important in the beginning would come into play, but, for some reason, without at least an average harvest, they don’t even seem to entertain the game.

Without a time machine, it is impossible to say whether I would have tagged out with these adjustments. And an arborist, I am not. But after these last two seasons with limited time to hunt and failure to do well in the time allotted, it’ll be worth ironing out some wrinkles in my knowledge and learn more about the importance of acorns – and other food sources - on deer habits.

At least then I can stop completely blaming acorns if things go awry.

GUIDE TO FLORIDA'S OAK TREES

Preparing for Hot Weather Deer Hunts

2011-07-10T20:24:00.004-04:00

I hear it all the time from Southern hunters.

“I’d bowhunt, but it’s so hot!”

And they are correct. Toss in the occasional thunderstorm and Amazonian herds of mosquitoes, and yes, comfort in September and early October woods can be right scarce – to speak nothing of the August deer seasons now established in Florida and long recognized in the souls of South Carolina rifle hunters. Plus, most southern states have seasons that last nearly six months – why waste time sweating and swatting when the weather will be more accommodating come November?

Still, deer hunting these months is not a lost cause. In many regions of the South, with its varied and often irregular rut dates and durations, this time of the year is excellent for hanging trophy antlers on the wall.

A lot of press goes into how to scout deer and how to shoot deer, but let’s explore the things we must consider in order to simmer silently and comfortably on a stand ready to whack a big buck as it slinks from the swamps to feed in the heat and humidity of late summer and early autumn.

Dress Smarter

Ditch the cotton. Lose the $12 Wal-Mart camo T-Shirt. Purge the Hanes socks and tighty-whities. If you’ve ever read about mountain climbing or alpine hunting, you may have noticed the mantra, “cotton kills.” Cotton absorbs moisture. In cooler climates this can lead to hypothermia. In warmer temps, overheating.

Perspiration is the body’s means for self-cooling. As that cotton T-shirt soaks in sweat, it traps against the body keeping you hot. Also, it gets heavier. I’m not saying you’ll pass out like a July football player, but you’ll be far more uncomfortable than if you’d switched up fabrics.

The best outfit I’ve tried is Under Armor Hot Weather gear. While not exactly flattering for this beer-bellied physique, these tight-fitting garments excel at keeping the natural self-cooling system humming by rapidly pulling sweat from your skin outwards. As a result, the slightest tickle of wind feels like a cold compress on your chest. Though they can be pricy, these outfits unquestionably work.

So, what else do I don to complete this ensemble? How does a pair of board shorts grab you? Bathing suits are lightweight, and most have plenty of pockets to store flashlights, wallets, keys, tracking tape and whatever else, allowing you to ditch that heavy backpack or fanny pack. Some board shorts even come in pretty floral patterns that’d be excellent if your stand was in the middle of a hibiscus hedge. So, I top these layers with a lightweight, Mossy Oak screen ghillie suit of some sort. Bug Tamers are fine, too. Rubber boots with polypropylene socks complete the hoofwear.

Scent Control

Really, in these conditions there’s not much you can do to eliminate odor. Your best strategy, as always, is playing the wind. We could get into all kinds of different theories about hunting high from stands or low from blinds, but the fact is, it is hot this time of the year; you are going to sweat, smell and leave smell. But, you can reduce some of this impact.

One, only wear your hunting clothes when you are hunting. Not when opening gates or jacking around camp waiting for the gates to open. Not when you take your midday siesta or visit the local Greasy Spoon for lunch. Don’t let it collect all that foreign smell. Keep your clothes fresh and clean for the walk into the woods. Some people go a step further and won’t dress until arriving at their stand, but I prefer to keep deer hunting a passion or pastime, not a neurotic breakdown.

Two, buy and use scent control products. Again, they aren’t perfect but they help - undoubtedly so, in my mind. When you return to camp from the field, hang everything you hunt in from a branch or someplace in the wind and give it a good rinse with scent killer, especially around the collars, armpits and crotch areas of your outfits. If you ever pass a Dodge on a WMA with hunting gear strewn through the brush like you’d see after a Topeka tornado, odds are I’m close by.

Also, look for my solar shower, speaking of neurotic breakdowns. Yes, I’ve been known to bring a shower, towels, scentless soap and shampoo for a rinse before I return for the evening sit. Finish this off with a dash of scentless deodorant.

Scent suits are an obvious, easier solution, and I do believe they work for at least a period of time, but mine is unmercifully heavy in temps over 70 degrees. Since I acquired mine, new designs have become available that supposedly are more comfortable in warmer climates. And they are expensive.

Controlling your scent during warm spells is not just important for sitting in the stand, it's also crucial for keeping your hunting area fresh. Deer will identify when a smelly hunter has been crusing their turf. Bet on it.

Bug Control

Possibly the most aggravating aspect of deer hunting in warm weather is the mosquitoes - solving their pestilence is often subject of debate and anecdote. Not sure if I’ve told this story before, but once when I was younger and Bug Tamers and Therma-Cells were yet undeveloped technology, I was so frustrated by a swarm of Manatee County bloodsuckers that I took a can of aerosol OFF!, a lighter and blow-torched the flock (getting all this kids?). Obviously this did nothing to help me kill a deer, but it was gratifying.

These days I’m using a Therma-Cell. Others gripe, believing the “scentless” repellant will alert deer. My answer is to hunt a stand where wind direction is not going to be a problem. Slapping and cursing at skeeters is going to do as much to wake up the woods as anything. In the eight years since I’ve employed this device, I’ve arrowed several deer and been approached archery close by hogs, coyotes, and a black bear - some of the best noses in the woods. I’ve just not seen any evidence that it spooks deer, provided you are hunting the wind properly.

OFF! and other DEET-based products work, but stink to high heaven, and do nothing to deter the incessant buzzing around your eyes and ears. Bug Tamers will also prevent welts and encephalitis, but you’ll have this same problem, not to mention rows of mosquitoes sitting along your arms like dove on a powerline. Inevitably, a few will creep up your facemask which is just shy of waterboarding, in my opinion.

Hot and buggy may not be your ideal image of deer hunting, but early Fall is a fantastic time to kill a deer. Until you hoist that new stand complete with A/C and fridge for cold drinks, this is about the best you can do.

Homosassa Scallop Report 2011

2011-07-07T11:53:00.003-04:00

The majority of the scallops in the Hernando/Citrus County area appear to be off Chassahowtizka Point and south. Reports from Ozello and Crystal River are grim, and only scattered scallops around the Bird Rack and out of the mouth of the Homosassa. This reflects the FWC’s reports of fewer clams in this area with higher numbers down towards Hernando. They are usually pretty accurate about such things.

Opening weekend we hit five gallons – so half the limit for the number of folks on board. We started off in deeper water off Chazz, but decided to head towards the Bird Rack so the ladies could swim. The scalloping was decent, just nothing to write home about. If you aren’t finding 2 or 3 in a group, something is amiss.

And that’s how it was that Saturday. Pick up a few here and there. Stop and check a half-dozen spots. Just couldn’t find the homerun holes.

Last Saturday of Fourth of July Weekend was different. THP and I immediately went amidst the crowds off Chazz Point in 5-6 foot of water.

We smoked them. With just two of us, we could only legally fill 4 gallons. We had three in about 40 minutes. I worked one sandy patch and just cleaned up. Then the tide started coming in and we took a break in the boat.

Had we stayed in the water, we probably would have limited out. Unfortunately, that incoming tide silted the water and the increased depth made finding the clams rather difficult.

And that has been that. My experiences have been pretty common, best I can tell. It’s not a complete skunk year. If you poke around and ask people, you’ll probably get pointed in a positive direction.

If you ask me, head off Chazz on an outgoing tide. If anyone else has any suggestions, feel free to leave them.

Best of Luck.

Alligator European Mounts: Interview with Matthew Beck of Legacy Skull Preservation Inc.

2011-07-06T16:45:00.010-04:00

In April I visited with Matthew Beck of Legacy Skull Preservation Inc. in Weeki Wachee, FL. Mr. Beck specializes in European Mounts. He grabbed my attention a month or so prior in a blog post that featured a gator skull dipped in a grassy camo pattern.

I was hooked.

Like most other semi-successful hunters, I have a collection of skulls just sort of sitting around the house like you’d find in a den of cavemen. They were bleached the good old fashion way – in the sun, sitting in an ant pile. As I’ve come to learn, this is horrible.

So I had a skull from a 7ft gator taken on a hunt a couple years back doing nothing but collecting dust, teeth fallen out and kept in a cup. After describing to Mr. Beck the condition of the skull, its numerous glue jobs and what I had done to achieve its chalky white glow, it took convincing for him to accept this challenge to clean and dip it in the pattern of my choice. Nonetheless, accept it he did, and I am breathlessly excited to have it back to put on display.

More than this, though, it was a wonderful experience meeting with Mr. Beck in his shop. His work is remarkable, as his passion for this craft. His mounts are elegant and would stand out in any trophy room. As you’re about to learn, preparing European mounts takes patience and a great deal of talent.

I asked him if he’d take time from his schedule to accommodate an interview, and he kindly accepted.

IN: What are your Gator Hunting Plans for this summer?

MB: Both my wife and I drew permits. I’m going with a friend, and we are going to try to pull two alligators using his Gheenoe. Hopefully this will give us the opportunity to get into some areas that we would have trouble getting to with a bigger boat.

My wife and I are going to take my 14 year old niece to get her first alligator. This is probably the hunt that I’m most excited about. I would rather watch a kid take their first gator than take one myself. I try to take one of the kids in the family every year.

IN: Tell everyone about that Monster you have mounted in your house?

MB: I took the “Monster” at an undisclosed location. He was a little over 11 feet long. He was missing nearly 2 foot of his tail. I’ve had many guides and professional trappers tell me that he is the gator of a lifetime. He was the first alligator I ever took. I have a shoulder mount of him in my living room, and I smile every time I look at it.

IN: With those giant gator heads in your shop, what keeps you from laughing in disgust at people such as me who bring you inferior-sized skulls that’d been bleached in the sun?

MB: I understand that more than preserving skulls, I am preserving memories. I have many large and interesting skulls. A few of my personal favorites are a skull from an eight-foot alligator that my son took when he was 11, a skull from an alligator that my wife took, and a special four-point whitetail that I shot.

I would like to think that I have seen it all, but every year I get something in that I can’t believe. When people bring me a skull that they have tried to clean and failed, I try to give them an honest assessment of what I think I can do with it. Often times I can “fix” the problem and give back to them a presentable product. If the skull has been boiled or harsh chemicals applied the chances of getting it to look “acceptable” are greatly diminished. I hate to have a skull leave me looking poorly.

IN: How long have you been working on European Mounts – as a hobby and professionally - and what got you started?

MB: I started cleaning skulls professionally four years ago. I have been doing it as a hobby for myself and, reluctantly, for friends for much longer. After cleaning my first alligator skull for a friend I decided to start Legacy Skull Preservation Inc. I cleaned his skull because at the time we had a hard time finding anyone that could do an acceptable job.

IN: Run us through the bare bones – ha! – process of treating a gator skull and what problems do you run into along the way? What is the typical time to complete one?

MB: The bare bones....skull humor!

Every skull is different but I will try to provide an overview. The first step is to remove all flesh, skin and tissue. Brain flushed out and excess flesh cut away. The skull is then ready for dermestid beetles or maceration.

Maceration is a bacterial bath that is maintained at an optimal temperature for the bacteria to break down and remove all flesh and tissue. This process takes 7 to 15 days.

The next step is to remove all grease. This is a process of time, temperature, and solution. The skulls are placed into a solution of cleaning agents and maintained at a constant temperature. The solution is changed frequently, sometimes as often as every day. This process can take 4 to 6 months depending on species, age, and condition of skull. The solution gently removes all grease and staining. It is a long, slow process but one that I find necessary to maintain the integrity of the bone and to keep delicate bone structures in place.

The next step is whitening. I use industrial strength Hydrogen Peroxide.

The final step is drying, articulating (gators tend to fall apart), gluing teeth back in and sealing with a museum grade sealant.

IN: What gave you the idea to dip skulls in camo paint?

MB: I can’t claim credit for it, but I don’t recall where I saw it first. It is becoming very popular. A skull that is dipped still needs to be thoroughly cleaned to insure that the film creates a permanent bond. At first I was not impressed with the idea of covering up my hard work as I take great pride in what I do. It was definitely something that had to grow on me. I will say that some of my favorite skulls are the ones dipped in camouflage that mimics an animal’s natural environment. An alligator dipped in the Boggy Vizon Marsh pattern is one of my favorites!

IN: What is the worst thing a client can do to a skull before he or she brings it to you?

MB: I certainly don’t want to give anyone any ideas. The best thing a customer can do is to follow the instructions of my website.

Treat the skull as if it were going to a traditional Taxidermist. The fresher the better - freeze it as soon as you can. Skulls left out to spoil stain and are difficult to get fully grease-free. Cut the head off well below the skull. I would rather have a little extra than have the back of the skull cut off. If they have any questions, give me a call - I will gladly walk them through the process so that they can get the best looking skull possible.

IN: How would you prefer a client to bring you a skull?

MB: My Website has directions on how to mail skulls directly to me. Please call before mailing. In some situations I’m able to pick up or meet a client in the Tampa Bay to help save them a little money.

IN: Since you are a professional chef, give us a gator recipe you enjoy.

MB: I’m still looking for the perfect recipe. My family enjoys it fried, ground and cooked on the grill.

Here are some general tips:
1. Ice down your Alligator as soon as possible, it is warm here and meat spoils quickly.
2. Clean and trim the meat thoroughly - remove all but the whitest meat.
3. Tenderize it all with a hand held needler or a fork.
4. Marinate in buttermilk or, our favorite, a little honey, orange juice and oil.
5. If you are frying, it is better to cut it into smaller pieces and cook quickly being careful not to overcook.
6. Ground gator can take the place of any ground beef just be aware that it is very lean.
7. An extra splash of Olive oil or ¼ stick of butter helps when you are cooking it.
8. Grill quickly and brush with extra marinate. Serve hot off the grill. Once it cools it loses all its charm.

Smaller pieces of alligator make a lovely Sesame “Chicken.” I make this without a recipe but will write it down. Next time I make it, I will share it with your readers. This will be a perfect excuse for you to invite me back.

Please visit Legacy Skull Preservation Inc. at www.Legacyskull.com. If you have any questions, feel free to e-mail Matthew at mbeck@legacyskull.com. In addition to alligators, Mr. Beck will also mount deer, hogs, wild sheep, and variety of other game species. He has a gallery of unique skulls for sale you certainly will want to check out.

With Gator Season starting in a month, successful hunters will want to know ways to commemorate a first-rate hunt and preserve an awesome trophy.

I strongly recommend they get in touch with Matthew Beck.

2011 Big Buck Expo

2011-06-30T16:57:00.004-04:00

July 8-10, The 2011 Southern Trophy Hunters Big Buck Expo returns to the Lakeland Center. It is the perfect amp-up for the coming deer season.

This year’s events include a variety of speakers from the hunting industry. Muzzy Hunting Camp will be welcoming the boys from the award-winning Backwoods Life TV and radio shows to discuss hunting across the United States and abroad for a variety of game animals. Also entertaining will be Roger Raglin from BKS Productions and Roger Raglin Outdoors; Davie Ferraro of Hunt Strong who’ll share tips on preparing for physically challenging hunts; Antler Insanity’s Kenneth Lancaster and Shane Smith; and Sam Klement of “Country Goes Huntin’” and “Huntin’ is Good.”

Another interesting speaker - and a topic I find fascinating - is Stephen Hall who’ll discuss...well, I’ll just copy and paste:

“Have an idea for the next great hunting or fishing invention? Introducing a new product or starting a new business? Producing or hosting a new outdoor show? If so, the next question is: ARE YOU PROTECTED? Stephen Hall, attorney with Bradley Arant Boult Cummings LLP, will discuss the legal issues and strategies for protecting your ideas and publicity through patents, trademarks, and copyrights. As an avid hunter, fisherman, and outdoorsman himself, Stephen’s practical approach to protecting intellectual property rights is invaluable to those considering, or already in, the outdoor industry.”

The good folks at Muzzy will also display a dozen bucks that score over 200” and taken with their broadheads. A special gun section is hosted by Shoot Straight and will offer brand name firearms and optics at special show prices. Bring last year’s antlers to have them scored and entered into a tournament for a chance at braggin’ rights in nine different categories. Finally, those of you early morning Sunday visitors won’t want to miss Randall Myers’ pre-show Sunday morning service.

As always, there will be plenty of vendors, raffles, and cool prizes. I should be attending Friday evening and Saturday with fellow Mossy Oak ProStaffers. Bring your family and friends and enjoy the 2011 Big Buck Expo.

Admission: $22 Super Ticket (weekend pass), $10 adults, $8 Seniors 65+ and Retired Military (with ID), $5 kids 6-17. Admission Free for Active Duty and Active Duty Reserve (with ID) and kids under 6.

Click Here for more Information!!!

Stalking Orange Groves for Wild Hogs

2011-06-22T17:01:00.002-04:00

I wish I’d taken more pictures, but I didn't want to stop the action and burn daylight for the camera. Get while the gettin’s good. So after we tossed one meat hog in the back of the Chevy, down the road we went, sneaking from row to row, glassing for more targets in the open trails between the lines of Valencias.

And the pigs were thick. More pigs on the hoof than fruit on the trees. No scurvy swine in this herd. We stepped over the crushed rinds of oranges and grapefruit dragging hog after fat hog back to the main road. Whether the swine scavenge fallen fruit or pluck them off the lower branches, they take a sample of Florida’s signature cash crop in their snouts and smash it open, consuming only the pulp. Here I thought pigs would eat the whole thing!

But beyond the vast quantity of goodies, the whole grove proved something of an ideal location to spot and stalk wild hogs. The thick cover of the grove kept them shaded and provided a false sense of security - very false for those of us with a scoped magnum. The trees hung low to the ground and wide, concealing much of our movement as we glassed down the lanes and prepared for shots. The cowboy who worked the ranch knew all this and was more than happy to provide us the combination to enter the grove.

The plan in the mornings and evening was to sneak into the grove, and slowly creep down the main roads. The hogs, always the movers, often had us stalking back and forth between rows waiting for a shot. But eventually they’d freeze long enough for a steady rest – my Harris bipod proving to be a real winner here – to torch off a round.

The owner of the property made it well-known his distaste for wild hogs and gave us permission to strike down as many as we wanted. But we all sorta had our own goals. I was looking for a nice boar for a mount. Travis was grocery shopping. And E-Man just wanted to pull the trigger on something. Honestly, more got away than bit the bullet, all of us uncommonly polite around this bounty, waiting on the other to decide what to do.

T got the train moving, taking a couple of meat hogs. I got a small boar one evening, and whiffed another on a rushed shot as it bird-dogged a sow.

But E-Man got the trophy of the group, plugging his best hog ever, a 220 lb. boar with 3-inch cutters and a pair of the sharpest wetters I’ve seen. So happy, he even claimed he’d tattoo a boar on his chest with the gate combination to the grove inked in above the hog body art.

This has been a couple winters ago. We’ve since hit the grove during all the seasons and routinely enjoy a fine hunt. In Spring and Summer the hogs camp out to feed on new-growth grasses and wallow in irrigation ditches. They know when the workers are abandoning their labor for the day and emerge in the evenings and early mornings, or after a thunderstorm. No matter the constant efforts to keep the grove hog-proof with fencing, there are always plenty of trails they sneak in through.

If you have access to an orange grove, you may have access to successful Florida hog hunting year round. Ask around, you never know who may accomodate your request.

Scallop Knowledge 2011

2011-06-21T17:13:00.004-04:00

I’ve said and written it before, but scalloping is about the most fun you can have in saltwater. When they’re thick you absolutely zone out of any other cares or thoughts in the world as you pick through the seagrass beds in crystal clear waters off Florida’s Nature Coast. With friends and a couple cold drinks at the dock, cleaning the buggers is no big deal, and cooking them up fresh is fine feasting.

And it’s so simple that it is not incumbent upon the recreation to employ any grand schemes or planning. Find a boat, motor out amid the other boats and hop in. Pay attention to your limits and stay safe running the channels, and you have a fine day in the bag.

However, not everyone is as accustomed to the sport as I am. So, I thought I would do a little primer of needs and wants for a successful scallop outing.

What Gear - Mask, Snorkel, Fins, Catch Bag. No need to be certified SCUBA; a snorkeling set from Wal-Mart will serve the purpose. I would spend a couple more bucks on de-fogger for your mask. And you want a mesh bag to place them in – you can find these bags at most local gas stations and bait stores. Oh, and sunscreen and a well-stocked cooler.

Where to Start – Easy, also. Look for the other boats. Armadas of divers gather every year – at least off the Homosassa/Crystal River area. Allow other boaters their room and anchor up. If you aren’t finding scallops right away, pick up and move a few hundred yards.

If you’re in a location where the crowds are more subdued, scallops live on the grass flats in clear water of varying depths. If you’re near a river mouth, you’d do well to move away from the fresh water’s influence on the salinity – in other words, get away from the river mouth and seek saltier seas.

Where to Look – There’s a grave misconception that scallops migrate from the deep as summer advances. This is incorrect. Scallops grow, live and die within a limited area. I think this whole migration belief started because it’s hard to believe that with so many boats on the water, there would be any scallops left after the first month – but there are, and the bivalves are typically bigger.

Two things. Even with all the boats, that’s still a lot of sea floor to cover and not every diver is as keen-eyed as myself. Next, as said above, they grow and die in the same general area – and they grow fast. Scallops don’t live longer than about a year. So it’s easy to believe that bigger scallops travel in from the deep.

That’s a lot of credit for a barely-sentient creature. They do move courtesy a form of water propulsion. They use that delicious white muscle inside their shells to squeeze water in and then out of their bodies. The result is a clam hopping up from the sea bed, being carried by current, then dropping back in the same fashion as a quarter would fall if thrown in a swimming pool. Scallops do this on changing tides so they can optimize their position to filter-feed.

As such, scallops that are bedded in deep grasses and passed over by divers often compromise their safety when they find themselves in the open or rested on the broad leaves of turtle grass. This activity creates the sense of a migration.

Finally, scallop numbers have a bad year every three years or so. If you are clamming in a good year, you’ll find them all the way until the end of season, bigger and covered in algae. Locating them in sandy spots and sections of sparse grass is the easiest way. Others prefer looking deeper in the turtle grass. Still others like to be slowly pulled behind the boat to cover more ground.

Best Times to Hunt – I prefer calm, clear days on the start of an outgoing tide. This keeps the jellyfish away and lowers the water column. Scalloping in water over six feet gets to be work. Some folks prefer to wade in water under four feet. I prefer snorkeling in water 5-6ft; you are high enough on the surface to canvas more area below – like a raptor surveying a rice field for helpless mice. Water clarity is also important. Too much silt and the clams are easy to miss.

Do keep an eye out for late afternoon thunderstorms. They pop up quick, move fast, and are infested with lightning and waterspouts.

How to Clean – Keep the scallops alive in a livewell until the ride back in when you should transfer them into a cooler of ice. Best to keep the ice bagged and place the scallops on top. This makes the scallops open.

Take a spoon and match the curvature of the spoon with the curvature of the shell and cut one side of the meat away from that side of the shell. Then, take a Mini Shop-Vac and suck out the scallop goop. When deprived of its innards cut away the remaining snow-white meat into icy water. Make sure you rinse out the Shop-Vac when done. Trust me.

Or, you can open them with spoons and use the spoon to lightly scrape away the guts – it’s messy and time-consuming but not too difficult. Or, you can drop them off to the nearest kid on a dock offering to clean them for five bucks a gallon.

How to Cook – Fresh scallops are the best you can get. You can fry them or make ceviche – I prefer to sauté them in a little bit of olive oil, lemon juice and garlic salt or Everglades Seasoning. Just a couple minutes and you’re done. Don’t overcook them. If you’re feeling rugged, you can pop a few down the gullet raw. They are sweet as candy.

The 2011 Scallop Season starts this weekend and runs until September 25th. Enjoy your time on the water and bring back a bunch!

CLICK HERE FOR FWC'S GUIDELINES FOR 2011 SCALLOP SEASON.

What to do with a Blackpowder Shotgun?

2011-06-15T18:14:00.005-04:00

My buddy Vo gifted me a muzzleloading shotgun - I’m officially a double-barreled .458 away from having it all.

He won it in a raffle a few years back. Vo is not a hunter. Unless he goes with me and that has been a very long time. After feeling guilty for not attending my wedding last June, he decided it would make a fine gift for us – or me, I suppose. He didn’t know what to do with it.

Not sure I know what to do with it. The gun rests in the corner of my nook like an alien weapon stumbled upon by humans in a Sci-Fi flick; I’m vaguely aware of its intentions, but have little idea how to make it work or define its exact purpose.

Well, let’s start from the beginning. The shotgun is a Knight TK2000 12-gauge. Vo was unaware of my Mossy Oak affiliations or he would not have given it to me replete in its Realtree-clad barrel and stock. I guess that’s not a big deal – best of my knowledge there are no Hatfield-McCoy blood feuds between the two companies, so I accepted it with open arms.

Besides, neither camo organization manufactured the shotgun; Knight was responsible for that. I’ve owned a .50-caliber Knight Disc Rifle since 2004 and absolutely love it. Maybe too many were donated for auction purposes or, like me, folks were satisfied with their first Knight purchase and did not buy upgrades, but sadly the company went into bankruptcy in 2009. But all glory was restored when the Knight line was resurrected in 2010.

The TK2000 utilizes a musket cap nipple in the breech plug. If I discover an upgrade to 209 shotgun primers, I will swap it out. Instead of a closed bolt system like my Disc rifle, this is a simple inline system where the bolt slams into the primer – a Streetsweeper it is not. No matter what, I’m guessing it kicks like hell.

Since we’re talking about a frontstuffer, obviously the shot is dumped down the barrel on top of some form of propellant. This is where my knowledge really waters down. Despite the vast amount of hunting and firearm literature I consume, I know very little about muzzleloading shotguns and will definitely need help with all considerations pertaining to how much shot, how much powder, and what wads to stuff down that barrel. And how to keep the shot from rolling out if I tip the barrel down!

(I’d offer my guesses on how to properly load it, but I’d inevitably wind up making a joke involving wads of chewing gum and condoms and get sued after some reader lost a few fingers for taking me seriously.)

The next big trick is how and when to use it. This is a hunting rig, not one of my many WWII rifles that just sit around collecting dust. The shotgun balances well, is camo-ed, and is fitted with fiber optic sights. No questioning its aesthetic suitability in the field.

Turkey hunting is the obvious answer, but let’s come back to that. Cole has suggested taking it on a duck hunt – you know, just to see what would happen. I think this would irritate others when that early-morning flock of teal disappears in the gray-blue smoke of my first shot. Each year we have a moorhen tournament and the Knight would certainly up the challenge quotient for that event. But water and blackpowder don’t mix well.

My other problem with waterfowling is the lead shot. This thing has a pretty tight choke on it, and to load up enough steel to down a duck, I’m scared it’d peel the muzzle open like a firearm in Elmer Fudd’s safe. I suppose I could use Tungsten or another malleable non-toxic shot – but that’s getting into cash for a novelty.

So turkey. Gonna have to put it on paper to determine that. Knight claims it will punch an 85% shot density in a 30” circle at 40 yards. But, having been around the block, I’m wary of such claims. And, I’m not exactly concerned with 30” circles when firing at a tom. We need pellets in the head/neck area.

Plus, turkey hunting is tough and frustrating enough with a normal shotgun. All I need is a bad primer to ruin a hunt and that would be the end of that experiment. I’d feel a whole lot easier with a closed bolt arrangement for those ultra-foggy Spring mornings in the latter end of Osceola season. (I can practically hear the flint and frizzen primitive blackpowder crowd banging their collective heads against a table. Hmmm....it is drilled and tapped for scope mounts...)

I do suppose, after some range time and fine-tuning, it will find the turkey woods one day. I like a new quest and the quirk of doing something as esoteric as shooting a tom with a blackpowder shotgun.

It’s a project and one I’m seriously looking forward to. If anyone has any suggestions – tips that won’t blow MY face off – please feel free share.

Father's Day Gifts for the Hunting Dad

2011-06-14T15:51:00.008-04:00

I loathe wearing ties. You know that scene in Casino Royale when the villain straps a naked James Bond to a seat-less chair and proceeds to whack him in the undercarriage with a rope that would normally be used to secure an ocean liner to a dock?

I’d endure a session of that a year if it meant I didn’t have to Windsor another knot around my neck.

I only bring this up because Father’s Day is a few days away, and ties have become the unofficial mascot of this holiday. For some reason, well-intending wives and offspring continue to think it would be a grand gesture to gift Good Ol’ Dad another reminder that he has a spiffy Power Point presentation on the effects of halogen lighting on employee productivity on Monday.

It’s a noose that isn’t fit for me. Before marriage I had two ties. Only one of them was a clip-on. Since then I’ve accumulated quite the collection - two more and I’ll have enough rayon and polyester strips to lash together to fashion a tether to haul my bow up and down from the treestand.

In the world of hunting, there are too many cool gadgets out there to be trifled with bogus gifts like neckwear. For the purpose of this post, I’ve created a list of awesome gear that will thoroughly excite the modern hunting dad. Men, print it out and post it on your fridge.

Covert Scouting Camera – I have used the DLC Covert Cam since last September and been very, very pleased. The kit is lightweight and compact. Unlike your standard issue trail camera, the unit saves space by housing all it’s adjustments in a remote control. So instead of dials and buttons to adjust the settings, you plug the control into the camera, make your selections and let it ride.

The battery life is outstanding, especially when using the infrared feature for night-time pictures. My first set of batteries lasted three months – it would have lasted longer had I realized that the camera ceased snapping pictures after 15 shots because of a bad digital card and not spent juice. So I can’t say how much longer they’d lasted, though the second set is rolling strong.

I don’t care for the flimsy plastic lid over the battery case - broke that in a hurry. Also, the digital card ejector was ruined pretty easily. Have to take the needlenose with me to extract it – but you can plug a USB cable into the camera and into any number of picture viewers. (There are newer models that have a viewer built-in.)

Therma-Cell – Kids, if your dad doesn’t own a Therma-Cell yet, I’d go ahead and purchase a couple sessions with a shrink just to examine his faculties.

Therma-Cell changed my hunting life, and I assume it has done the same for countless other hunters. One, it is invaluable turkey hunting. Two, it has its place in the early season teal and wood duck phases when awaiting shooting light in those nasty marshes these birds typically inhabit. Three, I love it bowhunting for deer in September and October. Yes, it releases scent but not nearly as much as OFF! or other such DEET-based products. And while bug suits will keep the skeeters from getting breakfast, the swatting of swarms away from your ear and out from under a facemask does nothing to attract deer.

There are mornings I’d rather not hunt than enter the woods without my Therma-Cell.

Under Armour – Whatever the purpose, Under Armour gear works. Their warm-weather shirts and pants wick sweat away effectively. When a breeze blows, it feels like a cool compress is placed on your chest. Likewise, their cold weather gear is far less cumbersome than most thermal gear and will keep you toasty in waders or in the stand.

Sure, Pops may not be in the shape he once was and Mom may chuckle seeing him in it, but Under Armour gear will prove its worth in the woods when fewer people are around to mock him.

NIKON D3100 – For my 30th birthday, my mother bought me one of the beefier models of the Nikon Coolpix line. It was portable and had all kinds of neat settings. Just one problem – it took horrible, horrible pictures. I wanted to smash it after my trip to Montana where a decent camera is required. Actually, the thought of smashing it still warms my heart.

Well, Mamma tried. To their credit, Nikon was excellent about refunding the money. And I’ve long been a fan of Nikon products. So I put the cash into a D3100. And for my photojournalistic needs it has paid dividends.

It’s a little bulkier than I’d prefer for a daypack, but the picture quality is admirable. I like the 18mm objective lens for taking wide-angle, close-up shots that captures the details of harvested game and grip-and-grin hero photos. The 55mm end of the spectrum is a little lame for far-off shots; however, I take far more close-ups than anything. It’s your preference, and Nikon has a selection of other lenses. The price is a tad prohibitive – especially if you’re raiding a piggy bank – but it’s worth it for that buck-of-a-lifetime.

165 Quart Maxcold Igloo Cooler – I’ve long been a fan of so-called coffin coolers for hunting. One, it can carry to camp all your food and perishables and items that won’t be making the return trip. On the way back, it can carry up to 3 whole, dressed deer.

This cooler is the cat’s meow. I dropped two dressed hogs into it last March, and hauled them both whole to the processor, wasting no meat. The hinges are reinforced. And the top arches if you need that extra room for antlers and caped game.

In all fairness, I’ve not yet loaded mine down with drinks and ice to see how long it will keep. And like most coolers I’ve run across that have hatches in the lid, it leaks rain, but it is versatile and I'm rather pleased.

Coolers may not be that exciting to the kids, but they are of great value when you find a durable one.

This is but a rudimentary list of items that I’ve tried and would recommend. We could add many more, but let’s face it – it’s Father’s Day, not Christmas.

As a father-to-be of twins this fall, I’m naturally scared of the future – of my children following in their mother’s formal, socially-responsible sensibilities and the forth-coming collections of ties and homemade crafts.

It may be too late for me. Hopefully, though, this list may inspire the loved ones in your life think a little harder and reach a little deeper in their wallets and piggy banks to show you they like you.

(And if you buy any camo-clad items, make it Mossy Oak!)

Fun Hurricane Facts

2011-06-06T17:18:00.002-04:00

Hurricanes are no fun, but it is that time of year again. I want to make sure people really understand what the Big Wind is all about and how it affects the state of Florida in rude, contemptuous, tempest ways.

Category 1 Fact: There is a strong statistically significant correlation between hurricanes, drowned surfers, and higher collective local SAT scores.

The newspeople have three basic videos they show leading up to and through the storm in ascending scales of drama. They teach this brand of video-journalism at local colleges.

One, the surfer riding storm swells…opens all sorts of creative banter between the anchorpeople.

Two, the stop sign that shakes back and forth in the gusty wind.

Three, the classic “Roof Blows off the Circle K” followed by commentary from Cletus and his merry band of barefoot looters.

Category 2 Fact: The next hurricane that hits Tampa, Miami, Jacksonville, basically anywhere in the state is going to be the most destructive storm to strike Florida.

Why? Global Warming? Bad Luck? Casey Anthony?

No, because we continue to put condos and homes directly along the beaches. It’s going to cost more because we put more there. Everyone grasping this concept? For some reason, this realization escapes most talking heads.

Category 3 Fact: Evacuation is for sissies.

I say this boldly because I reside in the highest area above sea level in this state, which, comparatively speaking, is still about as high above the ocean as a pool-side diving board you’d feel semi-sober comfortable with letting your 4 year old jump off of.

Plus, it’s been demonstrated time and again that the federal government is well-equipped to lend a hand if your house is transformed into flotsam.

In a very small way, I do feel bad for weatherpeople and government officials who repeatedly, year after year, plead to the point of obnoxiousness with the mob to evacuate in the event of a dangerous storm. Year after year, there are fights with evacuation officials.

Let’s pretend that every afternoon for five months one of these entities warns the public on the dangers of smoking. Continuous inundation of graphs, models, spaghetti tracks, videos of devastation, and PSA’s – somehow all of this would inevitably seep into the subconscious, and we’d give up cigarettes before September. I’m convinced.

Hurricanes? Nope! After given all these data to process, as the abject terror of Hurricane Woman Name approaches, the common rube thing to do is ignore this unrelenting media and governmental blitzkrieg.

I’d feel like such a failure if I were a weatherman or bureaucrat.

Category 4 Fact: You are not prepared.

Hurricane-preparedness is a cottage industry down here. It’s like shopping for newborn baby stuff. Once the season begins, Panic develops a market. They toss any conceivable item they think they can get you to buy – from generators to deep freezers to run on the generators – on a “survival guide” and taunt you until you buy it all. Flashlight and candle sales must peak this time of year. (As I’m sure contraceptives do.) It’s not uncommon for some folks to rummage through hurricane kits of years past and re-kindle lost memories, as in, “I remember buying this at Junk Depot before the store blew away in 2004.”

In all seriousness, fill up your vehicle with gas ASAP. One, the lines at the pumps become non-negotiable once a storm approaches within 300 miles of shore. Two, whether the hurricane hits or not, gas prices will shoot through the roof because offshore drills, refineries, and commodity experts will be overwhelmed by demand and the potential for disaster.

Category 5 Fact: If you have major plans – family vacations, weddings, hunting trips – scheduled during hurricane season, a storm will invariably strike.

When this happens you have three real options. All three of them have numerous undesired consequences.

1. Flee the scene and go ahead with your trip. But then again, you could return home and find all you have left – either because the rest all floated/blew away or became property of happy-to-help strangers pillaging your wreckage – is what’s in your suitcase. Or you could get stuck wherever you are, leaving you to curse your nephew for getting married in Ypsilanti.

2. Cancel your plans and retreat to a shelter. You run into a few of the same issues as above – looting, left with luggage amidst strangers of varying and rapidly declining hygiene levels. Plus, as described above, you’ll be tarnished a coward for life.

3. Cancel your plans and ride it out. Now, if you live in coastal areas and the terms “flotsam” and “wreckage” and “federal government” don’t scare the bejeezus out of you, sand bag your doors and windows and stow away your life’s memories and trinkets and make sure you get things right with the Big Guy. It’s going to be a long ride.

Or come visit me. I should have plenty of beer in my generator-powered deep freezer, though just in case it runs out of gas or an oak falls on it, I find it important to keep a bottle of non-perishable brown water somewhere close at hand.

It helps to be prepared.

Buffalo Turkey Tenders

2011-06-03T14:48:00.006-04:00

You killed a turkey this spring, didn't you? Didn't you!

I'm not envious, resentful or consumed with fits of murderous rage. Promise. And to show you I'm not, here's a recipe you may try that will burn the taste buds right off your tongue.

It is tough to beat fried turkey. Fried in chunks or whole, this bird eats. One day though - last year, perhaps - I kinda wanted something different, outside the normal order of things. I catch a load of crap from my wife and others who think I’m 12 for ordering chicken tenders at restaurants. Even fancy restaurants that don't necessarily serve chicken tenders. I'm not invited to many fancy restaurants any more. I tell them all the same thing – it’s hard to screw up tenders.

Turkey. Fried. Yes, yes...for something special? Add the hot wing sauce. Dammit, let's shoot that sodium level through the roof!

½ boneless turkey breast
House-Autry Original Recipe Seafood Breader
Vegetable Oil
Milk
Frank’s Buffalo Sauce

Cut breast into chicken tender-like strips, slicing around tougher tendons and removing any remaining yellow fat (and lead shot!). Cover in plastic wrap and whack on each side with tenderizer mallet. Soak in milk for 30 min. - 1 hour. Heat oil in cast iron deep enough for frying. Remove strips from milk and press well into breading – if milk soaks thru, re-press!

By the way, I've used all kinds of seasoning for fried turkey breast from cornmeal to breadcrumbs and smashed-up saltines. This House Autry seafood breading is the best by far for this recipe. Has just enough kick to complement the hot sauce. Trust me. Don't ask questions, just be amazed.

When the oil is ready, add the fingers until golden brown on both sides. Toss with Frank’s Red Hot Sauce and dip in blue cheese or ranch dressing. Simple, delicious, fun at parties.

And since I'm basically a failure at turkey hunting and have been found wanting, take pity on this boy and feel free to bring a batch over to fry.

And definitely watch your back. I'm still fairly bitter.

Memorial Day Tarpon Photos

2011-05-31T18:23:00.008-04:00

Species: Tarpon
Where: Anna Maria, FL
When: Memorial Day Weekend 2011
Method: Tossing live whitebaits at pods of rolling fish in the clear waters off the beach.

Success! We hooked up with two. The first, a 150-lb fish, was lost thanks to the efforts of a local bozo guide. Despite the fact the beach literally swarmed with fish, he zoomed up in his tricked-out Pathfinder complete with twin Power Poles and trolling motor to fish the pod of tarpon we had been fishing and insisted we turn off our motor, lest we spook them. Never mind the Silver King we were much more worried about at the time.

There are probably profanities still floating over the Gulf but he wouldn't back off and give us space. What a loser. Travis’ tarpon went under his boat and pulled off. That put us in orbit.

Strangely, he didn’t engage in the war of words but wouldn't leave us or these tarpon be. This glutton for punishment, after we hooked up again shortly after, approached us once more. Couldn’t believe it!

We swore him back off, and he gripped his wheel and wept over it. I’d identify him online here, but I’m sure the client he had with him – who was absolutely silent through the whole ordeal – will do enough to damage his business.

Either way, he was seriously in the wrong. I'd never seen so many tarpon. He was poaching us – all he had to do was drive another 200 yards down the beach and find more. Makes me angry all over again.

Which it shouldn’t. Forget that dude. Glorious morning of fishing. This time Nick was able to land the fish. We decided Travis’ should count, too. Plenty of folks around us - who we didn't bother - hooked up that Saturday morning as well. A fine start to the weekend.

I’ll let pictures tell the rest.

Salt Spray breaks up the Sunrise behind the Skyway Bridge

The 1st Hook-Up

He was a Macho Man fan.

Another Hook-Up. Holla if you hear me!

A 70-80 pound tarpon.

Grabbed the leader. Caught fish! He swam away for another day.

Using Pop-Up Blinds

2011-05-24T15:19:00.006-04:00

I grew up deer hunting on the ground. What stands we used were usually 2X4’s and plywood nailed in the crotch of a tree. Not on public land where they’d throw you in the irons for a sin like that but on private properties before we knew or cared any better. I didn’t own a manufactured tree stand until I was 23 or 24. Now I have so many – ladders, climbers, and lock-ons – I can’t keep track of them all.

And what a pain they can be! Climbers are portable, but they stink – or rather you’ll stink – using one if the temperature is over 70 degrees. Lock-ons are portable as well, and you can hang them on virtually any tree, but this often requires near death-defying acts of acrobatics to properly secure one to said tree, and once it’s there, it’s a hassle to relocate. Which brings us to the downfall of ladder stands – they are not portable without helping hands and a four-wheeler.

The sick part is, now that I’ve accumulated this wealth of stands, the pop-up style of ground blind is making a surge in popularity. I noticed this back in July during the Big Buck Expo at the Lakeland Center; vendors peddled blinds harder than stands. Next, I’ve noted it on outdoor TV – more shows have hunters hunting from them, and there’s an increase in ground blind ads. It started with the turkey hunting film crews and has worked to the deer hunters, probably because it’s easier to conceal cameras, and less nerve-wracking to have all that equipment dangling from ropes as they ascend a tree. Finally, a guy I hunted with in Georgia, a gentleman whose fixation with buying and hanging stands tilts on the margins of a neurosis, finally conceded that ground blinds may be the way to hunt the cut downs and road ways on the timber property.

From all three of these sources, I’d usually be concerned about buying what they want to sell me, but in this instance, I see the advantages because I have spent so much time successfully hunting with my rear on terra firma.

One, a pop-up blind is simply more versatile than a stand. Take oaks hammocks. If you hang a stand any higher than ten feet in an oak hammock you will seriously limit your visibility in the sweeping, low canopied arms of branches. What about clearings surrounded by palmettos and dog fennels, or even cow pastures and food plots that don’t have an accommodating tree nearby? Deer, especially early in the season, are gonna come here to eat. The archery and muzzleloader crowds should take advantage. Scrub oaks, and younger blocks of planted pine that won’t support a stand? The deer bed in here, and if you place a blind and a corn feeder, you’ll almost certainly get some action. The point is, you do not always have to rely on Mother Nature to provide you with the perfect tree; pop open the blind and place it with a favorable breeze.

Two, improvements in scent-less technology should limit some fears about hunting the ground. Of course, scent-protected or no, a bad wind is still going to ruin your hunt, but with the ground blind you can easily, and quietly, swap positions and work the wind to the best of your capabilities. No need to hang multiple stands to accommodate passing fronts and switching gusts - also nice to have a roof over one’s head when hunting in the rain!

And that brings us to the last point - you just can’t top the portability, and not just in the woods. Put a few climbers in the back of a truck and see how much room you’ll have for coolers, luggage, and other gear, especially if you’ve got more than a couple hunters riding with you. More than likely you’ll have to pull a trailer. Ever try to bring a ladder stand in the woods on an ATV and bounce the legs off every tree you pass? Pop-up blinds are just easy to deal with.

I’m not saying stands are useless by any means just blinds may be handier in the right situations. Thinking back over the last couple of years, there’s not been a deer I’ve killed that I couldn’t have taken from a blind - and several have been - provided I do the same things I did from the stand – play the wind, keep still and be quiet.

They are not without downsides. The wire frame of one collapsible model I own is warped. I got angry trying to fold the thing one night as mosquitoes were de-fleshing me and slapped it into a pine tree out of frustration. My Dad has an identical model that is much easier to fold. Guess I got a lemon.

Ground blinds also require concealment as the shiny new canvas sticks out like a sore thumb if not shadowed somewhat. I also strongly, strongly urge you to air it out and spray with scent killer before putting it in your favorite haunt. If you can detect thet "new car smell," so can a buck, even in a favorable wind. I’ll leave mine erect in the yard away from dogs and exhaust and other game-breaking smells for at least a couple of weeks.

But give them a try. Hunting at ground level is exciting, and I can almost guarantee there is some place on your property that has been neglected or improperly hunted because you’ve not been on the ground.

Colonel Roosevelt

2011-05-20T12:28:00.005-04:00

“You never said a truer thing that he has no spilt milk in his life. He was just as much interested in the next thing as if the last one had never existed.” – William Bigelow to Henry Cabot Lodge referring to Theodore Roosevelt.

Just finished reading Colonel Roosevelt, the final installment of a Theodore Roosevelt trilogy penned by Edmund Morris. It was a Christmas present. So, I finished it in record time.

Excellent script - I had read the other two books in the saga and expected as much. The first novel charts his rise to power. The second covers his presidency. This one covers the good stuff – the African safari and his Amazonian adventure that left him infirm.

Of course, Teddy Roosevelt is a hero to the hunting clan. He is responsible for the Boone & Crockett club and worked with other like-minded individuals to set legal and ethical guidelines and principles for the management of natural resources and wild game. He was a skilled naturalist and writer composing volumes of literature on North American, South American, and African game animals and other species. His contributions cannot be overstated, and I am not going to try here.

As a book, Colonel Roosevelt is a fantastic narrative. Believe it or not, I’ve read a long list of biographies. Too many try to reconstruct history to please the academic posturing of the author. This is not the case here. The narrative is just that - a story and timeline of Roosevelt’s final years, good, bad, or ugly. And that’s fine with me. I’m not seeking any advanced sense of truth or someone’s depiction of it.

The tome starts in Africa on his safari. Roosevelt spent a year collecting trophies and chronicling his experiences at the height of his fame before a European trip where he was regaled, dined, and courted as the most famous American of the time.

He returned home, disillusioned by the machinations of current politics and the weaknesses of his protégé and successor, William Taft. Roosevelt, riding the wave of support from followers, became the presidential candidate for the progressive Bull Moose Party. After an assassination attempt – one that was truly remarkable he survived - Teddy easily defeated the incumbent Republican Taft, but lost to the Democrat Wilson. The Colonel battled with Wilson on his soft stance on the First World War and his desire to form a battle regiment for deployment overseas.

The story ends, as these things tend to, with his eventual physical collapse, worn down by his South American journey, the bullet lodged in his chest, the grief over his son killed in battle, and his realization that politics had largely moved on without him, even as he planned for another run at the White House. Roosevelt is a much-debated president, but there’s no denying his force of personality throughout his life.

Of course, I’d preferred more detail on his African safari – I suppose I’ll have to peruse African Game Trails for that. And after reading about his South American excursion it’s impossible to conceive any former president since him undertaking such a death-defying journey.

My harshest criticism of the book comes on page 440. The photo caption reads, "A flight of pelicans winging their way homeward." The picture was taken during the Colonel's trip to Breton Island, LA. The problem? The birds in the picture are sea skimmers. So, I'm being pretty ticky-tacky.

There are far more competent literary critics than I, and these are just the crib notes. I do strongly suggest checking out Colonel Roosevelt to learn more about the man whose legacy to conservation means so much to hunters and outdoorsmen today.

The Lost Hog Lease

2011-05-18T17:14:00.006-04:00

The neighbor who owns the cattle lease is trapping hogs?

I just didn’t buy it from Mike. The claim was pure conjecture. He had no real evidence. But something had caused the hogs to disappear. I chalked it up to the usual culprits – you know, if you hear hoof beats, don’t think “zebra,” think “horse.”

Over the previous nine months the 100-acre lease had become an all-purpose outdoor club. Shooting ranges, duck blinds, feeders, stands, dove fields, ATV’s, blackberry gathering, predator hunting, turkey hunting, butterfly collecting...the varying pursuits of the six members appeared infinite. It was well-trodden by the time Mike pushed his theory.

When we signed the lease agreement in February of 2010, the hogs were thick as flies. You could not walk around the property and not see at least one or two. Corn feeders were hung, and hunters reported sizeable herds arriving near dark, including a couple real beasts. The place had no deer and only a few turkeys, but it was fairly cheap and within 15 minutes of the house. There may be Midwestern hunters reading this wondering what the big deal was, but private land this close to home in Central Florida was a luxury, even if only for piggies.

Of course, a few people killed hogs late last spring and into the summer. I bowhunted in June and a herd of black hogs ran back and forth by my ladder stand through the palmettos until dark, never presenting a shot. After that, the buzzing flocks of mosquitoes and humid heat largely kept me away until September.

By then, the hogs were no strangers to the pain. The only swine photos on the trail camera were at night. Then, suddenly, there ceased to be any porcine pictures.

As one who likes to analyze and explain events, this was pretty simple. The pressure was just too much. Hogs are sensitive to human influence. Sure, they’ll accommodate vehicle traffic and cowboys and other regular influences, but once the shooting starts and human scent is dusted up and down their trails, they either go totally nocturnal or evacuate the property. Since our lease backed up to a state park, I assumed the swine abandoned our slice of Heaven.

But still, the hogs should be on the corn feeders. From late October thru February not a single hog was photographed.

Explanation?

In Florida this past fall, we had a magnificent acorn crop. It was like nothing I can remember. Acorns were still ploinking out of oaks into March. Once the acorns start falling, hogs will leave the corn be. This high-grade protein is too much for them to pass by.

The only thing that really bugged me – more so than the lack of photographic evidence – was the lack of spoor. No rooting, no tracks, no crap, nothing - which led me back to the pressure/state park theory.

Well, April arrived and we had to decide whether to stay on the lease or not. Of the original six, three bailed. We survivors figured we’d find two more guys, pay a little more and develop a plan to bring the hogs back.

PJ knew a couple guys from work who enjoyed bowhunting and videoing hunts. We held a Captain’s Meeting the next Monday and shared our thoughts on what to do to manage the land for strictly hunting. We’d cut out the extra-curricular activities like hiking and target shooting and barbecuing. Food plots were planned, with a dove field to plant in the summer. Guest limitations were set. Stand locations and feeders were discussed, and I left figuring by fall, with this group, the healthy population of swine would return.

The next evening, the two members were sitting along the eastern fenceline, newly erected by the cowboy neighbor, turkey hunting. Lo and behold, he drove up on the guys and had a conversation with them.

It seemed the guy was none too keen on our turkey hunting aspirations and let the newbies know it. His house was on the northeast border of the lease and near the thick cypress swamp that shared both properties. He had been feeding the turkeys for years and thought of them as pets. Apparently, the notion of number 5’s whacking his beloveds did little to endear us to him, though they were wild birds.

As a third-hand story, I never figured out if he did it out of reprisal or just for the sake of doing so, but he admitted to trapping hogs off his place for the last six months, catching several each time the trap was sprung. What he did with them I never ascertained, but it was evident he wasn't releasing them nearby.

Mike’s fears were founded. With this small property and the numbers of hogs he supposedly captured, no wonder we'd not seen any pigs in half a year. By Florida law, he was well within his rights. Feral hogs are considered the property of whoever’s land they inhabit.

But this did nothing for us. PJ called the landowner with apologies, but we’d have to bail on the lease. It would be too expensive to justify only a dove field.

EPILOGUE

Again, this has all come to me through the filters of several different mouths, but even if the truth is a better tale, I still enjoy this one.

Apparently, the landowner was awfully upset with the neighbor. The owner knew he had a pretty penny in the hunting lease. Anyway, he ordered the neighbor to get his cattle off the property. That’s a fairly swift and stiff payback.

Furthermore, the land, from what I was told, went on to be leased by a group of AR-15enthusiasts. I’m sure if he had it to do over, the neighbor would sacrifice the occasional gobbler rather than listen to that racket every weekend morning.

We still have not found a new lease.

Bowfishing Re-Rig

2011-05-17T16:08:00.004-04:00

Last we checked on my bowfishing exploits, I had pinned my first gar before losing the arrow to the muck of a central Florida lake thanks to the shoddy line and reel set-up. I vowed to correct this error, and correct this error I did.

Well, my wife did. In fact, she bought me the AMS Retriever Pro for Easter. The AMS is a slick deal. It holds the 200# Braided Dacron in a bottle. When you shoot, the line flies unimpeded. When you want to reel it in, you pull back on a lever-like trigger and the line dumps back into the bottle. Easy as can be. Love it, in fact. Much better that the spool system that came with the PSE set.

From there, I installed a Whisker Biscuit. This may be replaced in the near future. The arrow is too heavy for the bristles to support. And the rest obstructs the field of view. A drop-away rest would be cool, but that’ll have to wait. Finally, I screwed in a generic stabilizer that was lying around.

Sights may be my next objective, but I haven’t figured that out yet. One, how to sight it in? If I were shooting flat-footed on a level field, it’d be no big deal adjusting the pins. But, I’m shooting off a dock or boat at a fish of varying distances and depths, each factor adjusting how you aim at the target. It's like the exaggerated form of shooting at a target from a deer stand.

The water distorts the target. The deeper the fish, the farther below it you must aim. Likewise, if a fish is a little farther out, but higher in the water column, you still have to aim significantly below it so the arrow won’t plane. Unless I am observing this all wrong. Either way, I don’t have the time to perform the calculus necessary for setting pins to compensate depth and distance though I have a neat idea for a targeting system involving anchors, balloons, and my in-laws’ pool.

Still, the rig is a major upgrade from March. My only other experience with longbows or recurves came a few turkey seasons ago. A group of South Carolina turkey guys arrived to an Osceola camp with their longbows. They always said, the trick is to focus on the target; not so much trying to aim. I’ve kept that in mind through these trials.

And, let’s just say if I needed to stick a gar with one shot to save my life, or to fend off a deranged clown with fanged teeth with this set-up, I’m not sure which next of kin I’d pass the bow along to. Bowfishing is the single most challenging thing I have done in my life that doesn’t involve counting with both hands. Without exaggeration.

Besides the challenge of gauging depth and distance, a lot of it has to do with the fish I’m attempting to spear. I watch these YouTube videos where guys are slogging across flooded cut corn fields whacking broadsided carp and whatnot. These little Florida gars are not that. They are a skinny target and armor plated to boot. Mullet lack the protection, but possess the same profile. You have to hit them just right or the arrow will skip off their backs. It'll take a lot of practice to become proficient.

Luckily, there's been plenty of that.

I whiffed on – let’s say – two dozen gar last Thursday. Some shot were wildly off. A couple missed by a scale. And a couple more caromed off the toothy beasts.

One Florida gar did finally swim in front of my arrow. It was my last shot for the day. Just enough to keep me thirsty for more. As it happened, I was leaving for Homosassa the next day.

The mullet were in thick schools around the dock when I arrived. Of course, I hurriedly and impatiently started plunking arrows at them. A little tidal creek near the house also had a fair number. I skipped an arrow off the back of a beaut – mullet will frustrate you, too. When you shoot, they have a habit of circling the arrow and hanging around just until you get the arrow back on the rest, then they vanish.

Missing the sheepshead Sunday was the most damning. A fine food fish, I was salivating at this shot. He was one of those dock fish that had long grown tired of hooked shrimps and weights. This guy was probably in the 5-8 pound range, pretty large for a sheepster.

He was swimming towards me at an angle. I drew back, and at that moment, he turned head-first at me. The arrow streamed bubbles past his left pectoral fin as he motored to deeper waters.

I stomped around searching for a stingray to shoot. They had been all over this weekend. I’d tagged one on Friday. I was reeling in another errant shot at a mullet as the ray slowly scooted along the seawall. I re-loaded and fired the shot as he was about to gain depth. I hauled him to the deck, his barbed tail wildly thrashing about. I ran upstairs to pull Carolyn out of the shower so she could take my picture – any goodwill she had about giving me that reel has long since dissipated.

I was proud, but a ray isn’t much challenge. Over the weekend I watched dozens more without shooting. But after the sheepshead debacle, they offered no comfort.

For those keeping track, I have now shot two gar, one mullet, and one stingray in five months of owning this bow. I’ve shot several hundred times.

By the way, I’ve named the bow “Sweet Jesus.” My mother-in-law bought the original kit for me for Christmas. Carolyn purchased the reel for Easter.

And it’s a miracle if I hit anything with it.

Fried Blue Cheese Stuffed Venison

2011-05-12T15:02:00.000-04:00

Venison is such a healthy meat - low in fat, all-natural, free-range goodness. Like making a turtle kiss a duck, frying it just feels wrong. Here God’s given you an opportunity to enjoy a meal sans saturated fats, and you bite your thumb at Him and pillory your heart and arteries.

Oh well.

Here’s my latest abomination. Fried Cubed Steaks Stuffed with Blue Cheese. If you smothered it with gravy it would be the perfect food, though that could be flying a little too close to the sun.

Ingredients

1lb. Venison Cube Steaks
Mazola Corn Plus! Oil (I use this brand because it has, in about 18 different languages, stickers that claim it is heart-healthy, as if I’m just some Willy off the Turnip Truck who doesn’t know better. But I can point it to my wife and convince her. Also, I like shooting deer over corn. The symmetry is too perfect.)
Flour
Salt
Pepper
Seasoning
2 eggs beaten (PS – why was the chef arrested? He was caught beating an egg! Ha! Heard it on a commercial.)
1 cup Vigo Italian Bread Crumbs
Package Crumbled Blue Cheese
Toothpicks.

Soak the cube steaks in icy cold water for an hour or so to leach the blood. Pat dry and cut the steaks into pieces about the size of a standard issue chicken nugget, making sure to trim any silvery sinew or fat. Dash with your favorite steak seasoning.

Take a dollop of blue cheese and stuff it in the middle of the venison. Wrap the meat around the cheese and secure with a toothpick. In one bowl, mix flour with salt and pepper. In another, the egg. The last one, breadcrumbs.

As the oil is heating in the cast iron skillet, toss the venison in the flour, dip in egg, and then roll in the breadcrumbs making sure to press the crumbs well into the meat.

The oil is ready when it begins to shimmer. Flick a little flour in and if it bubbles on the surface, you are ready to go. It doesn’t take but a couple minutes before the outside is browned and crispy, and the cheese is oozing.

Momma said Knock You Out!

A-1 is my go-to sauce here; Frank’s Red Hot is worth a dabble. Next time, I’ll rig up a horseradish accompaniment and see what can be achieved.