Florida Deer Journal 2010 - The Upper Hills Hunt

Behind me, I heard the dry leaves of the cypress swamp Corn Flake as the deer approached at a trot. It was coming fast. Though the weather was clear and beautiful all weekend with temperatures in the 40’s, after 12 hours perched in the stand with nothing to report, action couldn’t come fast enough.

I glanced over my right shoulder and finally saw the large-bodied buck. His antlers, tall and tobacco-stained in color, curved straight forward like lances. Points, I cannot say. It was too thick for a shot, at least with a bow.


He paused briefly then resumed his pace into the Thickness of Central Florida. I grunted on the Knight & Hale a couple times, but I knew Mr. Deer was history. He was the only buck I have seen in Florida all season.

I was satisfied. So be it. Save an unexpected invite somewhere, that was probably my last chance for the year. At least it ended on somewhat of a high note. Seeing a Swamp Buck is always a thrill.

But something felt askew. Why was he running? I thought at first he may be chasing a doe that slipped past unseen. January and February is Rut Time in this part of the state. Heck, it’s the reason I applied for the bowhunt here. Usually, though, when on the tail of a skirt, bucks will be nose-to-the-ground. This guy was heads-up and high-stepping. He was spooked.

Maybe another hunter pushed him. This was public land, after all. The evening before a gentleman and a portly young fellow crashed my set-up. Heard them coming - sounded like a herd of elephants walking down the trail. People don't realize how loud they can truly be. The pair politely moved along, but I knew they probably lurked close.

Another thought was more pervasive, however. Dad was hunting the northwest side of the cypress head, maybe 200 yards away straight line. And he’s had all the luck with seeing game lately. Problem is, I’m not sure he could kill a deer with an arrow if it had heat-seeking capabilities and a thermo-nuclear broadhead.

Had to check the texts.

“I just missed my buck.”

Sigh. The night before, he said he let a nice buck slip under his stand and couldn’t find an ethical shot in the remaining light. Nothing more frustrating than when you aren’t seeing anything and having to endure kith and kin bemoan their lost opportunities. It’s like, put me in the game, Coach!


Upper Hillsborough WMA is a few thousand acres in Pasco County. They offer only a few hunts a year, all by quota drawing and all primitive. The rut, as I said earlier, is late winter. On this hunt, I was finding fresh rubs and scrapes, sign that’s gone long cold in southern regions of the state. (Actually, the picture of the rub in the header of this blog was taken here last year.)

I’ve only hunted Upper Hills a few times; I get the sense there is not a ton of deer. The land is comprised of cypress bottoms interspersed with pine and palmetto flats and sand scrub. It is pretty land but without much in the way of nutrition, not all that conducive to a large population. (I’m also guessing a Cracker Season has been in effect in this area a long time, further suppressing numbers.)

This is not to say there aren’t a few nice ones. One person this year tagged a 198lb. nine. Not too shabby for these parts. As I said, Dad has had all the luck, but it correlates to the scouting he had done. The eastern end of the property can be reached only by bike and the trails open during game seasons are closed the rest of the year. You’ll need your hiking boots and a two-wheeler if you plan on advance recon.

This has been a strange year in Florida. A biologist buddy of mine reports harvest numbers are down across the region. It’s the way things go.

Next year things will be different. Next year I’ll do more scouting. Next year things will work out.

Next year I’m following Dad into the woods, clubbing him over the head, and hunting his stand.

Adventures of the Novice Bowfisherman

As if life isn’t complicated and frustrating enough, I decided I wanted to take up bowfishing. I put a starter’s kit on my letter to Santa, and lo and behold, it was under the tree Christmas morning. He’ll be taking note of the naughty in 2011...at least the naughty words.


Before we get to my nincompoopery, let’s tell ya what I got. It is a PSE Kingfisher kit – a recurve with two arrows and a spool you wrap with 80lb braided line. The spool goes where the stabilizer normally would, and the rest is a roller of sorts. I will be replacing the spool with a reel when I’m done paying off my sizeable Most Wonderful Time of the Year debt.

Not being the engineering type, I was a touch dismayed that the kit came disassembled - even more so when I realized there were no instructions, in French, Korean or otherwise, included in the box. But what the heck, I am a pretty smart guy, I should be able to assemble this with little problem.

I screwed in the limbs so the bow would resemble your standard half-moon shaped archery tackle. But the string was too long. Hmm. My first thought, naturally, was someone else had erred severely. Where the hell does the tension necessary to fling an arrow past my feet come from when I have six inches of bowstring coiled around my hand?

A dim bulb brightened. Maybe they are on backwards. So, I took it all apart and re-screwed the limbs in so the rig was inverted. Guess that's why it's called a recurve. Ha! I looped the string on and the loops correctly locked into the notches at the ends. (My archery terminology sucks, BTW. Feel free to correct me.) Then I realized that the thick part of the string (See?) that held the nock (Better.) was upside down.

I started to back off the screw to correct this problem and thankfully realized that the strain would be too much. Either the limbs would crack and it’s be all over, or it’d come whipping apart leaving me with fewer teeth. After consultation with a friend, I learned I could use my own brute strength to flip the string around without damage to the bow or my face. I was ready to shoot.

And here’s where the real trouble started.

I went up to Homosassa to my in-laws’ river house for New Years. Dreams of smoked mullet chased me up the road. Alas, the water was murky and the sky overcast. Nothing moved. (Basically just described my actual bow season this year.)

Just for the fun of it, I fired an arrow off the end of the dock. A manatee roiled a few yards away. That would have been embarrassing. I would have had to cut the line, wipe the bow of fingerprints, and toss the albatross into the nearest channel for the Navy Seals to find for their prosecution. Lesson relearned – don’t shoot into what you can’t see.

Moving along, fully expecting angry e-mails for confessing that, I shot at leaves in shallower water where I could see clearly. I learned some fun things. One, make sure the fishing line is clear of any snags on the bow. One arrow flew playfully back into my Thank God I Was Wearing Jeans At The Time left leg. The arrow popped off another time, and I had to roll up aforementioned jeans to wade into the frigid water to recover my dart. Finally, if the breeze caught the fishing line correctly, the braid would come unwinding off the spool, hence my desire for a reel.

I truly feel, though, wisdom comes with courting advice from those in the know. We repaired to a party up the road where I knew the boys there had been bowfishing for some time. As expected, they were whacking fish like starving Aborigines.



They imparted that the trickiest part of this – and here I thought assembly and preventing self-harm were the trickiest parts – was aiming below the target fish. More so the deeper the fish is underwater due to the refraction of the water. I'd learned this from shooting at the leaves, sometimes aiming as much as a foot below the objective.

They plucked away at a school of mullet. I'd left my bow at the house because I truly, truly hate being embarrassed in front of others. Plus, it was New Years Eve, and if I'd nearly impaled myself and an innocent sea cow while sober...

Anyway, New Years morning I staggered back down to our dock and found a young stingray lounging in the shadows.

Easy.

Three shots later, the ray finally tired of the ploinks of my wayward arrows and drifted into the manatee-infested dark water.

Sigghhhhhh.

This is part of an actual review of the PSE Kingfisher kit on Cabela's website from PGKIRK of New Holland, PA:

"This is a fun package...Whacked a monster fish with my 1st shot."

New Holland, PA, birthplace of liars.

But I enjoy the challenge. I have no familiarity with a recurve and aim to learn to aim one properly. Plus, it gives me another toy to fiddle with and customize.

As always, I invite tips and hints for such things. I’m looking forward to plunging my first fish. And with your gentle advice and guiding hand, it’s possible you may spare me embarrassment.

You may end up saving a me few pints of blood along the way, too.

December Trail Camera Photos

My feeder continues to attract, well, useless animals. At least for bowhunting. No hogs for a third straight month. No deer ever.

Whatever.

Not counting on the deer anyhow, though the hog hunting has been deflating. Lease expires in February, and I'm gone.

For this month's gallery, I present to you these misfits.

I looked at this photo for some time, thinking it was a scrawny hog...what do you think? (Click on photos for larger image.)



Upon careful study, this appears to be a mutt. Kinda pitbullish. Another lease member spotted a pair two weeks ago. Mongrel.

These two are certainly strange bedfellows.



I may have the World's Largest Collection of armadillo photos.

I called one of these in on my last hunting trip there with a digital predator call. But they are sneaky.



These animals are rather sneaky, too!



Finally, I obtained photos of a legit game animal - my favorite nonetheless.



Fall turkey in this zone ends January 31st. I desperately want to crack one this time of year, though these won't be legal game. Bearded birds only! I know a few are there.

I will certainly let you know if I am successful.

See you then!

To the Sunshine State or Whatever

Just ran across this AP article published in the Lakeland Ledger. Strange 2010 news from this strange state.

Guns. Alcohol. Iguana poisoning. Yeah, this peninsula we call home.

Florida in 2010 Made Weird News

Recipe Review - Grilled Drunken Venison Chops

The December/January issue of Outdoor Life published venison recipes from various chefs. The one that caught my eye was the Grilled Drunken Venison Chops from John Reilly. It just so happened I had a few packs of recently wrapped chops courtesy of a North Carolina doe. The picture in the magazine looked awesome. Why not?

(Real quick, venison chops are a fantastic alternative to just cutting the whole backstrap loin out. Take the entire backbone with backstraps and tenderloins still attached to your local processor. It can be hell on cooler space, but it is worth it.)

Here’s a summary of the recipe:

Loin Chops
1 Cup Stag’s Leap Cabernet Sauvignon
3 cloves garlic, crushed
1 Tbs. cracked black powder
½ cup olive oil
1 large shallot
2 sprigs thyme
1 Tbs. crushed juniper berries
Pinch plus Kosher Salt

Mix ingredients (except salt) and marinate for 2 – 12 hours
Grill. Let sit. Sprinkle with salt.

Bam!


With recipes like this, ingredients are always a problem. I’m not Rachel Ray – my supply of spices like coriander and smoked ragweed is typically compromised. Professional cooks just can’t help but throw stuff like this in, and Mr. Reilly is no exception. Juniper berries. I don’t even know what a juniper is. I assumed some species of fidget bird - which made the berries sound awfully unappetizing for a meal. I asked the produce guy at Publix where I could find juniper berries. He looked at me as if I’d just told him I went speeding through a busy school zone, hit something, and was seeking a place to hide out until the heat died off.

Turns out a juniper is the vital ingredient in making gin, which, knowing the taste of gin, I still believe juniper berries could be bird crap. Just so happens I had a couple bottles of gin, a spoonful of which I could use as a substitute.

(Another aside – though my wife and I are in our 30’s, people come in and out of our home on a daily basis like a fraternity house to grab a drink and shoot the bull. On NFL Sundays it is positively infested with folks. Now, a number of these people, when out of refreshments of an adult nature, would suck the last drops from spent beer cans even if the lids were covered in cigarette ash and snot. I still can’t seem to get rid of this gin, however.)

The next issue was the wine. I’m not sure what Stag’s Leap Cabernet Sauvignon is – we had a bottle with a leaping Kangaroo on the front, which true oenophiles would faint in disgust if it were served to them.

So I whisked together all the ingredients and left the concoction in the fridge for about 6 hours. I got the grill red hot. When cooking these thin chops, cook very hot, very fast. The meat was dark purple from the wine. Smelled awesome.

And...they were OK. Carolyn wouldn’t request them if on Death Row. I ate four or five of them. Tender. Not bad, but it received a tepid response. The wine was a tad overpowering; I have had this trouble with other wine-based recipes in the past. Could just be my tastes.

No insult to Chef Reilly. My outcome could be the result of using gin instead of juniper. Or it could be the low-quality wine, wine that should be pressurized and used as insecticide, quite frankly.

Maybe someone can tell me what I did wrong. Mostly, this just illustrates the frustrations I have with recipes you find in such sources.

I shouldn’t be surprised.

Most of these magazines have been showing me how to kill big bucks for years, and I’ve had no luck there, either!