So it was getting dark out and he wanted to stay so we stayed over night. When we got ready for bed we put the rattle reels down. The second I got in the bunk one of the reels went down and fast. I got up and waited to let it stop and go again. I pulled on it and I hooked it, took me awhile cause it was deep and i was fighting really hard. When I got it up to the hole it looked like a walleye. I didn’t want to loose it so I reached down and grabbed it by the mouth. When I brought it in the fish house I found out that it was a EEL POUT. Really an eel pout, but it was a 8lb eel pout.

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So if you can get a mental picture of this: My 2500 HD Silverado (dual exhausts) is rumbling behind me, I am about 20 yards from the edge of the woods, every move I make is casting shadows from the lights of the truck behind me, I have my camera in my left hand and my now loaded 45 in my right. After standing there for about 2 minutes the unthinkable happens. Despite all the noise I made getting to that point that hog comes strolling out about 20 yards away and stops. I was certain at that point that my last task of the night just changed from setting up the camera to cleaning this hog. I raised my gun, took aim, and fired! I was not real surprised that the pig didn’t drop on the spot although that was surely what I was hoping for. What I was surprised about is that it did not even squeal, it just ran away. I managed to sling one more round into the woods before it slipped out of sight. And then I realized…there was no blood trail, I had missed. Now it makes sense to tell you I am deadly at 20 yards at the range. My targets do not come home with a center section, so what happened?

Once again I had been diagnosed with Sight to Shot Syndrome. There is a beginning (Sight) and then there is an end (Shot) and regardless if it is only a few seconds or several minutes there are more times than I would prefer to count where I can not for the life of me remember what happened in between. In this situation the hog did everything right and I managed to do everything wrong. I know how to handle my 45 but not one technique I use at the range was displayed in the field that night. How do you bring yourself down to a level of normal brain function in the heat of the moment? How do you tune out the increased heart rate, the adrenaline flow, even your ego already spinning the tale of victory when you get back to camp. Maybe it is practice, maybe experience. My buddy says using your weapon needs to become second nature. I will tell you one things for sure there is nothing second nature about looking eye to eye with your prey you are about to take down. I only hope one day I am lucky enough to get a second chance.

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Think albino deer are rare? The attached photos are of a black whitetail fawn in a neighborhood north of Austin, TX. All the deer pictured are wild. The fawn is melanistic, which means it’s body produces an extra amount of melanin making it’s hair turn black or very dark brown. This is the exact opposite of albinism. The black fawn’s sibling is completely normal. Albino deer are somewhat common, but melanistic deer are much rarer. In central Texas there have been several sightings of black deer, but most hunters around the country have never seen one of these deer in the wild. For some reason that region of Texas has more melanistic deer than other regions of the country.

About three years ago there were reports of a black fawn in the West Central part of MN. Sure as can be, there were some gentleman that shot it – “it’s a trophy” was there reasoning. Right, shoot a fawn – good one…not something I would do!

Thanks to Aaron Hennes for the lead on this…

CRUSTY

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[ratings]

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Happy Birthday Steve!

Mike and RoseAnn

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It was the Sunday on the last weekend of deer hunting for my family. My brother Steve (Crusty) had gotten a doe in the moring and it was getting about that time to start dragging. My dad and oldest brother Tony had walked past my stand towards the van to get the rope and drop off a few things before we started dragging. I knew I had about only about 20-30min left in my stand for the year and was thinking, that all I saw in 2 weekends of hunting was a few squirrels. To hell with it I thought, I’m gonna have a cigarette. I put my rifle down and lit up. As I was enjoying my smoke, when I heard some leaves crunching behind me. It couldn’t be my dad and bro, that would have been to quick. It’s one of those damn squirrels and this one just might get it! I turned around and saw this doe walking like she didn’t have a care in the world. I couldn’t believe it, slowly I reached for my gun. Started to bring my gun up, that’s when it dawned on me, I still had a cig in my mouth. Well let’s see how this works and I brought my rifle all the way up. Not a good idea Rob, I got an eye full of smoke. Now what, can’t put it out, not enough time. If she goes on the other side of that ridge I’ll lose her. So I let it drop out of my mouth to the forest floor. I pulled my rifle back up and took my shot. She drops! Right at the top of the ridge and takes a few tumbles down the other side. My heart is racing and I start laughing. Climbing down my stand I see my smoke still going, I pick it and start walking to my doe. A few moments after getting to my deer, my dad and brother show up, coming back from the van and as they are coming towards me I’m putting my cig out. My dad looks at me “Dang Rob, what did you do? Shoot and lite up?” All I could do was laugh and say it was the other way around.

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P.S. Never saw that kid again….

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Our dog yard was about 150 yards from our house at the end of a well worn path through our garden and pasture. About twice a summer we would mow the pasture, so most of the time we followed the path back and forth to the dogyard because the grass was deep. In the summer it gave you a sense of safety from the snakes if you stayed on the path,….or so we thought.

One summer as a young boy, due to either being too busy during the day fishing or most likely due to teenaged procrastination it was nearly dark before I either remembered or was reminded that I needed to feed and water my dogs. Most of the time my daddy expected those dogs to be fed, water, and checked ahead of my own eating. He believed in and cared greatly for the well being of those dogs. I guess he figured he could birth another son easier than he could assemble another good pack of rabbit hounds. Well in being the obedient son I was, I gathered a bucket of Jim Dandy’s Finest dog feed and without a flashlight, I followed that narrow, well worn path through the garden and pasture to the dog yard and fed my hounds, checking on their well being. When I was satisfied that they were eating and doing well in their confines, I headed back to the house in the dark. There was just enough light to make out the gap in the grass where the path lay. On the way back to the house with only an empty bucket in my hand, I was stopped cold in my tracks by the unmistakable buzz of a rattlesnake. It’s hard to describe the buzz of a rattler in the dark, but the closest thing I can think of is one of those wind up toys we used to put in the palm of our hands to scare people when they shook our hands. High pitched, high frequency, non-stop buzz,…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. I immediately envisioned a 10 ft long rattler with a 20 rattles and 2″ long fangs ready to inject me leading to a painful death, followed by being swallowed by this monster of the darkness. I would never be found, no trace, just an empty dog food bucket on the pathway. To say that my heart lept into my throat is an understatement and even as I write this my memories are causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. As hard as I tried, I could not pinpoint whether the snake was ahead, behind, or beside me. It sounded like he was everywhere. In the dark the sound was deceptive and frightening. My skin turned clammy, the hair on my neck rose on end , my heart rate went from 60 to 600 beats per minute instantly and I was to put it bluntly, freaking out! I believe this was my first panic attack,…and for a good reason,…a powerful, dangerous snake was bearing down on me. As I stood perfectly still for a few seconds trying to pinpoint the location of the snake my survival instincts were working at breakneck speed to figure out how to keep fangs from sinking into my leg.

I quickly figured my only recourse was to use the bucket to distract the snake so I picked a spot just ahead of me and, in the dark, threw the bucket at that spot and jumped as far over it as I could. I hit the ground in an odd run/jump fashion covering ground at an amazing clip. Without a stop watch I suspect I covered that last 100 yds, oh in about 2.2 seconds.

An hour later, after a panic stricken explanation to my mother, a clean pair of underwear and a glass of sweet tea my blood pressure and heart rate dropped from the sky back to normal. Needless to say, from that day forward that path was kept mowed and dogs were fed during daylight hours.

Later in the same summer, we killed a 6 foot rattler some 50 yards north of the dog pen while bringing hay out of the field. While I suspected at the time it was the same snake, I was later proven wrong,…but that’s another story for a later day.

“ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ”

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Neal, a high school boy from my neighborhood, was already a genuinely hooked deer hunter, accomplished deer hunter with bow, rifle and muzzleloader. He was the type of guy that would have all his gear out, polished, lined up, double checked and ready for a hunt weeks before the season started. He practiced his already well tuned bow skills year round and went through boxes of ammo to make sure his rife hit just the right spot. His room was clothed in camo, Field and Stream, Bowhunter, and posters of deer. Every chance he got he was picking the brain of another deer hunter looking for that next tactic or trick that would enhance his odds. I learned from him to take a few small rocks to the woods with me during early bow in Mississippi to use to imitate falling white oak acorns, the equivalent of cocaine to Mississippi whitetails. Find white oak acorns, kill deer. Simple. My wife called Neal the youngest deer ‘addict’ she’d ever known besides me. I enjoyed hunting with Neal due to his pleasant nature and his enthusiasm for deer hunting.

On this particular evening, since I didn’t have a truck and Neal was riding with me, in my Honda Civic we followed a narrow road across the pasture behind my mother’s house, through a narrowing in the woods into the hay meadow and parked. From there we walked another 500 yards, crossed the small, white sand, crystal clear water creek. I took a spot in pin oaks near the creek and Neal went on up the ridge. I climbed my tree with a climbing tree stand and settled in. Neal, who used line crew spurs and a lock on stand, settled in as well. Our wait began.

Just before dark a rather large doe made her way to me picking up acorns and munching them. I waited as long as I could in hopes of a buck showing, but it wasn’t to be. With an empty freezer, I decided to take the doe and with one shot from my 7mm-mag she dropped in her tracks. When the disturbance from the shot settled in the woods, a pack of coyotes opened up just across the creek on the next hill. Packed coyotes howling will lead one to believe there are hundreds in the pack just due to the chaotic sounds they make. In all likelihood, there was only a couple to half dozen, but enough to make the hair stand on end on the back of your neck. By the time they stopped howling it was pitch dark and both Neal and I were still in the stands. In a few minutes I could hear the coyotes crossing the creek and yipping as they came towards the downed deer, smelling the blood, ready to feast until only the carcass was left. I shot towards them in the creek and yelled “Get out of here!”, then started climbing down. As I gathered my stand, I listened to hear if Neal was coming down the trail and I heard nothing. I yelled to him “Neal, come on! Let’s get this deer out before the coyotes take it!”. He yelled back with fear in his voice,…”Mr. Carey, I’m not coming down! They’re not getting me!” I couldn’t help but laugh and yelled back “OK,…stay where you are and I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Well,…a few minutes later as I field dressed the doe in the dark I could hear him clattering down the trail, lock-on stand, rifle, clinging spurs and all. Sounded like a runaway old plow mule in trace chains. He ran up to me just about the time I finished the field dress job, grabbed the doe by one leg and took off pulling it towards the creek. I worked to catch up with him and help. In between laughs at him and struggling with getting a deer across a creek and to the back of my car in the dark, those coyotes decided to lay low and stay out of range.

Needless to say, we made it out safely and another deer hunting memory was written seared in our minds. Neal finished high school, went on to pitch college baseball at Ole Miss, married and is now my insurance agent. He’s a fantastic man, a great hunter and a pleasure to know. Good thing the coyotes didn’t get him!

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David and I stopped the truck at the locked gate on Mr. Landers’ place because we really didn’t have clear permission to be doing what we were planning to do. We sort just decided between the two of us he wouldn’t mind, especially if he didn’t know, if we slipped into his big pond and grabbed a few of those big, old, soul mate searching, “whummping” reptiles. They really are eating. Our walk with marginal headlights and a spring loaded grabber on the end of a hoe handle soon delivered us to the levee of a pond ringed with water hyacinth out to about ten feet.

With lights off we silently eased around the pond, hoping not to encounter the evil Mr. Water Mocassin, until we were within reasonable range of a trophy bullfrog. At this point, the problem we encountered was we had a 6 foot frog grabber pole attached to a 3 foot arm and the prey was about 10 feet out into the pond. The math just didn’t work so we quickly hatched a new plan. A plan that would surely be successful if we just both worked together. Since I had on short pants with a belt, David would hold onto my belt with his right hand and a small tree with his left hand as I leaned out toward the frog. At the right point, I would grab the frog and he’d pull us both back in. We couldn’t miss,…famous last thoughts right? Like the famous last words of most rednecks “Hey guys, watch this!” Well,…seems my best friend, David, had another trick up his sleeve. Likely hatched at this moment to retaliate for me placing a green pine cone underneath the tail of his horse a few weeks earlier and laughing at him while he played rodeo. Just at the he gave me the extra foot to grab the frog, he let go of my belt and I fell headfirst into the water hyacinth in total darkness. I screamed on the way down imagining I was falling right on top of the evil Mr. Water Mocassin. I didn’t and I came right back up only to see David and his headlight running at full speed back to the truck. When I got the truck, he had all the doors locked and was laughing in stitches. I was covered in water weeds and pond muck. To get him to open the door I had to promise not to shoot him or grab his privates with the frog grab.

South Mississippi boys will do the darndest things for amusement,….

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So after I was done scouting I was on my way back home… now there were a few hunters up there which were starting to make the trek home as well… And as I was driving, up the mountain to my left out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something out of place, so I stopped to take a look and about 50 yards up the hill was a doe with her head stuck way high looking down the hill. so I inched forward to see if she was alone or with some other deer. I kept looking and saw 2…then 3 and 4… all does… then up pops the head of another and BAM!!! a big rack!

Now I about choked when I saw this beautiful 4 point buck (8 point for all you whitetail hunters) I thought to myself “am I seeing things, how did all the hunters that just passed this way not 2 minutes ago not see this?”

So being careful not to spook the deer I slowly rolled the window down, picked up my gun, and put the cross hairs right behind the shoulder (disclaimer…shooting from your vehicle is not exactly legal…so don’t do it, I wasn’t thinking clearly!!!)

I took a deep breath and exhaled and pulled the trigger. Instantly the big buck flipped over backwards and proceeded to roll (dead as a doornail) down the hill towards me… it rolled and rolled and stopped about 5 feet from my car! SWEET HUH!!!?

Then it hit me, oh CRAP! I don’t have a truck or a knife…NOT GOOD!!! all I could picture is me driving down the canyon with a bloody deer on the top of my roof with me hanging out the window trying to hang on to it for dear life…

Just then the truck of hunters that was seconds in front of me had turned around because they heard the shot and when they got to me they about keeled over because here laid this beautiful buck next to my car and they had just passed there not one minute ago and they knew I was driving right behind them…it was really funny to see how dumbfounded they were by the whole thing.

Just then a nice old man that was road hunting pulled up behind me and realized the predicament I was in and offered up his knife and the bed of his truck, so I cleaned it, threw it in the back of his truck and he drove it to my home for me…Ya, it was that easy!

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I don’t remember how old I was when I finally got to hike along. Up before dawn and getting dressed in my brother’s hand-me-down hunting clothes was so exciting. We didn’t wear camo or the orange vest and hat. Those weren’t the stylye in the 50′s – just dull grays and browns. Off we went up the hill to the ridge where he planned to sit and hunt. It was then that I finally understood why I had to be bigger. Some of the logs we climbed over were three feet in diameter and of course the ground was not level. Indeed, I did need longer legs and a stronger body to keep up.

When we reached the first stand, we sat and waited and waited for what seemed like forever to a nine or ten year old who wasn’t used to being still that long. Then it was on to the next spot. That is how the day went. We didn’t see any deer that day, but it didn’t matter to me, because I knew that you didn’t see deer everytime you went out. Tramping through the forest and experiencing the views from the ridge tops was its own reward. When we got back to camp in the afternoon I’m sure I was exhausted from the long and tough hike, yet I know that I would never have admitted it. I didn’t want anything to keep me from being able go again. I felt proud that I could keep up.

Now, I can take my turn swapping hunting stories around the campfire.

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