This tale was emailed to me recently and it was just too juicy to not pass on to our fellow hunters in the Rod and Rifle Community…there are always other critters around in the outdoors!

This is freaking scary. As you know I was alone when I downed this elk in ND. I was using my camera’s timer attached to my shooting stick to give me enough time to get into the picture. I knew there were a lot of cats in the area but had no idea they would come in this close to people. He had to be within 10 feet of me and I didn’t even know it. I about crapped my pants when I looked at the pictures the next morning and saw he was there.

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I suppose there’s more than one way to catch a fish!

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My father and I had a pack of beagle hounds that we used to run rabbits. They were a mixed pack, their leader being a Yellow Creek, aptly named “Old Yellar”, and a collection of Saddlebacks of various sizes and shapes, “Cleo”, “Willie” and “Keefer”. My daddy traded a .22 rifle for three of them and an old uncle gave me one that wouldn’t cooperate with him. Nothing more aggravating than a beagle that just won’t do right. While they may have been a motley sort of crew, they could really put the hammer on a rabbit. When they were all running hard it sounded like music to a dog man’s ears as they crossed the hills and hollows of south Mississippi putting pressure on a cottontail or a swamper to break into the open to give us a decent shot.

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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Trying to describe the sounds of a steamy, hot July night in Mississippi is about as difficult as describing the sounds of an orchestra. For a couple of boys born and raised in the Deep South, it all sounded perfect. Hoot owls, screech owls, grasshoppers, crickets, tree frogs, peepers, and the ultimate summer time quarry,…bullfrogs the size of the old black rotary telephones,….”Whhhhhuuummp! Whhhhhump!” Monstrous bullfrogs seeking out a mate sounded like music to our ears. Our taste buds were salivating thinking about fried frog legs.

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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Growing up in central Minnesota has some clear benefits. One being that in certain areas the law doesn’t really exist or appear often.

I was on a camping/party excursion with some friends and acquaintances (no names will be mentioned to protect the innocent). The campground was on the Mississippi River. Some people had brought fishing equipment and I asked to use it for abit. Permission was granted and I grab a rod and some beers to head down the bank of the river to wet my line and my whistle. Reaching what I thought to be a good location, I set up shop. The afternoon/early evening was nice and I was enjoying myself even with no bites on the line. Now the bait/lure I was using probably had no business being on the line for where I was, but I didn’t care, I was just hanging out.

Time went bye and I heard some rustling behind me, as though someone was coming. I thought it was someone I was camping with, no big deal, hopefully bringing me some more beers. Well I was wrong, I looked over my shoulder as they approached and saw Mr. DNR Conservation Officer! We talked for abit about the fishing, weather, blah blah blah. He asked me for my fishing license. Well, I was in a pickle since I didn’t have one. We talked for awhile longer, with no way of me getting out of this one.

Results of this was a warning, confiscation of the rod (which wasn’t even mine) and humiliation going back to camp. I paid the guy who’s rod it was for my mistake. I’ve always, always bought a fishing/hunting license for whatever I’m up to.

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