There are four hunters still to go, and the weather is starting to turn up there.  Bad weather means the deer should start moving, but it also means the roads at the ranch will get sloppy fast.  Hope everyone does well and stays safe.

I’ll provide updates as I get them.

My little brother is hunting whitetails… and doing quite well at it!  The sorry thing got me all fired up with stories of all these deer under the stand before I came out for the opener, and then I barely saw a deer after two days in the stand.  A week after I leave, he’s whacking deer again!  And then this past Saturday, he did it again!

Now he’s sending me trail cam pictures of another really nice buck.  Of course, the best I could hope for would be to get back there after Christmas… and I can guarantee that if he hasn’t killed that deer by then, it’ll be long gone from the area.  Just my luck.

Oh well, a boy can dream…

The coons showed up first.  Two juveniles waddled through the palmetto and cat claws, and fruitlessly surveyed the clearing for leftover corn.  As children do, the initial objective was quickly set aside and they began to chase one another around, finally making their way down the trail to the creek’s edge.  There ensued a wrestling match worthy of the WWF which ended with one of the critters falling over the steep edge and into the black water.  With a splash, the little coon bounded up onto the opposite bank and ran chattering through the brush.  The other jumped in, swam across, and followed.  In my mind, I could imagine the injured party screaming, “Mom!  Joey pushed me in the creek!”

And the other one trotting right along behind him, hollering, “He started it!”

The scene went briefly quiet as the sun rose over the woods, and the morning sounds began to filter in.  Cardinals sang their morning song.  A wren chirruped and flitted from branch to branch.  A woodpecker giggled insanely from atop a lightning struck pine.  A flock of resident Canada geese rose up from their roost by the highway and sailed overhead honking and cackling.  As full morning light filtered through the trees, a squirrel came out of his nest to chatter and curse at some intruder.  Crows joined the chorus with their harsh voices.  A neighbor’s dog began to bark… at the crows, the squirrels, or maybe just to be part of the cacaphony.   And over and through it all, cicadas put in their incessant buzz.

Then the Sunday traffic on Interstate 40 grew from the occasional rumble of a passing car to a nonstop roar, punctuated by the whine of Japanese motorcycles or the throb of Harley Davidsons.  The Wilmington International Airport began its daily flights and the birdsong was drowned by the drone of private planes, followed every hour or so by the roar of the big US Airways or Delta aircraft.  It was a harsh reminder that the weekend was over.  Folks were going home.  Tomorrow, I’d be going home too.

I forced the manmade chaos to the back of my consciousness, delegating the sounds to white noise, and tried to focus on the woods around me.  A pair of squirrels were browsing the ground below my stand, scurrying from spot to spot with quick, jerky movements.  Stop and start.  Stop and start.  Their bushy tails undulated like fluffy snakes as they alternately scrabbled for food and then sat upright to gnaw on their treasures, black eyes shining alertly.

Otherwise, the woods were relatively quiet except for the occasional falling of a leaf… each one hitting the ground in close approximation to the sound of a deer’s footstep and causing me to catch my breath and freeze.  I expect I must have looked a little like those squirrels, except they were tuned in to predators and I was tuned in to prey.

A couple of hours after sunrise, I was still on high alert.  The squirrels had quarreled their way back into the oaks and disappeared.  With the exception of the distant, barking hound and the ubiquitous cicadas almost drowning out the highway noise, the woods were quiet.  Quiet is a completely relative thing in this setting, but once you’ve established the baseline for ambient noise, everything else makes sense.  What you’re listening for is a change to the rhythm… a break in the white noise.

The break came.  It was behind me, over my right shoulder… in probably the most inopportune place.  I heard the crackle of leaves, or maybe the snap of a small branch.  Whatever it was didn’t belong, and it was close.  I tried to turn my stiff neck to see without moving my body.  In the extreme edge of my peripheral vision I saw a blurry shape.  No squirrel or coon… a deer.  My heart leapt, pounding up into my throat.  I’ve been in this position more times than I can count, but it happens the same way every time.  My ears start to hum, my heart buzzes like a rattlesnake’s tail, and my tongue gets kind of thick in my throat.  My face goes from hot to cold and back again.  And then everything goes into slow motion.

I eased around slowly, doing my best to appear motionless as I moved.  The deer didn’t seem to notice.  Finally, I’d turned my body enough to get a good look.  It wasn’t a single deer.  There were two.  Copper penny red in their summer coats, they browsed nonchalantly along the creek bank.  I’d ranged the area earlier, and knew they were both well within 20 yards.  If I could just turn enough to make the shot, I’d have no problem.  Unfortunately, the stand had arm rails on either side which blocked my movement.  The only way I could shoot would be to stand up.  In order to do that, I’d need the deer to move a little further, or at least bury their heads in brush.

I sat poised, hoping for the impossible when I saw the old doe following the younger pair along the well-used trail.  Unlike the reddish youngsters, she was obviously an older deer.  She didn’t quite have the swayed back, but her neck sagged a bit and her belly hung low.  Her hair was grey-brown, with pronounced grey and white around her face.  She’d be a good doe to take for management, even though the younger animals would probably make better meat.  Honestly, though, it didn’t matter to me.  I’d shoot the first one that gave me a good shot, and that’s the bottom line.

Unfortunately, with three pair of eyes less than 20 yards away, standing up and aiming the bow without creating a small stampede would pretty much be an impossibility.  I doubted I could even turn the bow toward them without standing, but making a shot in that position simply wasn’t going to happen.  All I could do was watch and hope.  If they’d cross the creek and head to the food plot, things would suddenly get simple.  All I needed to do was be patient, and then take the chip shot when it presented itself.  But first they’d need to cross the creek.

The youngsters stepped down the bank, and my hopes soared.  But just as quickly, the lead deer turned and began browsing back toward the recently cut woodlot behind me.  The other followed, and I watched in dismay as they slowly made their way in the wrong direction, steadily increasing the range.  My last landmark, a stump at 42 yards was coming up quickly.  Once past that, I’d have no shot.

The old doe was still close, though.  She wasn’t really feeding.  Some maternal instinct kept her alert, and while she never looked directly toward me, she was constantly looking in my direction.  Something beyond me had her attention, but as long as her eyes were turned in my general vicinity there was no way I could move.  Her ears swiveled, first toward me and then back toward the youngsters.  There’d be no fooling this old woman.

I stayed frozen, but the awkward angle was beginning to pull at my lower back.  Already aching from the long flight from CA to NC, the strain was too much.  I had to shift.  I tried to keep it subtle, but the metal stand gave me away with a slight creak.  That’s all it took.  The doe snorted and bolted as though she’d been hit with a cattle prod.  In a flash both she and the younger deer were bounding away across the cutdown, white flags flying as they disappeared into the distance.

I cursed, probably out loud, and eased back around in the stand.  I hung the bow back on the hook, and took a few deep breaths.  I think I’d forgotten to breathe through the whole experience, as usual, and my chest felt tight.  Disappointment threatened to darken the whole weekend, and I had to remind myself that these weren’t the only deer in the county.  Shut up and sit still, and wait to see what else comes in.

An hour later, nothing else had come.  The sun heated up the dense greenery, drawing out the moisture, and the humidity became oppressive as the thermometer rose.  Sweat ran down my face and trickled from my armpits down my ribs.  Hunger rumbled in my belly, reminding me that a breakfast bar at 07:00 is no replacement for a real meal at 10:00. The morning hunt was done.  The success of the weekend would hang on the outcome of one last evening hunt.

I guess it’s fortunate that, once the disappointment of the missed opportunity receded, I recalled that this trip wasn’t just about killing a deer.  Sure, hunting the archery opener with my little brother has become an annual tradition, but there was more going on here than the effort to poke an arrow through a whitetail deer.  It was about spending some time with my family.  In addition to hunting, I had the opportunity to see my mom for the first time since Christmas, and I also got to play with my great-nephew.  I probably won’t be seeing any of them again until the Christmas holidays.   It was good to visit, and venison or no venison, I had a great weekend.

But if it had only been about killing a deer, then the sun set on an abject failure as I climbed out of that stand for the last time that evening without so much as aiming an arrow at a North Carolina whitetail.

Just a real quick update.  Should’ve taken a picture or something, but only got a few minutes of video this morning, and forgot the camera when I went back out tonight…

Which is just as well.  This morning was so slow, I didn’t even see the ubiquitous bushytails.  The turkeys didn’t pop out of the brush to get my heart racing, the doves didn’t swoop in and wood ducks didn’t squeal overhead.  In fact, except for the roar of I-40 in the background, it was a pretty damned quiet morning.

This evening started with promise.  The afternoon heat dropped out a bit and a breeze came up.  It was light, but between that and the Thermacell, it was enough to manage the starving hordes of mosquitos.  Hurricane Irene didn’t do a lot of damage here, but all that rain got the skeeter population up and running!  I can’t say it enough, but thank heavens for Thermacell!

About an hour before sunset, the squirrels showed up.  I get a kick out of watching their antics, even though they can sure get the pulse up when they hop on a branch during a quiet lull.  I kept waiting to see them scatter as the bucks came rolling in, but the deer never showed.

So day one is down, and the deer are quite safe and unscathed.  Thankfully, NC now allows Sunday bowhunting on private property, so I get another chance tomorrow.  I’ve got high hopes, although I’m pretty sure at this point that the “game cam” pictures my brother keeps showing me are actually taken at a deer farm down in Texas.

More to come…

In my mind, I’m going, to Carolina.

Actually, it’s not in my mind at all… it’s for real!  With hurricane Katia pretty safely out of the equation, the way is open for me to fly back “home” for a weekend of family visiting and whitetail hunting.  Saturday is the NC archery opener down there, and my little brother swears he has a bunch of deer all staked out on his place.

By this time tomorrow, I should be on the ground and sweating in the southeastern NC humidity, and by this time Saturday, I hope to be skinning a fat deer (and also sweating).  Buck or doe… it doesn’t matter too much to me!

I’ve been warming up the Mathews, and feeling pretty good about my shooting.  I’ve sharpened up my Slick-Trick broadheads All I really need now is a cooperative deer (or two) to stroll under my stand.    I’d prefer that they stand slightly quartering away, between 17 and 22 yards… but I’ll take a slightly less opportunity should it appear.

And yeah, I expect that ol’ Murphy is kicking back, laughing his butt off at me right now.  But I’m stoked, and ready to break Murphy’s Law for a change… instead of the other way around.

Not sure I’ll have a post tomorrow or Monday, but I’ll bring updates as soon as I have them!

For years, one of the key arguments in the hunting pro vs. con debate has been that hunting is a valid tool for managing wildlife populations.  It’s been the justification for everything from extended seasons and liberal bag limits to urban hunts and special weapons exceptions.  While I think the population control argument is often misused and over-generalized, it does hold water in some cases.  Whitetail deer are one good example, and according to this recent article in the Augusta (GA) Chronicle (found thanks to the Field and Stream Field Notes blog), the impact may finally be starting to show.  Hunters in the parts of Georgia are reporting far fewer deer in the woods, which should translate to fewer deer consuming crops and wrecking vehicles.

The article is pretty clear in setting out the hunters as proactive forces, calling for changes in the seasons and limits in response to falling populations.  That area of Georgia has a 12 deer limit and a season that runs from early September through the end of January.  Many hunters who have been impacted are suggesting a reduction in the limit, or changing the seasons so that less does are killed. 

Of course, there’s also a lot of speculation that coyotes are having a significant impact on the population as well as hunters.  Coyotes are relatively new in the southeastern states, so their impact on local ecosystems is still undetermined.  It’s certainly not impossible that coyotes are to blame, but I do think folks tend to dump a lot more blame on them than they deserve.  I’ll be interested in seeing what the research turns up. 

At any rate, the whole thing raises some questions.  Is this downturn in the deer population a good thing or a bad thing?  Is it the fruition of the wildlife management program working to reduce the deer herd to more realistic levels (and how do the biologists in GA determine what is “realistic”)?  Or is this a sign of a system out of order? 

It is worth noting that, along with the extended season and limits, Georgia has also implemented a quality management program to improve the “quality” of the bucks.  Of the 12 deer limit, two must be bucks, and one of those must be a buck with at least four points on one side.  The idea, of course, is to reduce the pressure on younger bucks by encouraging hunters to take does instead, and then only to fill the buck tag with large-antlered deer… allowing the younger deer to grow to maturity.  I can’t help wondering if this doesn’t somehow skew the population statistics, given the reluctance many hunters have for shooting does and the increased harvest of mature bucks.  Many of the commenters on the Chronicle story report seeing less fawns during the spring.  Could this be because less deer are breeding?

Of course there are tons of possible explanations, including the likelihood that the downturn is localized and not statewide.  It’ll be interesting to see if other states with liberal seasons and limits (AL, SC, NC) also see a drop in deer numbers. 

I’d love to read some of your thoughts on this.

Well, I’m back from the last of my major trips for this year.  Following a few weeks of Coon Camp Springs action, I was fortunate enough to be invited out to Catalina Island to hunt desert mule deer (brought in decades ago from the San Diego area). 

I can’t thank Hank Shaw (Hunter Angler Gardener Cook) enough for facilitating the invitation… even if he did bail out on us at the last minute.  I’m also short on words to thank my hosts, Charlie and Vycki (did I spell that right?), over on Catalina.  The hospitality they showed me, a total stranger, extended all the way to giving up their bed and moving into a tent for the four days I was on the island.  Charlie’s eagerness to show me the island and some primo deer hunting also went well beyond my expectations.  There’s no way I could have asked for more in that department!

So what about the hunt?

It was a big transition, coming down from the frozen elevations of Coon Camp Springs and boarding the ferry in Long Beach in 75 degree heat, but I couldn’t ask for better weather for the hour-long ride across the channel.  I’d been to Catalina once before, as a stopover on a cruise.  That time, I’d only been there long enough to do a kayak tour around some of the island and stop into a local bar for a couple of drinks.  Even then, I couldn’t help but dream of getting a chance to hunt the interior of the island.  This would be my chance.

Charlie de la Rosa is one of the guides, and would be my host for the three day hunt.  Charlie’s regular role on the island is working on the invasive plant program for the Catalina Conservancy.  I never did think to ask how he went from that to guiding hunters.  However, I did learn that the Conservancy had taken on the hunting program after several years in the hands of a private outfitting company.  The plan, as I understand it, was to try to increase the take of does as opposed to the prior focus on trophy bucks.  This would help keep the population at a manageable level.  On this hunt, I’d have two tags, one antlerless and one either-sex. 

The new program includes significantly reduced prices for the guided hunts, but apparently there wasn’t much advertising this season.  Like many people, I was under the impression that the hunting program at Catalina was ending, so I was surprised to find out that hunting was going strong, with no end in sight.   I didn’t get as much info about the hunting program as I should have (where was my head?), but I intend to rectify that soon.  Stay tuned.

At any rate, Charlie met me at the ferry landing, moving through the crowd of sight-seers with the loping stride of someone who spends a lot of time walking in steep country.  Within moments of meeting him, I felt right at ease.  As Hank had mentioned before, Charlie is “good people,” and a pleasure to be around.   We tossed my gear in the truck and headed to the Middle Ranch, where we’d be based for the duration.  (Regular clients, by the way, stay in well-appointed wall tents on a high bluff, with a killer ocean view.) 

First things first, we headed over to the shooting range to check zero on my 30-06.  The Savage has been bouncing around in the back of the truck for a couple of months, and sure enough, my first two shots were about two inches left and an inch or two low.  I made the adjustments to get it back to dead-on (I zero at 100 yards), and we were ready to hunt.  I was feeling pretty confident with the rifle shooting so well.  (more…)

Well one thing after another, huh?

So I actually returned from Coon Camp Springs on Wednesday night.  On Thursday morning, as I prepared to catch up on the Wacky Wild Web, something hiccuped and my Internet connection went bye-bye.  Two hours of rebooting routers, modems, and computers didn’t do anything except get me really, really frustrated. 

Kat’s call later to AT&T only served to reheat that stew, and get her pretty riled up as well.  The best they could offer was to have someone out on the 16th… TUESDAY!  Boy, I’m sure glad they broke up the Bell monopoly and made life better for us customers. 

Anyway, enough venting on that topic.  Can’t change it.

I’m online now from a Holiday Inn Express in Lebec, CA.  Tomorrow morning at 10:00, I plan to be on a ferry heading for Catalina Island, where I’ll be deer hunting with a new friend, Charlie de la Rosa, thanks to another friend, Hank Shaw.  How this whole thing came about is sort of an extended tale for another day, but for now I’ll just say I’m tickled to have this opportunity… even if it does mean I’m out of the house almost before my laundry is dry from the last trip.

A full write-up of the Coon Camp hunts is in the offing, so if you’re curious it’ll be here before you know it.  Patience is a virtue.

OK, so much for the attempt at the alliterative title… sometimes it works, sometimes… not so much.

Anyway, I am home, and it was hot.  

The plan for this weekend was to get out with Holly and a friend she met at the Women’s Hunting Camp.  Her new friend wanted to get a taste of deer hunting, so Holly must have figured the sadistic thing to do would be take her out on a mid-season, public land hunt.  One thing I can say with some certainty… if you come back for more after one of these trips, you’ve definitely got hunting in your blood.

Also along on the trip was my friend Dave Allen.  Dave spends most of his weekends working on the habitat projects up at Coon Camp Springs, and this would be his only weekend to actually use his B-zone deer tag.  In a couple of weeks we’ll have paying clients up at Coon Camp, which is sort of like hunting… only not quite.  It’s as close as we’ve been to actually getting to hunt the property since we started the habitat projects up there, though. 

The final member of the planned party was Payton, the 16 year-old son of another friend.  This would be Payton’s first time hunting big game.  He’s followed along with me a time or two, but on this trip he’d be toting a .270 and a valid tag.  It would be quite the hunting party.

Except for the party pooper… Holly.

As the weekend got closer, Holly emailed to tell me that, due to some things going on in her professional life she’d have to bail on the hunt.  With her out, her friend would also be pulling out of the trip (and who could blame her for not wanting to go out alone into the wilderness with three strange, armed men?).   That certainly put a bit of a damper on the plans, but Dave and Payton were set to go and of course I was chomping at the bit for any opportunity to get into the field.

We set up camp at the trailhead and proceeded to spend two and a half days swatting flies and sweating.  We saw a few deer, but no legal bucks.  By Sunday, as Payton and I sat on a high ridgetop overlooking a dense field of chemise and scrub oak, the temperatures were tapping the 106 degree mark.  My brain was boiling inside my skull when I finally decided to call it a day.  By the time Payton and I staggered back to the truck, my eyes were rolling and my head felt like someone was pounding from the inside out with an 8-pound sledge.  It didn’t help to find that we’d somehow gone through an entire case of water in less than two days. 

Dave had taken the “scenic route” back to camp (he’s a bit of a madman) and finally came stumbling in around 4:00.  We briefly debated heading out for the evening hunt, but without water, I didn’t want to chance it.  I’ve had a couple of real close calls with dehydration and heat exhaustion… no need to reinforce the lessons.

We relaxed in the little bit of shade that was left in camp until the shadows were starting to fill the canyon.  I decided we’d break camp and drive up to a lookout to do some glassing.  While I doubt anyone was up for a 500 yard sprint if we actually spotted a buck, it was a nice way to finish out the day.  Besides, I had the new 25-75x82mm Field Scope from Nikon that I wanted to try out. 

Of course, we were glassing the area that I would have hunted that evening, if we’d had the energy (and the water).  With about 45 minutes of shooting light left in the day, I spotted movement at about 900 yards.  Sure enough, a deer stepped out into the clearing.  Another followed, and then I made out the shape of one more in the bushes.  I put the spotting scope on them, and cranked up the magnification.  At about 40-power, I could clearly see that at least two of the deer were does.  The third wouldn’t show me a good look.  I cranked the scope up higher, but at about 60x, the tripod was too unstable to get a clear picture. 

I backed off the power and waited for the third deer to step into the open.  Just then, the largest doe looked back over her shoulder, into the dense chaparral.  Her ears pricked forward and her tail flicked.  Suddenly all three deer bolted across the clearing and into a draw.  I kept the glasses trained on the clearing, hoping to see that they were running from a randy buck, but nothing ever stepped out.  The shadows got deeper until it was nearly impossible to see anything at all. 

As we got back into the truck, I wondered aloud which of us would have been willing to make the dive into the canyon and across the meadows to attempt a shot if a buck had, indeed, appeared.  I got blank looks and then Dave, one of the most hardcore guys I know, shook his head.  “You guys could have him,” he said with a snort. 

I still wonder what he’d have said if a buck had shown up.  I enjoyed the mental picture of a breakneck race between him and Payton as they jockeyed to get into range and take the shot.  Me?  I’d have been there to shoot the whole thing on video… right from the truck.

On this hunt, I got my first real opportunity to try out some optics from Nikon.  In addition to the Field Scope, they also sent me the Monarch X, 10.5×45 binocular.  I used the binocular in NC, during my bowhunt there, but in that thick country you can’t really see more than 75 or 100 yards so it wasn’t much of a trial.  Out in Kokopelli Valley, on the other hand, there are sweeping vistas where quality optics are your best friend.

In short, I was pretty impressed with the Monarch X.  It’s probably unfair to compare them to my Leica Geovids, but they did actually compare somewhat favorably (and consider that they’re about one-fifth of the cost of the Leica).  The glass is clear and bright under all light conditions from pre-dawn to dusk.  I was able to pick out the subtle shades of a doe feeding in chemise at well over 700 yards, which I think is a good test of any hunting optic. 

The Monarch X is also fairly lightweight (don’t recall the actual weight, but you can find the specs on the Nikon website), and felt good in my hands during extended glassing.  I expect that with a tripod mount, these would be an excellent choice for most western hunting situations… especially when backed up with the Field Scope. 

I’ll be putting these glasses through their paces a lot over the coming months, both on my own hunts and while guiding.  I especially looking forward to using the Field Scope while guiding at Coon Camp Springs this season.  I expect it’s going to be a really useful addition to my gear. 

After spending some time catching up on the blogs from my blogroll, it looks like the youngsters are off to a great start in the 201o hunting season. 

Up in Michigan,  Arthur’s (Simply Outdoors) nephew, Tyler, scored on a nice little doe to kick off his whitetail deer season.  According to Arthur’s account , while Tyler helped finish off a deer last year, this is his first solo kill. 

I still remember how that felt when I was a kid, so congratulations to Tyler!  Here’s to many more successful hunts!

Closer to home, my friend and fellow Skinny Moose blogger, John Martin has been keeping a chronicle of his 2010-2011 hunting season on his Western Wanderer blog.  So far, the mythical blacktail buck has eluded him, but he and his daughter, Erin, have been out there giving it their best.  On a recent hunt in Sonoma County, John and Erin had a couple of close encounters with feral hogs.  The first shot went wild, but a few moments later, Erin connected for the one-shot kill, and her wild hog was on the ground. 

Nice work, Erin!  Now your dad just needs to take a lesson from you and score his own critters!  Good luck over the remainder of the deer season.