Jerry
Fri February 28th,2003, 02:15 PM
Welcome back, friends and neighbors! Grab some coffee and pull up a chair.
It's time again, for another episode of the He-man's Cold-blooded Coyote Ugly Hunting Camp.
At this point in the story, it's day three and I've survived demonic snoring, bouts with deer urine and hobgoblins. I figure it's time for some serious hunting. There's still 4 days left in the hunting trip, and I'm ready to get primal with some furry critters.
Now, I've been hunting since age seven, when my grandfather bought me a brand new 410 Savage shotgun for my birthday. In fact, I broke it in, in the woods surrounding the He-man's Cold-blooded Coyote Ugly hunting camp, all those many years ago. Since that time, I've hunted about every type of game on the North American continent. Big horn sheep and elk. Antelope, black bear, javelina, whitetail and mule deer and an assortment of smaller game. Years ago, I tried my hand at archery and fell in love with it. My wife is also an archer, and a very accomplished archer, at that. She shoots against the 'big boys' in Bowhunter tournaments, every year and holds her own, admirably. So, on this particular hunting trip, she and I had decided to leave the firearms at home and rely entirely on our bowhunting prowess. The other folks in camp were hunting with muzzle loading firearms and took great pleasure in ridiculing our choice of hunting equipment. As my youngest brother, Paul so succinctly stated, If the Good Lord had meant for men to hunt with bows, he wouldn't have invented gunpowder." Something sounded terribly wrong with that statement, but I knew better than to argue with him when he assumed his 'dime-store philosopher' mode.
So on the third day, I hit the woods with a 'climbing deer stand' and my bow. My first mistake of the day was getting out of bed at 4 am. Like a lead balloon, or a bowling ball rolling off a table, the day went downhill from there.
There was old 'flat' consisting of pin oak trees not far from camp, where I used to see lots of deer. That was my destination. My wife, Jo had a spot picked out ringed with honeysuckle thickets so we went in opposite directions. I should have went with her.
It was cold that morning. About 20 degrees. The clouds were moving out and stars were peeking out like so many thousands of twinkling Christmas lights. After a brisk, half hour walk, I found the area I was looking for and selected a tree for my stand. For those of you who may not be familiar with climbing tree stands, those things are an enigma. Both simplicity in the extreme and an engineering marvel. The stand is a two-piece contraption that fits around the trunk of a tree. By using an 'inch worm' type of motion, a hunter can climb a smooth, straight trunked tree from ground to top in minutes. Once you're at the desired height, you simply apply straps to hold the stand firmly in place. Then, you relax and watch the sights below. My own climbing stand is like a 'Lazy Boy recliner," complete with a hammock-style easy chair. I can literally go to sleep and with little worry of falling. The whole thing weighs less than 30 lbs. and features a safety harness, in case I should decide to sleep walk. Of course, there are 'some' concerns like remembering all your gear before you start the climb. Which of course, I didn't.
Selecting a long trunked loblolly pine tree, I quickly attached the stand and began my assent. I generally hunt from a height of about 22-25 feet off the ground. After reaching the desired height, I reached for the straps to secure the stand. And as fate would have it, they weren't where they were supposed to be. Using my flashlight, I finally located them. Down on the ground. So, down I went. 22 feet, back the way I came. Stuffing those jokers in my pocket, I started back up the tree. Huffing and puffing, I made my way back to the 22 feet mark and strapped the stand securely to the tree. Then I reached for the safety harness. It was nowhere to be found. I had a sinking feeling that I knew where it was. Down I went.
By now, the dawn was breaking. I really needed to be in place, by now. But I don't sit in anything taller than a kitchen chair without my safety harness. I quickly located the harness and started back up. As I climbed, I noticed that my 'mark' looked much higher than 22 feet. More like 122 feet. Still, I managed to reach the mark and once more, anchored the stand, then attached the harness to the tree, then myself.
Using a long cord, I pulled my bow up from the ground and finally, I settled back into the comfortable seat. I was sweating like a 2 dollar well digger by now. I tried to relax and regain my breath, when I heard a loud 'snorting' sound. The kind of sound made by mature buck deer when they're disturbed by something out of the ordinary. I pulled an arrow from the quiver and laid it against the bow. And out from behind a small cluster of pin oak trees, stepped a large deer. A VERY large deer. My heart jumped into my throat. This was a deer among deer. A kingly fellow, with massive antlers and a dark brown coat, streaked with silver.
Now, I shoot one of those real 'he-man' bows. The kind that causes hernias to lesser men. That day, I was less than a lesser man. As I drew back the bow, I felt an odd 'twinge' in my shoulder. The twinge was immediately followed by the worst muscle spasm I've ever experienced. I mean, I was frozen solid with a cramp in a muscle that I didn't even know I had. I tried to turn my upper body to relieve the spasm and only succeeded in making it worse. In fact, it seemed to spread down my shoulder, into my back. It was like playing that old game, Twister, while suspended 20 plus feet off the ground.
The buck, startled by the commotion, looked up directly at me. Normally, deer don't look up. They only have one natural enemy that strikes from above, and that's humans. And they only see humans in the wild a couple of months each year. But I was making enough racket, he had little trouble locating the source. Then he did a peculiar thing. He laid down beneath a small sapling and watched me. From about 20 yards away. Just laid there...and watched....me.
Now, as I've said, I've been hunting for many years. And never, but never, have I ever had a deer see me, then lay down to watch. And there was nothing I could do about it.
I could see that the deer was an aging buck. Massive of both body and horn, he had been around for a while. The old boy wouldn't be around much longer, with or without my assistance. And there we were. Him looking at me, as I struggled like a contortionist in a sideshow.
Suddenly, a boom shattered the silence, and the buck leapt up and bounded away, startled but unharmed. I nearly messed my pants. I tried in vain to locate the source of the gunshot, but couldn't turn my head far enough without some serious pain. Then, this whining, "nasal" voice called out, "Yo, the tree!"
"Yo, the tree??" I thought. Then, one of the strangest looking fellows I had ever seen came walking up, to a spot just below my stand. He was nearly as round as he was tall, with a short, white beard and dressed like the cartoon character, Elmer Fudd. Green plaid coat, with what looked like forest green polyester pants. In the crook of one arm, he carried an antique-looking double barreled black powder shotgun. Surely, I thought, Buggs Bunny can't be far behind.
"You see that big ole deer?", he asked, excitedly. "Yep, I saw him," I replied. "Man, that was a big ole deer!" he said again. I nodded, as best I could and said, "Yep." The guy then walked underneath my stand and took a seat at the base of my tree. "Hmmm...excuse me," I said, but I'm hunting here." I couldn't see him very well but I could hear him quite clearly. "Then why didn't you shoot that big ole deer?"
I wasn't sure how to answer that one. And I was really getting sick of hearing, "Big ole deer," in that clipped accent of his. "Look, do you mind if I get back to hunting, now? Could you maybe find another tree to sit under?" Suddenly, I smelled pipe tobacco. Deer have notoriously sensitive noses and hours from now, that smell would still linger about my tree. I was nearly beside myself. The nerve of this guy... smoking his pipe under my tree stand! I was too outraged to speak. I tried to talk, but it came out as a strangled "aarrhhggg#%X@%&@." (While I thought he bore a striking resemblence to Elmer Fudd, in all fairness, I'm pretty sure that at this point, I looked like a cross between the Tazmanian Devil and Goofy, the dog.
I guess my colorful expressions captured his attention, because he walked out from under my stand long enough to glance up. Then the fella pulls something wrapped in foil from a coat pocket. Taking his sweet time, he peels back the foil to reveal a thick ham sandwich. Tamping out the fire in his pipe, he put it away and began eating the sandwich. With his mouth stuffed full of ham and bread, he called up to me, "Yep, that sure was a big ole deer. I think ah'll track him a ways." With that, he sits down on the frozen ground and removes his boots. Tying the strings together, he looped the boots around his neck and stood, retrieving his shotgun in the process. "Welp, ah'll just be on mah way, now. Pleasent day and good luck to ya." Then, he wandered off, eating a ham sandwhich, feet clad in argyle socks, in the direction of the long-gone deer."
Now, folks...Over the years, I've had some wonderful things happen in these woods. And some, not so wonderful. Then again, some were downright 'weird.' But I had NEVER had an encounter that infuriated me so much as this encounter with "Elmer Fudd." Thank the Good Lord, I couldn't get down from my lofty perch, or no doubt, something dreadful would have happened to Mr. Fudd , myself, or the both of us.
After an hour or so, the pain in my shoulder and back subsided sufficiently for me to climb down and head back to camp. Arriving, I found the camp alive with activity. A new load of relatives had arrived that morning, and there would be a feast later in the afternoon. Tired and still fuming from my encounter, I stowed my gear and limped to the campfire, where I gingerly poured a cup of coffee. As I raised the steaming mug to my lips, I heard, "Hey! I know that feller!" Recognizing the voice, I spewed coffee over half an acre. Sure enough, standing 20 yards away was my brother Cliff, and with him, was the cartoon character who was pointing in my direction.
Cliff walked toward me with the still bootless Mr. Fudd, in tow. "I see you've already met," said Cliff. I felt my face burning but I kept my mouth tightly shut and merely nodded. "Well, we didn't get around to names," said the cartoon guy. "Oh, said Cliff. "Then allow me. Lem, this is Yankee Bolin. Yankee will be staying with us for a couple of days as my guest." Turning to Yankee, he said, "And this is my oldest brother, Lem." Yankee nodded and said, "Yep, we met. He's the feller that let that big ole deer get away." I felt a blood vessel burst in my forehead.
As crazy as the first two days had been, my vacation was about to take a serious turn for the ludicrous.
continued in part 7 (http://www.huntseek.com/forums/showthread.php?t=2907)
Copyright © 2000 by L. Jackson
Reprinted by permission.
It's time again, for another episode of the He-man's Cold-blooded Coyote Ugly Hunting Camp.
At this point in the story, it's day three and I've survived demonic snoring, bouts with deer urine and hobgoblins. I figure it's time for some serious hunting. There's still 4 days left in the hunting trip, and I'm ready to get primal with some furry critters.
Now, I've been hunting since age seven, when my grandfather bought me a brand new 410 Savage shotgun for my birthday. In fact, I broke it in, in the woods surrounding the He-man's Cold-blooded Coyote Ugly hunting camp, all those many years ago. Since that time, I've hunted about every type of game on the North American continent. Big horn sheep and elk. Antelope, black bear, javelina, whitetail and mule deer and an assortment of smaller game. Years ago, I tried my hand at archery and fell in love with it. My wife is also an archer, and a very accomplished archer, at that. She shoots against the 'big boys' in Bowhunter tournaments, every year and holds her own, admirably. So, on this particular hunting trip, she and I had decided to leave the firearms at home and rely entirely on our bowhunting prowess. The other folks in camp were hunting with muzzle loading firearms and took great pleasure in ridiculing our choice of hunting equipment. As my youngest brother, Paul so succinctly stated, If the Good Lord had meant for men to hunt with bows, he wouldn't have invented gunpowder." Something sounded terribly wrong with that statement, but I knew better than to argue with him when he assumed his 'dime-store philosopher' mode.
So on the third day, I hit the woods with a 'climbing deer stand' and my bow. My first mistake of the day was getting out of bed at 4 am. Like a lead balloon, or a bowling ball rolling off a table, the day went downhill from there.
There was old 'flat' consisting of pin oak trees not far from camp, where I used to see lots of deer. That was my destination. My wife, Jo had a spot picked out ringed with honeysuckle thickets so we went in opposite directions. I should have went with her.
It was cold that morning. About 20 degrees. The clouds were moving out and stars were peeking out like so many thousands of twinkling Christmas lights. After a brisk, half hour walk, I found the area I was looking for and selected a tree for my stand. For those of you who may not be familiar with climbing tree stands, those things are an enigma. Both simplicity in the extreme and an engineering marvel. The stand is a two-piece contraption that fits around the trunk of a tree. By using an 'inch worm' type of motion, a hunter can climb a smooth, straight trunked tree from ground to top in minutes. Once you're at the desired height, you simply apply straps to hold the stand firmly in place. Then, you relax and watch the sights below. My own climbing stand is like a 'Lazy Boy recliner," complete with a hammock-style easy chair. I can literally go to sleep and with little worry of falling. The whole thing weighs less than 30 lbs. and features a safety harness, in case I should decide to sleep walk. Of course, there are 'some' concerns like remembering all your gear before you start the climb. Which of course, I didn't.
Selecting a long trunked loblolly pine tree, I quickly attached the stand and began my assent. I generally hunt from a height of about 22-25 feet off the ground. After reaching the desired height, I reached for the straps to secure the stand. And as fate would have it, they weren't where they were supposed to be. Using my flashlight, I finally located them. Down on the ground. So, down I went. 22 feet, back the way I came. Stuffing those jokers in my pocket, I started back up the tree. Huffing and puffing, I made my way back to the 22 feet mark and strapped the stand securely to the tree. Then I reached for the safety harness. It was nowhere to be found. I had a sinking feeling that I knew where it was. Down I went.
By now, the dawn was breaking. I really needed to be in place, by now. But I don't sit in anything taller than a kitchen chair without my safety harness. I quickly located the harness and started back up. As I climbed, I noticed that my 'mark' looked much higher than 22 feet. More like 122 feet. Still, I managed to reach the mark and once more, anchored the stand, then attached the harness to the tree, then myself.
Using a long cord, I pulled my bow up from the ground and finally, I settled back into the comfortable seat. I was sweating like a 2 dollar well digger by now. I tried to relax and regain my breath, when I heard a loud 'snorting' sound. The kind of sound made by mature buck deer when they're disturbed by something out of the ordinary. I pulled an arrow from the quiver and laid it against the bow. And out from behind a small cluster of pin oak trees, stepped a large deer. A VERY large deer. My heart jumped into my throat. This was a deer among deer. A kingly fellow, with massive antlers and a dark brown coat, streaked with silver.
Now, I shoot one of those real 'he-man' bows. The kind that causes hernias to lesser men. That day, I was less than a lesser man. As I drew back the bow, I felt an odd 'twinge' in my shoulder. The twinge was immediately followed by the worst muscle spasm I've ever experienced. I mean, I was frozen solid with a cramp in a muscle that I didn't even know I had. I tried to turn my upper body to relieve the spasm and only succeeded in making it worse. In fact, it seemed to spread down my shoulder, into my back. It was like playing that old game, Twister, while suspended 20 plus feet off the ground.
The buck, startled by the commotion, looked up directly at me. Normally, deer don't look up. They only have one natural enemy that strikes from above, and that's humans. And they only see humans in the wild a couple of months each year. But I was making enough racket, he had little trouble locating the source. Then he did a peculiar thing. He laid down beneath a small sapling and watched me. From about 20 yards away. Just laid there...and watched....me.
Now, as I've said, I've been hunting for many years. And never, but never, have I ever had a deer see me, then lay down to watch. And there was nothing I could do about it.
I could see that the deer was an aging buck. Massive of both body and horn, he had been around for a while. The old boy wouldn't be around much longer, with or without my assistance. And there we were. Him looking at me, as I struggled like a contortionist in a sideshow.
Suddenly, a boom shattered the silence, and the buck leapt up and bounded away, startled but unharmed. I nearly messed my pants. I tried in vain to locate the source of the gunshot, but couldn't turn my head far enough without some serious pain. Then, this whining, "nasal" voice called out, "Yo, the tree!"
"Yo, the tree??" I thought. Then, one of the strangest looking fellows I had ever seen came walking up, to a spot just below my stand. He was nearly as round as he was tall, with a short, white beard and dressed like the cartoon character, Elmer Fudd. Green plaid coat, with what looked like forest green polyester pants. In the crook of one arm, he carried an antique-looking double barreled black powder shotgun. Surely, I thought, Buggs Bunny can't be far behind.
"You see that big ole deer?", he asked, excitedly. "Yep, I saw him," I replied. "Man, that was a big ole deer!" he said again. I nodded, as best I could and said, "Yep." The guy then walked underneath my stand and took a seat at the base of my tree. "Hmmm...excuse me," I said, but I'm hunting here." I couldn't see him very well but I could hear him quite clearly. "Then why didn't you shoot that big ole deer?"
I wasn't sure how to answer that one. And I was really getting sick of hearing, "Big ole deer," in that clipped accent of his. "Look, do you mind if I get back to hunting, now? Could you maybe find another tree to sit under?" Suddenly, I smelled pipe tobacco. Deer have notoriously sensitive noses and hours from now, that smell would still linger about my tree. I was nearly beside myself. The nerve of this guy... smoking his pipe under my tree stand! I was too outraged to speak. I tried to talk, but it came out as a strangled "aarrhhggg#%X@%&@." (While I thought he bore a striking resemblence to Elmer Fudd, in all fairness, I'm pretty sure that at this point, I looked like a cross between the Tazmanian Devil and Goofy, the dog.
I guess my colorful expressions captured his attention, because he walked out from under my stand long enough to glance up. Then the fella pulls something wrapped in foil from a coat pocket. Taking his sweet time, he peels back the foil to reveal a thick ham sandwich. Tamping out the fire in his pipe, he put it away and began eating the sandwich. With his mouth stuffed full of ham and bread, he called up to me, "Yep, that sure was a big ole deer. I think ah'll track him a ways." With that, he sits down on the frozen ground and removes his boots. Tying the strings together, he looped the boots around his neck and stood, retrieving his shotgun in the process. "Welp, ah'll just be on mah way, now. Pleasent day and good luck to ya." Then, he wandered off, eating a ham sandwhich, feet clad in argyle socks, in the direction of the long-gone deer."
Now, folks...Over the years, I've had some wonderful things happen in these woods. And some, not so wonderful. Then again, some were downright 'weird.' But I had NEVER had an encounter that infuriated me so much as this encounter with "Elmer Fudd." Thank the Good Lord, I couldn't get down from my lofty perch, or no doubt, something dreadful would have happened to Mr. Fudd , myself, or the both of us.
After an hour or so, the pain in my shoulder and back subsided sufficiently for me to climb down and head back to camp. Arriving, I found the camp alive with activity. A new load of relatives had arrived that morning, and there would be a feast later in the afternoon. Tired and still fuming from my encounter, I stowed my gear and limped to the campfire, where I gingerly poured a cup of coffee. As I raised the steaming mug to my lips, I heard, "Hey! I know that feller!" Recognizing the voice, I spewed coffee over half an acre. Sure enough, standing 20 yards away was my brother Cliff, and with him, was the cartoon character who was pointing in my direction.
Cliff walked toward me with the still bootless Mr. Fudd, in tow. "I see you've already met," said Cliff. I felt my face burning but I kept my mouth tightly shut and merely nodded. "Well, we didn't get around to names," said the cartoon guy. "Oh, said Cliff. "Then allow me. Lem, this is Yankee Bolin. Yankee will be staying with us for a couple of days as my guest." Turning to Yankee, he said, "And this is my oldest brother, Lem." Yankee nodded and said, "Yep, we met. He's the feller that let that big ole deer get away." I felt a blood vessel burst in my forehead.
As crazy as the first two days had been, my vacation was about to take a serious turn for the ludicrous.
continued in part 7 (http://www.huntseek.com/forums/showthread.php?t=2907)
Copyright © 2000 by L. Jackson
Reprinted by permission.