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Published by new.age.archery-zblake on 13 Apr 2010

Magnus Bullhead?

does n e one shoot the 100gr magnus bullheads?

are the 125grs better?

what arrows do you use?

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Published by GTWELCH on 13 Apr 2010

East Tx or the Hill country

Anyone know of a lease thats taking on new bowhunters?

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Published by bowcrazy on 09 Apr 2010

Need help with shooting problem!!!

I have a parker buckshot bow and i am having a problem with the shooting. I just sighted it in and it was shooting perfectly all of the sudden iit started to shoot high
and to the left. I thought i was just getting tired. I come back a couple of days later and it is shooting high and to the left and i have not touched the sights since i ajusted it. And i am 90% sure it is not me, I am checking the peep to make sure it is straight and i am checking to make sure i am not torqeing the bow and i am not moving just after the shot. Any ideas? I NEED HELP PLEASE!!!!!

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Published by kevhunts on 08 Apr 2010

turkeys

Beside being right in the city on front lawns and sidewalks….where are all the massachusetts turkeys?

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Published by big b on 04 Apr 2010

ohio hunting trip

just wondering if any one has been too southernohiooutfitters if so how would rate the hunt and outfitter

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Published by D.A.Vaughan on 29 Mar 2010

Mi ASA Outdoor Shoot

There will be a Mi ASA Outdoor Shoot on 04-17-10 /04-18-10  

Shotgun Starts at 9:00 am /1:30 pm Both days

30  3D targets

Rolls and Coffee and Lunch available

Chief Okemos Sportsman’s Club

4667 N Gunnell Rd (note some google maps miss spell this road a gannell)

Dimondale,Mi. 48821

Contact-Dave Walter 517 646 0701

e-mail cosc10rings@yahoo.com

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Published by Enders5107 on 23 Mar 2010

Full Draw Fanatics

i seen this sight the other day while looking for a name for a hunting company im trying to start up thought i was well put together for accouple of young kids good job guys http://www.wix.com/enders5107/Full-Draw-Fanatics

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Published by archerchick on 22 Mar 2010

Bowhunting With The Dutchman – By H.R. “Dutch” Wambold

Bowhunting with the Dutchman – by H.R. “Dutch” Wambold
Archery World March 1970
The Bull Moose Gan be timid or mean–but never a PUSHOVER ! !

“Yeah, I’ve been moose hunting. It’s like shooting some farmer’s cow in a pasture!’, Words to this effect have been said time and time again, by word of mouth as well as written in many outdoor stories. A lot of hunters have shied away from hunting this great trophy simply because they
have been misinformed as to the actual status of the largest antlered animal that ever lived on this
earth.

Without any doubt, these opinions have been uttered by hunters who shot bulls at long range
with their scoped rifles-far beyond any appreciable distance where even the eagle-eyed ram would be aware of the hunter’s presence.  Meeting this patriarch of the big forest on his own grounds, stalking the bull to within 100 feet or less, and facing better than half a ton of bone and muscle that carries a set of antlers that reminds one of the stabilizer on a piper Cub, can be mighty
interesting-especially when the man is bowhunting, and the bull is itching for a fight!

Let’s stop tor a moment and consider the dimensions of this big fellow. A mature bull stands
about seven and one-half feet at the shoulders, weighs around 1800 pounds on the hoof, and may
carry a set of antlers you could stretch out in!

His four and one-half foot stilt-like legs can strike like a deadly cobra, and are capable of carrying that big heap of steaks into the forest without any more noise than a chipmunk if the need be! When a bull feeds on overhead browse, he can stand on his hind legs and pull down foliage growing twelve feet above the ground!  If the bull is really intent on some succulent birch tips that are higher, he merely runs his chin up along the saplings forcing the branches lower , and strips the leaves off up to 20 feet above the ground!

Primarily, a bull will stick fairly close to an area of about five square miles as his territory, and
leave only when the mating urge during the rut will find him on the prowl looking for cows or another bull to fight.

Hunters who have shot bulls before or after the rutting season will find the bulls drowsy, eating
and chewing their cud, and presenting a somewhat easy target at 100 yards or better.

The bowhunter realizes that the best time to hunt a bull is during the rut. This changes the
picture considerably, finding the bull as nervous as a thoroughbred at the starting gate, ready to
fight at the first sound of your approach, and as formidable as an army tank that has run berserk!

When a mature bull has that love light in his eyes, nothing is too big to challenge. Many a
hunter has been driven up a tree and kept there for hours. Snow plows have been charged, and the Canadian Pacific railway engineers have stopped many a train when some bull squared off in the middle of the tracks-ready to take on the diesel engine without any qualms!

I will never forget one experience encountered with a rutting bull while hunting Stone Sheep in
the Cassiars of British Columbia. The hunt took place in the middle of October, and the moose
were at the peak of their rut. We had spotted a group of five rams and made three unsuccessful
stalks on each of three days. The fourth day, we found our five rams high on the lee side of a peak, bedded in the open of the barren, snow-swept shale.

After studying the sheep for over an hour with the spotting scope, my camera-man, guide, and I
were suffering an acute case of sheepitis. The rams showed no indication of moving down. We
were about five miles away, and across a large basin of firs from the timberline that fringed the
summit of the peak.

I suggested riding our horses into the fir basin where we could hide them from the eyes of the
rams, and then work up to the timberline on foot.  Hopefully, I thought the rams might start moving
down in the meantime, and we would meet them halfway.

It was a long climb up the side, and we kept dodging from one tree to the next to keep from
alerting the rams above us. The deep snow tired us; but we were within 100 yards of the last of the
timber when we stopped for a breather, huddled together beneath a clump of firs.

When i heard the sound of antlers against a tree, I asked my two companions if they had heard
the noise. They replied in the negative. There it was again, up to our left, and coming down the
side towards us. Again, neither of the other two heard the sound of the approaching bull. Finally,
as the bull worked within 100 yards of where we stood, everyone heard the sound of the cracking
branches as the bull moved in, and before long the deep grunts could be heard.

“That bull is hunting us,” I muttered to Rawhide, my Cacoose Indian guide. Rawhide whispered,
“Don’t let that son-of-a-gun come too close or we’ll be in trouble!”

All three of us remained quiet and tense as we could hear the bull’s path of advance but not see
any sign of the large animal! There! I spotted the bull standing in the only open spot around-about
30 yards uphill and to our left.

The huge body presented a perfect broadside profile for the most ideal bowhunter’s shot. The
bull kept swinging his huge rack from side to side, testing the wind with his nose, while deep gutteral grunts kept rolling from his innards. He looked smack in our direction, but the wind favored us and our scent was carried downhill and away from him. It was a perfect bow shot, but all three of us were on the wrong side of the trees! Bob, the photographer was unable to get any footage of this big bull, and Rawhide’s first concern, was a possible charge as he whispered in my ear-“Bust him if he makes one step in our direction!

The bull presented a complex problem. If he charged us, I would have to shoot. If he spooked,
he would crash through the timber. Regardless of which, it would spook the rams that were 1000
yards above us!

When you dog a group of rams for several days, and all you have to show for miles of riding,
climbing, and freezing in the sharp winds on the high peaks is a big fat zero-your first concern is
for the game above you-especially when it means the three-quarter mark towards a Grand Slam in sheep!

After several minutes, the bull moved silently across above us and out the side. We sighed in relief, relaxed, and resumed our strategy as we moved up towards the rams above.

The skies were heavy with overcast, and a cloud started moving in to shroud the top of the peak,
and with it our sheep! I grabbed Rawhide’s sleeve. “Hold it! That bull is coming back again, and he is below us this time!”

This time, the bull appeared in a small opening below, about 60 yards away. Facing us, the bull
stared right in our eyes. The large rack ripped into several branches as he signaled his defiance.
There was no doubt in our minds, this guy had a chip on his shoulder, and the next move might lust be a sticky one! “Got a tree picked out?” Rawhide’s whisper had both of us looking. The
bull advanced several steps, stopped and grunted. His.would be an uphill course, which would give all three of us a slight edge.

The sound of a cow’s bellering sounded in the basin below, and the bull turned his head to listen.
We waited, tensed and ready to scramble up a nearby tree. The bull looked back at us again.
Another couple steps in our direction and he stopped. Again the cow called below. The bull
turned, and as quiet as a mouse he vanished into the firs as he left to go about his courting!

This stroke of pure luck again found our rams still bedded above, and our stalk had not been
ruined by this ornery bull!  It took us a bit longer to get over the shakes from this second encounter, but we finally resumed our stalk and ended the day with my taking a fine trophy.

While hunting Alaska, I spotted the sun glistening on a huge set of palms on the side of a pek across the river from where I had stalked and shot a caribou. I studied the spot carefully
with my glasses, and finally spotted this large bull feeding in the alders.   We quickly field dressed the stag, loaded the quartered meat on our saddle horses, and started leading our mounts toward the river below. I wanted to try for that bull!

Caching the meat along the stream, we mounted our horses and started up the side.  My guide rode within several hundred yards of that bull before I spotted the critter! Sliding off my horse, I started towards the bull with an arrow ready to nock in one hand and the bow in the other.
I made a circular stalk in order to remain in the crosswind and avoid having my scent reach the
feeding bull.

Moving in directly from the side, I worked within 80 yards of the bull when the huge head turned in
my direction. I froze, wondering what had alerted the bull.  As I stared back at the bull waiting for its next move, I heard the sound of cracking branches behind me. Turning, I spotted the head-on view of another bull, velvet hanging on his rack in shreds, and coming towards me at a trot!

Now, at a time like that a fella don’t know whether to run or where!  Looking back at my first
bull, I noticed that he was standing his ground.  I decided not to run, and took off down through the timber at what I thought was a prompt but unhurried exit, trying to keep both bulls in view
and ready to do a Jesse Owens if demanded!

Having moved no more than 40 feet to the side of the path of the oncoming second bull, I spotted
the first bull wheeling and taking off up the side.  The second bull breezed past me, branches flying in his wake, making like a Sherman Tank as he bust through a tangle of firs-showing no
indication of being aware of my presence and hell-bent on chasing that first bull!

I had been on the verge of panic for several seconds, for that stalk had placed me smack between two bulls who were anxious to mix things up a bit, and only my movement had spooked the bigger bull!  Although either of the two bulls would have satisfied my personal qualification’s for a trophy, you sort of forget hunting at a time when two sets of racks that look like the front end of a payloader appear to meet head-on with you in the middle!

Come to think of it, don’t discount the cow moose as merely being of the weaker sex.  The
memory of an encounter with mama moose while hunting Alberta is still quite clear. I had been, working along the shore of a lake intent on cutting into some big timber along the far side in the hope of finding some elk.   The walking was easier along the lake shore in the fresh snow and I was enjoying the scenery when I spotted a moose calf stepping out into the clearing ahead of me.

Not interested in moose on this bowhunt,  I decided to try and stalk into close range of the youngster in the hope of bouncing-one of the rubber-tipped blunts off the little fella, I was
carrying them for just such a possibility and to sharpen my stalking ability.

I decided to slip into the fringe of brush and young firs and circle ahead of the calf for it appeared that the critter was intent on working the other way.

I found a moose trail just a few yards in the timber, and quickly worked my way ahead of the
calf, and cut back out to the shore.   A clump of low brush screened me, and I nocked a blunt and
waited for the calf to come within range. Instead of letting the calf work past file,  I stepped out and shot when the calf was still about 30 yards away and coming toward me.  I hit the calf dead-center between the eyes, and the blunt bounced off in an arc and into the lake.  The calf let out a beller, jumped into the water, and splashed around in confusion.

Satisfied to a degree with my shot, and fully aware that I had not hurt the youngster, who was
about the size of a young heifer, I turned to continue up the shore. I stopped at the sound of a snorting crashing sound ahead of me.   The next thing I knew a big bull trotted into the clearing
looked down the shoreline toward the calf it turned his huge rack the other way, and started up
the shore away from me.   It was then that I first spotted the large cow farther up along the shore.

The bull trotted towards her, and she lowered her head waiting.  When the bull got within about 40 yards of her, the cow started toward him at a gallop,  and squealing in a high-pitched yell like a scared Holstein!

At the moment I had to laugh, for that bull put on all four airbrakes, spun in the shale, feet flying
for a grip, and came back down the shoreline in overdrive!

Gutting into the timber and out of sight, I could hear the bull busting through the timber for quite a
distance as he headed for other parts of the Province. The cow had stopped her charge where the bull turned into the brush, and now was coming down the shore toward me at a slow walk, head stretched forward and low, and every hair on her neck standing straight out!

Only then did I realize that the calf behind me was hers, and that her present disposition was due to the racket the calf had made when I bounced the blunt off its head!

With ample distance still between the two of us, I decided to get out of there as quickly as possible; for if that bull had deemed it best to avoid an argument, who was I to have any words
with the old gal!

I looked for an opening to duck into the timber, but the brush was thick and would resist any attempt to do so!  Back-pedaling, I kept looking for an opening, and mama kept a’coming at that
determined walk. Now and then she snorted and called to the calf. The calf kept splashing around
in the water behind me.

I finally decided to turn and run, hoping to find the opening where I had circled ahead of the calf,
duck into the timber, and hope that the cow would go to her calf instead of taking after me. I found the opening, took a quick look over my shoulder and saw that the cow was still at a fast walk, and headed in on the game trail.

As I moved in along the trail as fast as footing would permit, I heard a noise ahead of me. That
darn fool calf had run back into the timber, and was heading up the game trial which I was on!
A small back-water lay to my left, and on the opposite side was a boulder about 10 feet high. I
turned and splashed through the water which was about thigh deep in the middle, made the other
side, and scrambled up on top of the boulder. I had barely made my perch when mama came lumbering down the trail, caught up with the calf, and stopped and stood her ground! The two moose were no more than 75 feet away from where I clung to the rock, and the old gal kept grunting, moaning, and looking in my direction as she kept lowering her head with her ears laid flat against her head.

I kept looking around my boulder to make sure there was no way for the cow to get at me, and
crouching as low as possible so as not to reveal my outline. The cow started back on the trail in my direction, and I drew another blunt from my quiver, figuring that it might turn her if I bounced one off her body. Luckily, the calf started running the other way on the trail, and the cow turned and followed.

I built a fire, took off my shoes and socks to dry them, staying close to the boulder-just in case.
My guide yelled from the shore and I answered to give him my location. When he joined me at my
fire, and I related my experience, he remarked that a cow moose with a calf was just as unpredictable as a bull on the prod. I had surmised that the size of the calf meant it was on its own. The guide said this was not the case, that many times a cow will keep a calf with her long
after it has been weaned. He also said the cow had run the bull away because the calf evidently was a female, but the bull had wanted to court her instead!

The case and point is that any moose can be a problem when you meet the animal within the ranges at which a bowhunter must work. Rutting bulls may spook or charge you. Sometimes they merely are coming closer to get a better look at you. This can prove an added advantage when a
shot is planned. The important thing is to be ready for the right move if necessary.

You may hunt moose and never experience other than tire conventional crashing exit of a spooked animal. It seems that most of the desired trophies are prone to leave in a hurry-but-you
may run into one that has other intentions. If you do, give that moose all the room he or she
wants!

As for the claims that moose are a pushover -I’d say it could well be the other way around. After you take your first bull with the hunting bow, you tell me whether it was easy, or whether it turned out to be one of the biggest thrills of your bowhunting experiences!

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Published by sarah on 21 Mar 2010

Colorado Bound?

My name is sarah kirk, if you have read any of my previous post’s you may know me. But if you dont, i’m fifteen years old and from southwestern VA, i absolutely love bow hunting and have since, well, forever and i have my mind set on having a hunting show! now to the point….

This fall i have the opportunity to go elk hunting in colorado. this year i will be able to get my license to hunt there for just around three hundred dollars! but, this is the last year for that to be availible to me. i have a summer job and i will plan to save the money so i can go. I will miss the first week and a half of sophmore year. (uhh who cares! ill be hunting!) but ill update if im going or not(: please comment with stories, advice, etc.

thanks(:

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Published by archerchick on 20 Mar 2010

Javelina Country – By Dennis Sturgis, Jr.

Javelina Country – By  Dennis Sturgis, Jr.  September 2005

This west Texas hotspot made the perfect bowhunting adventure.

http://www.bowandarrowhunting.com

The van’s headlights stabbed into the darkness as we turned off the blacktop. A gravel lane led to the  west Texas ranch house that would be our home for the next few days.   Numerous cholla cacti loomed up in the headlights along the lane.  The Cholla Cacti have a stick man appearance and they seemed to be waving hello as they flashed by.

My hunting partners were Rich Niblock and Darryl Quidort from Michigan, and Dale Karch from Indiana. Earlier in the day we flew from South Bend to El Paso. After renting a van we drove on to Marfa. The drive was uneventful other than Dale getting a friendly warning on speed from a state trooper. Dale and his wife, Sandie, own 3Rivers archery. Dale sent the trooper back to his cruiser with a new catalog. In Marfa, we picked up our groceries and continued to the ranch.


I’d hunted this area before and really enjoyed it. The mountainous desert terrain made for great spot-and-stalk hunting. The land is desolate yet beautiful and full of mystery. the town of Marfa is known for it’s ghost lights. These lights first appeared reported by one of the early settlers in 1883. Apparently they existed before as they were spoken about by the local Apache. The lights can be viewed at night and have been described in several ways. Generally they are viewed at a distance, but there have been isolated reports of tiny fireballs of light just outside and inside vehicles. More than one scientific study has been conducted with different theories presented. In the end, the source of the ghost lights remains a mystery. Good friends, miles of remote country, a healthy population of  javelina and a little mystery all added up to the recipe for a bowhunting adventure.

At the ranch house we met up with the other members of our hunting party. Eric Radcliffe. also from Indiana, had driven down since he wanted to see the country. Dale’s longtime friend, Dick boss from Colorado, was the final member of our hunting party. Eric and Dick had already been into javelina. They stalked a group that afternoon and Dick shot a nice boar. After unpacking and putting away the groceries, we hit the sack for an early start in the morning.

We rose early and dressed in hunting clothes. The typical cheerful pre-hunt chatter took place as bows were strung and quivers loaded. I listened to the bragging, teasing and equipment comparisons with a smile. It felt good to be in hunting camp.

Wayne Weimers, our guide, pulled in before daylight. Over breakfast, we discussed our plans for the day…and Dick’s snoring. One of the neighboring ranchers, Dave Williams, also drove up to help get everyone into javelina on the 116,000 acres we had available to hunt. At sunrise we shot a few practice arrows and prepared to head out. Dale, Eric and I jumped in Wayne’s Suburban to check out some brushy canyons to the south. Dale had hunted this ranch for javelins the previous winter and wanted to video the action this year for an upcoming 3Rivers DVD production. Today was my day to be cameraman.

On the way to a vantage point where we planned to glass, Wayne spotted some javies in the distance. They milled around, feeding in some prickly pear. We checked the wind and planned our approach. After making a wide circle to get the wind in our favor, we split up. Eric stalked to one side of the small group while Dale and I snuck to the other side. I tried to stay practically in Dale’s hip pocket as he edged nearer to the javelina. The warm sun felt good on our shoulders as we slipped through the cactus, and in several minutes, we sandwiched our quarry. The wind held steady, and we slowly closed the gap. Javelina backs appeared occasionally above the cactus. I pushed the record button when Eric Pulled his longbow to full draw and released an arrow. A fatally-hit boar flashed between the cacti and disappeared into a thick tangle of cat claw. Eric used a pair of hand pruners to wade in and claim his trophy.

We rode back to the ranch house to care for the javelina and grab some sandwiches for lunch. In the afternoon, Rich and I went out with Wayne. Although we had several stalks, a good video shot never came together. Arriving back at camp, we learned both Dale and Darryl had collected javelina. Eric set a nice stand for feral hogs and collected a nice meat hog.

On day two of our hunt, I videoed Rich take his first-ever javelina. Later Eric punched his second javelina tag. Eric also found a an arrowhead. Dave, the rancher, said it was made by the “old ones.” He said the last time it was touched by a human was 1,000 to 2,000 years ago.

Rich and I started day three out with a double on two huge javies. We skinned them out for full-body mounts. Wayne took us to a big rock overhang with an aqua-colored pool in front of it. The rock walls were covered with pictographs made by people who had hunted here long ago. We enjoyed setting around a campfire that evening, and Wayne prepared a delicious wild-game supper.

Our hunt passed quickly: each day was full of excitement. On our final day, we had to leave at noon to catch our flight out of El Paso. I was the only hunter not to shoot my second javelina. Wayne was insistent that we get my second javy. I told him I was perfectly happy, but I wouldn’t mind taking some photos of javelina sign. He agreed, commenting that we could hunt along the way. We jumped in the Suburban and drove to a part of the ranch that had good sign to photograph.

Wayne is a retired patrolman as well as hunting guide. I enjoyed listening to his stories. Between photo sessions, Wayne spotted a javelina. “Let’s go get him,” he blurted. After giving Wayne a quick video camera lesson, we stalked into the wind after the boar. The stalk was classic. Using cactus clumps for cover, we ended up 10 yards from the javelina. Wayne was right over my shoulder: I rose up and shot and arrow right over its back. I quickly nocked another arrow. The javelina stood about 20 yards distant now. I glanced at Wayne. He said “I’m on him.”

I shot again and groaned when my arrow bounced off a rock. I nocked another arrow. The javy was out there now but in the open. “I’m on him, I’m on him,” Wayne spewed. Feeling obliged to shoot: I took my time and shot again. The arrow arched out and centered the kill area. The boar ran 15 yards and fell over. “that was a hell of a shot!” Wayne exclaimed. “Well, it was a lot harder than the first two,” I answered, shaking my head.

At noon we drove back down the gravel lane toward the highway. I glanced at the cholla cacti again. They seemed to be waving good-bye, and I hoped it wouldn’t be too long before I could return.

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