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Published by archerchick on 05 Dec 2011

James E Churchill: Bowhunting’s Last Modern-Day Mountain Man – By Mark Melotik

 

 

 

Bowhunting World Xtreme 2004

James E Churchill: Bowhunting’s Last Modern Day Mountain Man – By Mark Melotik

Most bowhunters I
know, myself included, are far from what
you would call avid historians, but there
are exceptions—one of them being an inexplicable attraction
for many of us, to the 1972 Robert Redford movie Jeremiah Jolmson. The
main character may be fictitious, but
was plausible enough that he just might
have existed. When he wasn’t trapping
beaver, bobcats and marten for a living or
dodging surprise Indian attacks in the post
Civil War mid-19th Century, good ol`
Jeremiah was otherwise living life to its
fullest, chasing elk, deer and moose in the
pristine, unspoiled Rocky Mountain West.
Many avid bowhunters I know seem
to form a kindred bond after viewing
Johnson’s adventures. I found this exact,
well-used videotape atop a VCR owned
by an Ontario black bear outfitter some
years ago, and later found the film was
also the favorite of a whitetail outfitter
I visited the next fall down in Illinois.
Over the past several years I’ve been in
the company of many others who have
shamelessly confessed the same.
Maybe it’s my fascination with the
savagely independent outdoor lifestyle
of the vintage western mountain men
that first drew me to the writings of Wisconsin’s
James E. Churchill—someone I
came to know through his adventure
laden stories in magazines like Fur Fish

Game and Outdoor Life, and someone I
considered a true modern day mountain
man. Indeed, Redford’s deft portrayal may
have set the bar, but Churchill, to me,
seemed every bit as skilled and fearless. Of
course, it didn’t hurt that he lived in my
home state and also loved to bowhunt.
I was a sophomore in a Milwaukee
area high school back in 1987, when the
May issue of Outdoor Life arrived, holding
the story “We Took To The Woods.” In it,
author Churchill described how he had
suddenly up and quit his citified desk job
based in the all»too·populated southeast
corner of Wisconsin, From there he led his
wife, Joan, son Jim Jr., and daughter Jolain
to a true “Live-off-the-land” lifestyle in the
far northeast comer of the state——a lifestyle
that featured plenty of fishing, trapping.
and big woods bowhunting. I didn’t merely read the article, I devoured it.
Churchill’s plan was to become a full
time freelance writes which he did, but fir?
there was a cabin to build—by hand—on
the family’s newly acquired 40 acre parcel
located just west of the city of Florence. By
no mere coincidence, the Churchill spread
lay in the state’s least-populated county.

The Move Northward
To prepare for the move, the Churchills
had scrimped and saved to buy the land,
and set aside enough cash to make it
through that first rocky year—barely.
The unexpected high cost of installing
electricity and digging a well on the
property almost broke the family, but the
lack of a house payment and the family’s ingenuity got them by. Churchill
and his son Jim Jr. who then went by
the apt nickname “Trapper”—kept
themselves busy stocking the family
larder with more than 1OO snowshoe
hares that first year. There were also
plenty of sweet»tasting brook trout in
area lakes and streams, as well as meaty
northern pike, and plump bluegills.
It was very near the quaint A·frame
cabin, during that first fall, where Churchill
would arrow his best-ever whitetail buck,
a true northwoods brute sporting nine
thick tines and a burly body that dressed
nearly 2OO pounds. James Churchill would
bag a buck by bow virtually every year
since, according to Jim Jr, now 48, who still
lives in the Florence area with his own family.

That 1974 hunt is one of Jim Junior’s
two favorite bowhunting memories of his
woods wise father.
“Dad was hunting this area where two
small marshes had a brush strip between
them, in the center of a stretch of big
hardwoods,” Jim Jr. said. “the two marshes
had that little bottleneck between
them, and there was a faint deer trail
right down the middle of it. He knew
there was a big buck in there. On previ»
ous hunts, he saw the deer a couple of
times off in the distance, but one night,
everything was just right. In came the
I buck, and it ended up being a pretty fair
shot for a recurve—but it was a good
one. At the shot the deer took off running, and did a complete circle around the
treestand, and literally came right back to
where he had shot it. It died right there.
It was just a beauty, with a nice wide
spread. When I came home that night, we
went back out there and got it, and it was
just a neat time. It was the very first deer
we had gotten here, and it was a dandy.
I don’t think he ever got a bigger one.”
Jim Churchill was also very fond of
black bear hunting, which he did occasionally
with a bow in hand, but more typically with a muzzleloader, rifle, or camera.
His son Jim Jr. knew he didn’t have
to travel far for outstanding bear hunting.
“In Wisconsin, you can’t draw a bear tag every year, but dad was always
around them, I think he got his biggest kick taking photos of them. Most of
the bears he shot were on his 40 acres. I’m
sure there were some that were 400 plus
pounds. I’ve seen a lot of bear, and I know
how easy it is to overestimate them, but
some were well over 400 pounds. One
thing about bear, you might get a crack at
the big ones once a season, but they could
be pretty wary, Did dad like bear hunting
better than deer? That’s a tough call,
because I would say that he’d rather take
photos as much. or more with bears—but
he’d rather hunt for deer,”

A Natural Woodsman
What made Jim Churchill a great
bowhunter? No one knew him better
than his son.
“He just had a lot of knowledge of the
woods,” Jim Jr. said. “He was very
patient -very patient—always trying to
figure things out. His general knowledge
of the way deer acted in a certain area, he
had a really intuitive nature m to what was
a really good buck stand. In gun season, he
and I, we might only see three or four
deer the whole season, hut if you saw one,
chances are they would have horns—he
was just good at that. He’d never see a lot
of deer in a season, hut they typically had
horns on them. A lot of the time, he
would see a certain buck on a hunt, and
then would hunt for that deer exclusively.

But, he’d hunt smart. He didn’t want
to spook it out of the area, so he’d hunt a
particular stand only if the wind was night.”
Of course, Jim Churchill chronicled
his many adventures tor a variety of magazines, whose readers he took along every
step of the way. Churchills nonflashy,
matter of-fact writing style never seemed
to be with the tact that he was a pioneer
when it came to off beat tactics, such as
bear bowhunting with the use of canoes,
bowhunting snowshoe hares in winter,
and north country predator calling, all of
which were featured in Bowhunting World
in the early 1990s.
One of the best outdoor photos I’ve
ever seen was a shot Churchill had taken
with the help of a remote control camera.
The wily woodsman had located the
haunt of a particularly large bobcat, and
for the shot to work, he would need to call
the cat to a certain, predetermined spot.
With the use of a raven call—imitating
the regular, raucous crows the scavenging
birds make when dinner is located—the
plan came together like clockwork: in
the forefront of the frame you see the
back of the large, inquisitive tom, sitting
and facing Churchill, with weapon in
hand, in the background. He’d tripped the
remote camera at exactly the light instant,
and bagged the bobcat in the next.
What many didn’t know about this
rugged “been-there, done-that” Journalist, is
that he actually worked with a partner,
receiving a good deal of typing and editing
help from his devoted, supportive wife, Joan.

“When we first moved here, for four
years, l always did Jim’s typing—he would
type it up and l would edit it,” said Joan
Churchill, who still lives in the same rustic A-frame cabin the family built in `74.
“We worked together most every day.
When computers came along, it was wonderful. We wrote every manuscript together,

and all of his 13 books. It was a really good life. I have no regrets moving up
here. I can go out on our porch and drink
my coffee, and it’s so peaceful and quiet.
If you hear a car you know it’s coming to
my house. I’ll live here as long as I can.”
Joan described her husband as an
energetic man who was always on the
go—looking for material for his next
feature article or book, always eager for
his next outdoor adventure.
“He was compelled to write,” Joan
said. “He wouldn’t have been able to
live in the city. l know he needed to be
in the wilds. For 13 years, we lived in
Racine [Wis]. He grew up in Tomah,
[Wis.], out in the country. He was a fish
out of water living down in the cities—
around too many people.

“The move was great for the kids.
Our son really enjoys it. Our daughter
Jolain—she left for awhile—and l wondered

if she’d ever be back here. But
today, here she is, living very near here,
with her own family in [Michigan’s]
Upper Peninsula. So it was a great move
all the way around. Jim had 28 years of
doing what he wanted to do here. You
can’t ask for more than that. We were
married 47 years, and for the past 28
years, we lived the way we wanted.
“Jim was a planner, he wasn’t a rash person,”
Joan continued, describing their
unique back country lifestyle. “We didn’t
have a mortgage, because we built the
house as we could. Not that there weren’t
lean years; we didn’t have an awful lot of
money, but we managed fine. We were
never snowed in, because we had a tractor
with a bucket, and then the town started
taking care of the road. But that first
winter, we burned wood, and we didn’t
have the wood cut for the whole year, like
you should have, so you had to go out and
cut it every day—that was pretty tough.
The next summer, Him and Jim cut the
wood in the spring and let it dry out good,
and we had no problem after that.”
Joan Churchill also remembers how
Jim’s freelancing career paid off unexpectedly
one winter, during a stretch
when money was especially scarce.
“Christmas was coming, and we didn’t have any extra money, so things
were looking pretty tight. Then, we
received a check from Fur~Fish·Game
just one week before Christmas—I’ll
never forget that.”
One Last Hunt
Interestingly, after nearly 30 straight
years of life as a full-time outdoor
writers span that included Jim
Churchill bagging a Wisconsin buck
virtually each and every fall—Jim
Junior’s two favorite bowhunting memories
stem from his dad’s very first hunt
at the family’s Florence home——and
also, his father’s very last.
“That last fall, he had seen this
deer—a nice 9~point—while driving
into a spot to do some grouse hunting,”
Jim Jr. recalled. “So he started scouting
around for it. In that first week of the
bow season, he was having trouble with
his shoulder. He was having trouble
pulling his bow back, but he went ahead
and hunted anyway—he would have
hunted with a spear if he had to.
“He was hunting from the ground at
the time, and sure enough, here that
buck came, down a trail, not 15 yards
away, but dad couldn’t pull his bow back.
He had to let that buck walk on by.
“Then his shoulder got better, and
he stuck with hunting the trail that big
buck was running on. He saw it again in
October, about the middle of the

month, and then it was the last week [of
the early bow season in November].
The shoulder was feeling much better,
and he was again hunting on the
ground—he didn’t use a treestand the
last few years, but he was a deadly shot
out to about 35 yards.
“The trail that buck was using traveled
through some short, thick balsams,
about 6 to 8 foot tall. Eventually he
heard something coming through there,
got a glimpse of it and sure enough, it
was that same buck. He ended up arrowing
it right behind the front shoulder. He
called me up to help track it. It went
about 150 yards, but you could see right
away it was dead in its tracks.
“Maybe that memory is so great
because it was his last buck with a bow,”
Jim Jr. remembered. “He died in 2002,
and that hunt was in November of 2001.
That buck was a dandy. Body wise, it
wasn’t quite as big as that first~year buck,
but he hunted hard for it. l think it did
bother him that he couldn’t get that bow
back during that first encounter. But
then, he would have been out there even
if he couldn’t pull a bow back at all.”
Avid big woods bowhunter and Journalist James E. Churchill passed away at
age 68, on May 29, 2002, at his back-
country Florence home. He was preparing to be treated for cancer when a
blood clot took him suddenly. That was
a blessing, according to his wife Joan—
she knew that her husbands energetic,
always~on-the-go lifestyle wouldn’t have
meshed well with an extended hospital
stay or lengthy incapacitation.
l didn’t know the man personally, but
I’d say Joan got it exactly right. When
you’re a true Mountain Man—even one
of the modern»day variety—there are
always new trails to be blazed. Few ever did
it any better than James E. Churchill.  >>>—>

 

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Published by archerchick on 05 Dec 2011

Bad Weather Whitetails~ By Rick Sapp


Archery World April, 1989
Bad Weather Whitetails – By Rick Sapp

My cotton camo gloves were soggy and cold. Rain dripped persistently
from the white arc of string-tracking line attached to my broadhead. Thunder was followed immediately by lightning. As I left my stand, the pine forest murmured, alive with wind. That night, the thermometer dropped off the wall. Sleet and a whirling northwest gale ripped at the oak-red and poplar-yellow fall colors, blowing their remains by the windows of the hunting lodge. Morning dawned gray and understated. Sleet gave way to snow. The morose bowhunters took a second helping of buckwheat pancakes.

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I was a guest at Foulkrod’s Archery Camp, deep in the Endless Mountains of Pennsylvania. Deer were plentiful, owner Bob Foulkrod had written months before, and in early October the fall colors would be at their peak. I expected to spend several days in a comfortable hunting lodge, making friends and swapping stories by a fire in the evenings.
What I did not expect was a week of “character-building” weather.

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Bowhunting Weather

Bob Foulkrod is the kind of man who can bowhunt comfortably and effectively in almost any kind of weather. Self-assured, but not cocky, the raven-haired Pennsylvanian has hunted deer in swamps along the Gulf of Mexico and polar bear on windswept ice packs north of the Arctic Circle. To Foulkrod, good bowhunting weather is almost any weather at all.

When I helped myself to a second cup of coffee, looked wistfully out the window at the blowing snow and then settled down in front of the huge field stone fireplace, he just laughed. “Well, that’s fine with the deer. They don’t care of course, weather does affect deer movement just like it affects the movement of hunters. The trick is to match your activity to that of the deer. To do that, you must first be comfortable and confident in the deer woods— a tall order in poor weather.

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Perfect combinations of temperature, humidity, wind strength and direction and all the other ingredients that must be considered when you hunt are rare. According to Murphy ’s Law, any warm, sunny day during hunting season will be a Monday and any drizzly, freezing, flag-snapper will be a Saturday. Consequently, a hunter who prepares for”character building” weather will dramatically increase his odds of scoring.
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Staying comfortable on a bluebird day isn’t a problem. When sunshine and 70 degree weather are forecast, the problem will be staying alert, maintaining that keen edge of attention and excitement which allow you to locate deer before they locate you. Some bowhunters take camo-covered paperback books to read on stand. Others listen through earphones to battery powered radios stuffed inside their jackets. A few people have incredible powers of endurance and concentration, an ability to sit or stand motionless and quiet for hours.

When it’s miserable outside, the bowhunting problem is just the opposite. You’ll be alert – perhaps too alert – shivering, brushing snow flakes off your nose, continually moving your head and shoulders to try and stem the trickle of rain leaking down your neck. In bad weather, the problem is bowhunting comfortably, because when you’re comfortable,
you’re not only alert, but you can be effective, too.


So, how do you bowhunt successfully in bad weather? “It all depends on what you mean by bad weather,” Bob Foulkrod says, reducing the question first to definitions. Bad weather for one bowhunter, for instance, who despises hunting in the cold, may not be a bad weather situation for another who has greater tolerance for freezing temperatures. And obviously, a cold, overcast day requires different preparations than a drizzly, foggy day.

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Rain

“If it’s raining out,” Foulkrod says, “you want rain gear that’s as quiet as possible. If it isn’t quiet, when you move to draw a bow or turn your head, a nearby deer will spook Pull a garment over it if it isn’t quiet, like a cotton camo jump suit. Most of the deer stands at my camp are set up for 10 to 15 yard shots. If you’re rustling around in a tree, believe me, deer know the difference between you and a squirrel.
“I try to set up for this distance at my bear camp in Canada, too – and for my own bow-hunting. In bad weather, a 20- to 25-yard shot is a long shot.

“If it’s a warm, gentle rain late in the day, deer will move without paying much attention to it. They’ll get up in a light rain and do their basic routine – get up from their bedding ground, go feed and come back again. “If the wind is blowing and it’s raining, though, deer lose one of their senses. Their ears are always flicking back and forth, listening. If they can’t hear, they get nervous.

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In heavy rain or snow or wind, they’ll bed down and wait it out. If a bowhunter likes to do some slow, quiet stalking, this is an ideal time. “If you’re going to hunt in the rain, I’d recommend you use a Game Tracker string tracking unit. If you hit a deer and it’s pouring rain, and you’re not using one, you’re going to lose the deer. A lot of guys go out whatever the weather because, like here in Pennsylvania, they only have four Saturdays to hunt.

“So, if it’s raining and you want to bowhunt, you’ve got to consider whether it’s best to use feathers or vanes. It’s a matter of personal preference. Remember, you’re only going to shoot that arrow one time. Personally, I shoot right wing helical feathers and a 90 – pound Golden Eagle Turbo bow.” Unless chemically treated, feathers absorb moisture; vanes repel it.


Whether there will be a significant difference in flight characteristics between vanes and wet feathers on a shot of 10 to 20 yards is a matter of speculation. Foulkrod, who has taken dozens of whitetails with a bow puts his faith in the forgiving characteristics of feathers,
While many will argue that Foulkrod is mightily over-bowed for whitetails, he believes in shooting the heaviest bow he can shoot comfortably.

“My bow is adequate for anything. I’ve never seen anything it hasn’t put down,” he says. “You should be able to pull your bow not just over your head, but out in front of you. You should be able to stand in a treestand, feet no more farther apart than your shoulders, point your bow at the ground and pull it to full draw in that position. Most hunters can’t do that, but in bad weather you want to punch through what you’re shooting You want a blood trail out both sides of an animal.
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When bowhunting in the rain, you should consider:

• Wearing a short-billed cap with a 360-degree
brim to keep rain away from ears, nose
and neck.
• Folding collars tight to prevent water from
trickling down your back. Remember that
if the weather is wet and cold, you must
guard against hypothermia, the rapid loss
of body heat, a killer of the careless.
• Rolling a hood outside-in so that if you decide
to use it after it has rained for a while,
it will unroll dry. If you roll it inside-out or
pay no attention to it during a drizzle,
you’ll pull it over your head surprisingly
wet, just what you wanted to avoid. And a
hood can hold up to a pint of water!
• That if it works to repel rain, your rain gear
is probably noisy. Just twisting your head
from side to side inside a hood or raising
your bow arm will sound loud enough to
alert deer. Pulling a shirt and trousers or a
cotton jump suit over rain gear will muffle
its crinkling but will not eliminate it.
• Wearing wool garments, which will shed
water for hours or unless immersed completely.
Even wet, wool acts as an insulator
and helps prevent heat loss.
• That your rain gear will block the wind, but
if you go for a walk to limber up stiff muscles,
or if you scout a different section of
woods or try a long stalk, you should take it
off. Most rain gear will just as effectively
trap your perspiration inside as it keeps
rain outside.
• That rubber boots will help you stay comfortably
dry and will also serve to minimize
the scent you carry to stand. Uninsulated,
however, they are dangerous in cold
weather because your body will try to
warm them to body temperature – an impossible
task for the feet which, on a cold
day, get less than their share of body heat,
anyway.
• That many of the new, insulated Cordura
and rubber hunting boots are designed specifically
for use in inclement weather.
• That your shooting glove or tab, when wet,
will tend to “grab” the string, thus throwing your
shot off target as surely as an uneven release. Try to keep your shooting hand
as dry as possible. A bow holder helps immensely.
• That you can avoid sluggish performance at
a critical moment if you wax your bow-
string. A well-waxed string sheds water.
• Drying equipment immediately upon your
return home can prevent problems such as
rusting, dulled broadheads or wooden-handle bows which swell and crack from absorbed moisture.
• Never bowhunting in more than a light
drizzle and even then, taking extreme care
with any bow shot. Remember. Murphy
was right and, it is said, he was also an
optimist. ~

Frigid Temperatures

“If it’s freezing, you’re only going to be able to sit on stand comfortably and right – and by right, I mean, you can’t be fidgeting – for a short time,” Bob Foulkrod says, stressing that a bowhunter should know his limitations. “If an hour is your limit of patience or
endurance in cold weather, pick out the best hour for deer movement – just before it gets dark or just before the sun comes up.

“When it’s extremely cold, like it can be in late fall, as a rule I take my hunters out after the frost starts to burn off. We hunt from semi-permanent stands over apple trees in the state forests around my camp. Even when hunters are assured of seeing deer if they can be patient, it’s hard for them to sit well when deer activity doesn’t seem to be great. When there’s a real heavy frost, deer will normally start to move after the sun is up and is burning the frost off the apples. I want hunters on stand then. On days like that, they can sit longer than if they go out real early.

“Now, anything can make you a liar, but if you can’t sit there quietly and comfortably, if you’re fidgeting around, you’re giving up your location. If you give up your location, you’re not going to be able to take deer.” Foulkrod believes complete camouflage is as essential when it’s cold and miserable as when it’s warm and comfortable. Because the
trunk of the body will normally be bundled in several layers of bulky clothing, clothing which holds body heat in but wicks perspiration away from the skin, special attention must be paid to the extremities – head, hands and feet.

Finger shooters must have their hands free to take the bowstring deep into the first crease of their fingers, draw and make a smooth release. Some bowhunters simply wear light gloves and stuff their hands in their pockets or wear a mitten on the bow hand and a light glove on their shooting hand – imperfect solutions at best, for if a deer “hangs up” or is shy to approach a shooting lane, your shooting fingers will shake with cold (and adrenaline) within a short period of time.

A better solution for cold hands and stiff fingers is to use mittens specially adapted for bowhunters like The Fingermit from Tempo Glove in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. One hundred percent wool, The Fingermit’s thumb and finger sleeves are attached to the rest of the mitten, including leather palm and thumb pads, by a knitted “hinge.” This hinge allows
the bowhunter to easily slip his fingers out for fast and accurate bowstring control.

Stuffing inexpensive Hot Pad hand warmers from The Game Tracker in each pocket isn’t a bad idea, either. Hot Pads are activated when they are removed from the package and come in contact with air. They are non-toxic odorless and disposable.

Estimates of body heat lost from the top of the head in cold weather range from 60 to 80 percent. If you can control heat loss there, you will go a long way to staying comfortable while you’re outside. For the bad weather bowhunt at Foulkrod’s Archery Camp, I was fortunate to have included in my duffel bag a heavy pull-over cap which incorporates a
wool outer shell with an inner polypropylene lining.

The pull-over leaves the oval of my face open to the wind, but barring some high-tech solution, I find that bearable if my head, hands and feet are warm. I consequently add heavy blotches of camo paint to my nose and cheeks. The pull-over protects my forehead, neck and chin, but does not inhibit my breathing by covering my mouth and nose. A typical face mask, with holes only for the eyes, traps the moisture from your breath and soon you have a wet or icy mask and fogged glasses, too.
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Cold weather is a special challenge for feet which, in the North, are typically confined inside multiple layers of wool socks, Thinsulate boot liners and rubber/ leather boots with thick, removable felt liners. The problem is that feet sweat and, if you walk any distance with your feet swaddled in all these layers. they sweat profusely. The sweat chills and
your feet freeze.

Although there are numerous fine boots on today’s market which incorporate aerospace materials, for me the best solution to cold weather hunting is the combination mentioned above: thick wool socks, a Thinsulate boot liner and Sorel-style boots with rubber bottoms and leather tops incorporating removable felt liners. I change the sock/liner combination to a fresh set at mid-day. That way, I start the morning and the afternoon with warm, dry feet.
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Once I’m home from a day bowhunting in cold weather, I want to throw everything – bow, fanny pack, boots, clothes – into a corner, gulp a cup of hot chocolate and crawl immediately under an electric blanket. It’s a temptation I face after each hunt and I have to force myself to take care of my gear and clothing right away. The felt boot liners and pull-
over should be machine washed on gentle cycle in baking soda or an odorless soap like Tink’s Non Scent Camo Soap and then hung to air dry. Machine drying shrinks wool and destroys many synthetic fibers. When you remove your boots to change socks and inserts, you’1l notice that the boot shells are thoroughly wet inside, too. While it isn’t necessary or practical to try to clean and dry them in the field, once you’re home you should wipe them out with a dry cloth, spray them generously with a human odor-eliminating spray like Scent Shield, and then leave them out to dry before you wear them again. Usually, they will dry overnight.

When hunting in cold weather, the archer will also want to consider:
• That a thermos of hot coffee or soup may
emit odors a deer can detect, but the psychological
value of the added warmth on a
cold day is tremendous.
• That metal handle bows feel significantly
colder to the hand than wood handle bows
when the temperature falls below freezing.
• Screwing a bow hanger into the tree (where
legal) or attaching one to your stand will
help you keep your hands warm and reduce
your movement on stand.

• Layering your clothing, beginning with a
heavy polypropylene or insulated long underwear
and proceeding through — as necessary — wool shirt and trousers, down
vest, a nylon jacket to prevent the wind
from penetrating to your body, an insulated
coverall and so on.
• Wearing suspenders rather than a belt. A
belt constricts blood (and heat) flow below
the waist.
• Warm-up exercises like drawing and holding
your bow several times on your way to
or immediately after you arrive on stand to
help prevent muscle fatigue and strain. In
cold weather, the tendency is for the muscles
to knot. You can feel it usually as you
hunch your shoulders and draw your arms
tightly against your side.

The Camp

Bob Foulkrod describes himself as a deer hunter rather than a trophy hunter. “I have no qualms taking a nice doe, if I’m hunting a state that allows me to take a doe — and a lot of states are doing that, such as Michigan where you can take a doe or buck. I think of the shot.
I had a deer come in the other night in Michigan. It was very fidgety. Silent. I mean, if anything moved it was edgy. It was a nice doe, a mature doe and I made the shot on it. It was a good shot and I feel good about it because I had to be doing my part. In other words, if I had moved too quick or if my bow hadn’t been quieted down or I hadn’t cleaned the bark off the tree behind me or if I made just the slightest little noise, I wouldn’t have gotten that deer.

“You’ve got a job to do when you get in a treestand and that’s to take the deer down, take it out. That’s what you’re up there for. I have no qualms shooting a doe. If a buck comes out — and it doesn’t have to be a Pope & Young class buck for me to take it — I’ll shoot at it, any nice deer: spike, four-point, six- point. But if a nice buck comes out, I’m
going to take it, too.

“That’s really the philosophy of my deer camp. Have a time. Most of the people come there to get away from the telephones. They want the companionship of other hunters. They want to hear how they did. If someone gets a deer down, we take the whole camp out and we look for the deer as a team. It’s almost like a basketball team. The whole camp is a team. They want to know how you did, they get excited about it. No arguing, no disagreements. Everyone comes in and has a good time and when they go home, whether they got a deer or not, they still had a good time with a nice bunch of guys hunting whitetails.”

Despite the rotten weather the week I hunted at Foulkrod’s Archery Camp, both Rex Blankenship of McLean, Virginia, and Ed Moore, Carleton Place, Ontario, took deer. Rex, shooting a 70-pound Golden Eagle Cam Hunter took his deer at four yards with a heart/lung shot at 4:30 p.m. Ed’s deer fell to a double lung hit from his 60 pound Martin Cougar Magnum at 8:15 a.m.

Ed Martin, camp manager for Foulkrod’s Archery Camp in 1988, said the fully modern lodge (which doubles as Bob Fou1krod’s home) has accommodated bowhunters for a decade. Inside the lodge is a complete bar and wide-screen television. Dozens of hunting videos, including many that Foulkrod himself has appeared in, are available. The lodge, in-
side and out, is stunningly decorated with trophies of Fou1krod’s bowhunting adventures: bear skins, whitetail racks, life-size caribou mounts, wild hogs and much more. The lodge feels like a hunting lodge — a place you really can get away from it all.

A week of hunting costs $500 and includes home-cooked meals by Bob Fou1krod’s mother, Prudence Foulkrod, whom everyone calls “mom.” It also includes linens in the downstairs bunkhouse, transportation to and from your hunting stands, and transportation to a nearby butcher when you take a deer. In 1988, that butcher charged $15 to cut, wrap and freeze a deer, a bargain in any state.

For further information about deer hunting at Fou1krod’s Archery Camp, write: Bob Foulkrod, Foulkrod’s Archery Camp, Dept. AW, R.D. 1, Box 140, Troy, PA 16947.
Authors Note: A 1988 Pennsylvania bowhunting license cost $12.75, resident, and
$80.75, non-resident; bowhunters must also purchase a $5.50 archery stamp. The deer archery season, statewide, opened October 1 in 1988 and closed October 28. It was open again from December 26 through January 7, 1989.

For information about bowhunting Pennsylvania, write: Pennsylvania Game Commission, 2001 Elmerton Ave., Harrisburg, PA 17110-9797. 4

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Published by archerchick on 05 Dec 2011

Extreme Tactics For Monster Elk ~ By Chuck Adams


Bowhunting World Xtreme 2004

Extreme Tactics For Monster Elk – By Chuck Adams

On September 24, 2003, Chuck Adams defied all
odds by bagging yet another monster elk—the fifth in a row gross
scoring over 370 record·book points. Chuck’s ’03 giant is a symmetrical
6×6 with main beams over 60 inches, an inside spread over 60 inches,
and average tine length over 18 inches. With a green gross score of
423 and a green net score of 412, this bull has a chance to eclipse
Chuck’s own Pope and Young World Record from 2000. P&Y panel
judging will occur in early 2005.

What follows here are exciting details about this huge bull plus
specific tactics Chuck uses to locate and shoot oversize elk like this one.
was scrambling down a near-vertical slope when the accident; occurred. Pine
I needles gave way underfoot, and I fell on my butt as I skated toward a cliff 50
feet below me.
The wild ride ended after I smacked a four inch pine, pinwheeled upside-down,
and collided with another small tree. I hugged the trunk like a long»lost friend, my
body aching but my bow miraculously still in my fist. My feet dangled over a five foot ledge.

Seconds later, the bull I was after bugled just below. I saw antler tips first, and
then the animal sauntered into view. At less than 20 yards, he looked immense.
But fortunately for me, my first really clear look showed massive beams and long
brow tines but little else to write home about. I say “fortunately”, because I could
not have shot my bow to save my life.
The bull’s rack had seven points on the left and eight on the right, but main beams
were short and tine length petered out near the top. The mature but only moderately large monarch climbed higher and veered directly beneath me. Shooting distance, had I been able to shoot and had I wanted to shoot, was less than ten yards.

After the elk disappeared, I dug in my heels, scooted away from the edge, and
crawled uphill to safety. Unless you’re dead, things can usually be worse. I was
tickled to still be in one piece with no broken bones and a promising elk season
ahead of me.
The very next day, I saw the monstrous bull I finally shot three days after that.
I had found a great elk area—a place I’d never hunted before with fresh sign and
enough undisturbed animals to allow a quality bowhunt. How I found the place
is a story in and of itself.

In Search 0f Extreme Habitat
My guide and I have hunted together for years. We are friends, we think alike,
and we dearly love to chase big elk. So after seeing a number of so»so bulls in
places we’d hunted in times past, we decided to pull up stakes and try new ground.
We weren’t interested in ordinary elk, and we knew that somewhere there had
to be a brute.

I looked at topo maps for hours with specific things in mind. I passed over
places with classic alpine elk habitat, because I knew there’d be other bowhunters
there. I was looking instead for corncob»rough, extremely steep ground on the
ragged edge of known elk»producing places. Modem elk are expanding their range
in many parts of the West, and I wanted to find a spot where elk hunting might
not yet be popular.
My 2000 World Record elk had lived in such a place—difficult to penetrate, even
more difficult to hunt, and just enough off the beaten path to not be hammered by
guns or bows. A truly monster bull elk is at least six years old, sometimes eight
or ten. Very few animals reach ripe old age
without having a hideaway with light hunting pressure.

Some bowhunters believe the best elk
are found on private, expensive guided
ground. It’s to think the grass is greener
in such places. In fact, some archers have
told me they assumed my biggest elk have
been taken in pricey outfitted areas where
hunting is easy.

No so. As a matter of fact, I believe that
places frequented by outfitters might be
the very worst spots for genuinely huge
bulls. Serious, hard»hunting outfitters
know every inch of their private leased
ground, and they tend to keep elk age in
such places lower than it needs to be for tip-
top antlers. One very successful elk outfitter
recently told me he deliberately harvests
bulls at about five years of age. He
explained that most hunters are tickled
with a 330 or 340 elk, and added that he
made more money by managing for nice elk
rather than extraordinary elk. Savvy outfitters
concentrate on the bottom line, not
World Record antlers.

If I wanted a decent 6×6 bull and had
the money to spend, I might bowhunt such
a place. Quite a few privately owned elk
properties in New Mexico, Wyoming, Colorado, Montana, and other
states will consistently produce record·book bulls in the
290 to 320 range. A few will yield even better elk.
But for truly huge old mossbacks, I
prefer offbeat pockets not routinely hunt»
ed by guides. Such places are often public
land or private property where free trespass
permission can be obtained.

Covering The Ground
The place my guide and I circled on my
map on September 20 was typically untypical
elk habitat. It was dozens of miles
from known and popular hunting places,
but close enough to hold at least a few
elk. It was murderously steep, with contour lines almost overlapping on the map.
Although I’d never been there, my guide
told me the general area had been heavily clear cut decades earlier, with nasty
timber-choked draws surrounded by wide·
open country. It did not look like elk terrain,
he said, and we probably would not
see other bowhunters. He said we could
probably get permission to hunt sections
that were not public land—an important
factor for elk success. When bulls rut,
they move with track shoes on. You can-
not score if you are stuck on one isolated
square mile of real estate. You’ve got to
move, and sometimes move quickly, over
mile after mile of rugged habitat.

When I first saw the new country on
Sunday, September 21, I was not impressed.
It was indeed open by elk»hunting standard,
with ancient pine stumps littering yellow»
grass hillsides. But slopes were cratered
with sudden pockets of timber and brush,
and deceptively deep canyons knifed
downward off the peaks.

On the second ridgeline we hiked, I
found a string of sap-oozing antler rubs
and piles of fresh elk droppings. Just over
the top, out of sight from an old road, was
a giant gorge with trees as thick as dog
hair. Loggers had taken the easy trees and
left the difficult ones behind. Despite a
severe drought in the West, stem»cured
grass was knee-deep under the trees. Somewhere below,
a stream bubbled merrily
over rocks.
Here, tucked out of sight, was a little
piece of elk heaven.
As if on cue, a bull growled deep in
the draw. It was the single, throaty rumble
of a wild elk that didn’t want to be
chased. . . just the sort of elk I love to chase.
The bull never made another peep, and it
was late in the morning, but I went after
him anyway. My trusty guide was lurking
a safe distance behind.

Going Strong All Day
Covering ground in the elk woods does
not only mean looking at plenty of places
with maps and vehicles. It also means
hiking long distance, both to scout and
to hunt.
Here I was, slipping downward
through very thick trees, late in the
morning with daytime heat settling into
the canyon. I do not believe in penetrating elk-bedding zones, because
bumped animals don’t always come back.
But the bull sound below me had been
too tantalizing, I had not yet seen a really large elk despite days
and days of hunting, and I just wanted a peek.

I got my peek in spades a few minutes
later. The pungent barnyard odor of elk
suddenly hit my nostrils, and then a big,
amber-colored cow exploded from her bed
directly in front of me. Suddenly, the
whole hillside was churning with elk
hooves and dust. I ran to a nearby point,
poked my head over the edge, and spotted
colossal elk antlers twisting downward
through the trees. The bull was hot on the
heels of eight females, hazing them like a
cutting horse after cows. Seconds later,
with the vision of giant antlers burned into
my brain, the small herd vanished beyond
a ridge.

I could not believe my eyes. This
bull was definitely larger than my 2002
elk, and the one in 2002 had officially
gross scored 377 2/8 and net scored 368 4/8
The back “whale tails” on the rack I had
just seen were immense, the main beams
dropping downward on both sides of the
rump. The spread looked impossible-
the widest I had ever seen on a live elk
or in a picture. As I compared my snap
impression with the World Record I had
taken in 2000, I kept coming back to a
startling possibility. This elk might be
just as big!

As my guide and I tramped the high
ridges the rest of the day to look for sign
and orient ourselves to the area, I kept
second·guessing my judgment. As I report»
ed in a 2001 issue of Bowhunting World,
bull elk scoring over 400 points are incredibly rare.
I had said then, and I kept telling
myself now, that seeing two such bulls in
a lifetime was impossible. Despite several million elk harvested in North
America during the past l0O years, fewer than
three dozen typical bulls had officially beat
the 400 inch mark.

We covered ground all day long, and
walked all the next day as well. We did not
hear or see so much as one elk during those
20·plus hours. There were pockets of fresh
sign, but not a lot of animals in the area. It
didn’t matter to me. At that point, I was
only interested in one elk-—the whopper in
the deep, dark canyon.

Refining The Game Plan
On Tuesday, September 23, I saw the big
bull again. It was mid-morning, and we
had just about given up on hunting. Glassing distant slopes had turned up one
raghorn 5×5, two spikes, and one cow.
just as we dropped our binoculars and
stood to leave our prominent perch, ell;
began streaming from a cut in a mountain
half a mile away. At the rear was a huge-
bodied bull with ivory·tipped antlers.
Even from 800 yards, the bull was unmistakable. My guide was flabbergasted The animal was a true rump scratcher, and all the tines were
long. I was beginning to believe that lightning just might strike twice
in the same place.
Before we could get anywhere close, the bull and his eight-cow harem
vanished in the very same canyon were I’d seen them two days before.
As many readers of Bowhunting World know, I prefer not to call elk.

Calling is certainly exciting, and young bulls certainly respond to well
practiced bugles and grunts. But old, hard»hunted bulls are wise.
I suspect they recognize the voices of other real elk in their area, and I know
they move away from imitation calls. You simply do not live six or eight
years by charging every bugle and grunt you hear.

The bulls I hunt don”t even call much themselves. They know from
past experience that mouthing off can be hazardous to their health,
Only when pressed by a rival bull or an overly aggressive pipsqueak do
they bother to answer back.

Such elk require you to refine your game plan. Call only to locate
bulls from a distance. Be quiet and stalk through heavy cover that trophy bulls prefer.
Dog the edges of elk herds, Sooner or later, the big
guy just might swagger into bow range. Never, but never let him know
you’re there. You should stay out of sight and out of his mind—a total
surprise to the bull when your arrow smacks him through the chest.
Going For The Shot

I hiked the mountainside downwind from the elk bedding canyon
till dark on Tuesday. Elk seldom move much before dead dark in
warm weather, and it was certainly warm. But my goal was not
shooting an elk that day, anyway. It was learning terrain so I might set up a shot
tomorrow.

First light on Wednesday morning
found me crouched on a knob near the
bottom of the mountain. A long slash of
wide»open ground stretched upward to the
top….a slash I now knew by heart. With
luck, the bull might push his cows across as
he had the morning before.

Bingo! Three elk appeared high on
the slope where the ones had been the day
before. My heart leaped. . .and then I
relaxed. These were small bulls, not the
macho kind capable of holding cows.
The trio wandered out of sight. Seconds later,
a string of cows appeared a little lower down.
Hot on their heels was the
massive bull.

I ran 125 yards like a madman, scrambling up an open cut that rose sharply I
toward the elk. Out of breath and shaking from excitement, I peeked beyond a bank
of dirt. Here came the cows, mincing along a narrow trail beaten into the hill,
They were barely 2O yards away! I ducked, nocked an arrow, and buried
my shoulder in the near-vertical slope,

Only my eyeballs moved as the females
slipped past me on the upwind side. I could
see the shine of their noses, the glitter of
their eyes, and the delicate flutter of their
eyelids. As the eighth cow moved past
and disappeared, I tensed to take the shot.
Nothing. No antlers, no sound, and
not even any dust, I waited as endless seconds plodded by,
Still no bull, Far uphill, a squeaky bugle erupted from
a patch of timber. Suddenly, polished
antlers appeared much closer above a hill.
They glittered like the mouth of hell as the
giant bull strolled out well above the cows.
I groaned, drew my Reflex bow, and tried
to estimate the distance over the arrow. It
was now or never, and I was determined to
make it now, When you think you can
make the shot, you should go for the shot!

The bull stopped and whipped his head
uphill, gawking toward the elk that had just
called. I guessed 45 yards, planted my sight
pin, and let the bowstring go. Half a second later,
the shaft hammered home with
a meaty, satisfying thump!

The bull staggered ahead, but he did not
go far with a broadhead through both lungs.
I had my elk, and I was thunderstruck by
the size of the beast.

Extreme hunting in an extreme elk
area had paid off with an extreme but very
makeable shot. The animal was also
extreme——extremely big and extremely
exciting. My guide and I rough scored
him well over 4OO points, and even after
half a year, the antlers still unofficially
score nearly three inches larger than my
current P&Y World Record.

Only expert panel judges can sort out
the fine points of officially measuring tines,
assessing main beams, and determining
exactly where the inside spread should be
taped. Half a dozen P&Y points can magically appear
or vanish in one serious measuring session, so l do not know for sure
how this animal will stack up.
But I do know he’s big. That bull
stunned me to my boots when l first laid eyes
on his antlers, and I’m still in awe of his
heavy headgear today. The memories of the
hunt and the thrill of wrapping my hands
around those massive beams are the things
that matter most. >—->>

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Published by dandu005 on 13 Nov 2011

Bittersweetness of Hunting

I feel that I am not alone when I say that there is most definitely a bittersweet side to the harvesting of game and the hunt being over. I was fortunate this year to once again fill my Minnesota archery tag with a nice buck. Not only that, but it also was the third consecutive year that I took my buck on Halloween weekend. So to say harvesting my 2011 buck made me happy is an understatement, although deep down there was a strange feeling that was oddly not surprising.

Looking down at my buck lying in the bed of my truck, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat upset. I had spent the last 364 days since I killed my last buck getting ready for that moment, and now it was over. The thought that my 2011 season was over really struck at me, and thinking about a whole year of preparation until the next season seemed depressing. I found it very interesting that despite my success I had mixed feelings about it. This was supposed to be a time of utter celebration and nothing more. Which we did celebrate the harvest, and I most certainly couldn’t have been more happy with a happy ending to a hunting season, but the emotions I felt still kept me uneasy deep down.

Finally an epiphany happened, and I realized why I was feeling these mixed feelings. The happy feelings go without any need for explanation. However, the unhappy ones I found to be caused by the end of a season. I would no longer get to go out into the woods, sit in a tree stand, observe mother nature, and enjoy God’s work. I anticipate that opportunity all year, it is what I essentially live for among other select things. I have also found that it is inevitable that these feeling will come when you put in so much time and effort into the preparations for your hunting season, then have it all come down to the climax and have it end only to start the cycle all over again. The important thing to remember is that you get the opportunity to do it all again. For many this chance doesn’t come. Half the fun of hunting is the off-season preparation isn’t it? The anticipation, the prepping, all working up to that fleeting moment, that is why we do it. So don’t let those end of the season woes get to you. Always remember there is another season coming, so reap the rewards of the recently ended one and start getting ready for next year’s adventures, and remember why we do what we do.

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Published by dandu005 on 25 Oct 2011

Bowhunting in Reality

Looking through today’s hunting publications, what do you see? Page after page of celebrity hunters holding up freakishly large deer that surpass even the limits of our dreams. Usually these images are displayed on the ad pages promoting some sort of product that is supposed to be the cause for the fall of the monarch. While I will say I do like watching some of these celebrity hunters and enjoy their shows, I feel what they are promoting is being misinterpreted by the public. We the public are starting to believe we must shoot big mature bucks, and that trophy hunting is coming to be the one accepted method in the woods. Shooting a young buck will lead to scoffs and criticisms from “much greater” hunters who think highly of their commitment to trophy hunting. In reality, the typical deer hunter doesn’t have access to land that is capable of producing record book bucks consistently like TV hunting personalities do. Big mature bucks are far more rare than most people realize, and that is where this misinterpretation can lead to problems for us hunters. We work so hard for something that quit possibly may not be possible that we no longer enjoy the sport and forget what hunting is about. In these modern day magazines, I am also noticing a rise in the number of articles being published about this issue. The authors are attempting to pursuade people into seeing what the world of hunting is turning into. More and more hunters are losing sight of what is important to the hunt, that is the hunt itself and not the kill. The world of hunting is turning into an unquenchable thirst for shooting the biggest deer in the woods, and if you don’t do so you fail as a hunter. Much too often it seems we find ourselves scrutinizing others for taking lesser deer than our standards. This is brought about by the false interpretations we get from the media. Remember this, the memories we make afield with our friends and family beat any trophy that can ever be harvested. Realizing what hunting really means to you and hunting within your means and reality will lead to an enjoyable experience for all rather than a struggle amongst ourselves.

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Published by mitchie on 24 Oct 2011

Special 3-D Indoor Shoot

Possum Hollow is having a 30 Target 3-D Archery Shoot on December 16, 23 and 30. Cost is 10.00. kitchen open for the events. It is at Possum Hollow Sportsmens Club 352 Possum Hollow Road, Wampum, Pa. 16157. www.ph-sc.com or email us at thepossumhollow@gmail.com. Hope to see you there.

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Published by Lady Artemis on 18 Sep 2011

TALL BOY

Northern Indiana

10/18/2008:

My husband and I were out in our ladder stand overlooking a freshly-cut bean field.  We had taken our video camera with us for the first time.  Just a few minutes before dark, two bucks came out to feed;  one small fork horn and a larger tall-racked one.  The bigger buck spent some time working a scrape and licking branch at the field edge.  We captured about 15 minutes of video before the light faded.

One of the deer was just a stone’s throw away as we carefully climbed down in the dark.  Neither deer spooked when we left, but it made for a nervous trip out knowing they were behind us on the same trail.  Returning home, we watched the video footage we just shot, and wondered if we would see the big buck a.k.a. “Tall Boy” ever again.

10/19/2008:

The next day, I decided on the spur of the moment to hunt our stand again.  My husband was staying home to watch the F1 race, and he thought I could go out hunting for a few hours alone.  The weather was fore-casted to be mild;  50 degrees, light wind and no rain.    By the time I did my normal prep, it was around 3 o’clock before I arrived on stand.  I saw an occasional squirrel or flock of songbirds, but no deer showed up for about 3 hours.

A little after 6 pm, a mature doe and yearling stepped out on the other side of the field.  They fed for a few minutes, then the doe suddenly stared right at me, blowing and stomping her foot.   She pranced around the field and carried on for several minutes, but would not leave.  I froze in the stand, afraid to move or even make eye contact.

Another yearling and a fork horn buck came out into the field.  The little buck immediately began dogging the doe.  The entire group started trotting around the field, doing their best to avoid the young buck.  One by one, all the deer disappeared as the buck chased them into the trees.

With the field now empty and believing I was probably done after the alarm the doe had sounded, I hung up my bow and considered leaving soon.  I slowly let out a deep breath and tried to ease the tension between my shoulders.  Moments later, I glanced over my left shoulder and saw another small buck along with two does.  A few minutes passed, then the small buck looked back at the trees as a big buck stepped out.

Not believing my eyes, I blinked several times to clear my vision and used my binoculars to look at the deer more closely.  Tall Boy had returned!  I again grabbed my bow and quietly waited while the deer slowly worked towards me.  Another doe came out to join the group.  Soon, the whole herd was coming near me to feed on some tender new grass under my stand.  The four other deer were within 20 yards and facing me.  I knew I would have to shoot sitting down with so many deer so close.

Tall Boy walked to within 15 yards and stopped perfectly broadside.  I waited for his front leg to go forward to make for a higher-percentage shot.   I leaned forward, canting and drawing the bow at the same time.   My only opening was thru a large fork in the tree.  In the instant I came to full draw, the deer lifted his head and looked right at me.  Afraid he would jump the string, I aimed low on his chest and released the arrow.

All the deer scattered, running in opposite directions across the bean field.   By the time the others had disappeared, my deer was lagging behind.   He slowed to a walk, then stopped next to the scrape he had worked the day before.   He staggered, then tipped over sideways, disappearing into the trees.   I heard a loud crash, then the woods became completely silent.

It was now about 7:15 pm and I knew that darkness was coming within minutes.   I quickly gathered my gear and climbed out of the tree.   I walked softly over to the last place I had seen the deer and peeked into the woods.   Just 10 feet into the tree line, I saw the white belly and horns of my deer.   He had only ran about 75 yards from where I had shot him.   I went to him and saw that he was not getting up.    My single shot had been all that was necessary.   I laid my hands upon his rack and said a prayer of thanks for this precious gift.

I called my husband with the news and asked for his help recovering the deer.  When he arrived, we discovered the joy of field dressing by headlight and flashlight, not the optimal conditions for sure.  We checked him in the next day, and found his weight to be 180# dressed.


After 7 long years of waiting, with many close encounters and missed opportunities, I have finally harvested my first deer.  He was everything I had ever wanted, truly a deer of my dreams.

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Published by Double s on 09 Sep 2011

Tough Buck Falls

I took this fella around 4 pm on the 2nd in a CRP field. I call him “Tough Buck”. He was bedded down in some sage. I had the wind to my advantage as I made my way to him…slowly. When the wind died down…I stopped…When the wind picked up…I moved. I basically crab walked sideways making sure that I was in Shooting position just in case he heard me and got up. I got to 21 yards and stopped. I had one sage blocking his view of me. I must have ranged the bush he was beside 100 times. I got into shooters position and Yelped at him. I saw his Antlers move left then right…then he got up. I place my 20 yard pin on the right front armpit and fired. I couldn’t even hear the impact because of the wind. He bucked up once and dropped to his front knee’s. I figured this is it….Nope!. He gets back up and trots off away 40 yards and beds down under another sage. It felt like a great shot but I started to second guess myself. I waited about 20 minutes glassing him. I thought he had expired but he picked his head up again, I knew he was wounded bad. With the high heat I couldn’t back out and come back later, the meat would spoil plus i didn’t want him to suffer any more. I slowly made my way toward him again using the same tactics. I got into 20 yards of him again and got into my shooters position. I had a west to east wind and it was picking up. I yelped to him and nothing happened…I yelped again, His antlers moved…He was weak. I finally just yelled. He slowly gets up and I aimed for the same right front armpit again. Fired. I see the impact and the blood blow out. He turns around facing east to try to go uphill to get away from me.,he didn’t make it. He made it about 25 yards east and rolled. I could see all four hoofs up in the air in the sage. A couple of jerks of the hoofs and he expired. My son Arrived as well as a friend to help out. I gutted him out and we used a tarp to drag him out. After I got him skinned out I could see two puncture holes on the right side, the entrance, almost touching. I call him a “Tough Buck”.

He has 6 points on the left side but the eye guard is under the 1 inch rule. So I’m calling it 5.
The right is 4 plus 1 eye guard way over the 1 inch rule. That’s a 5.


Two entrance holes from 2 blade BH. Right side right above the armpit. I have him hanging head down with head already removed.

left side of the pass through

 

Preping for skinning and boiling

Muley Skull almost complete

 

 

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Published by KurtD on 18 Jul 2011

It’s All About The Memories By: Ted Nugent

IT’S ALL ABOUT THE MEMORIES
By: Ted Nugent

Growing up in the new musical whirlwind of Chuck Berry, Bo Diddly, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis and the thrilling new bowhunting world of Fred Bear was very, very exciting. Inspired by these masters of rock-n-roll, I attacked my guitar and musical dreams with a passion fire the likes of which I had no control over. And as far as the mystical flight of the arrow went, I was long gone, addicted, hooked, in love L-U-V, bow and arrow crazy.

Driven by the love and discipline of my incredible parents, I practiced my guitar with a vengeance and shot my bow and arrows every day. I literally could not get enough of either of these passions, and pursued them with every ounce of my being. It was a fascinating, wonderful way to grow up in America, and my memory bank bursts at the seams with glowing, powerful images of family joy and happiness with guitars, guns, bows and arrows.

But as jam packed as my memory bank is, unfortunately the family photo album is a little sparse on snapshots from the old Brownie automatic camera. We have a few dazzling photos of our wonderful family doing all sorts of fun stuff in those early years of the 1950s and early 60s, but I sure wish we had taken the time to take more photos.

As I think back to those annual excursions Up North for opening day of bow season in October, my mind reels with graphic details of the gas stations with bows and arrows and guns and ammo on display. The firestorm of colors in those Michigan hardwoods is as if they are silkscreened on my soul.

I can see my hero Fred Bear sitting next to me at the counter of the Grayling restaurant eating our cherry pie and sipping big glasses of milk together.

How I wish we had captured those incredible memories on film.

We don’t have photos of us catching little blue gills at the woodland lake. No photos of the little log cabin on the beautiful Titabawasee River, gathering wood, hauling water, frying bacon, roasting marshmallows, shooting our bows and .22 rifles.

There are no photos of my first squirrel, my fist deer, my first rabbit.

I would have never imagined I would grow up to be a professional outdoor writer or New York Times Best Selling author, much less the American rock-n-roll guitar guy. No one could have ever guessed I would dedicate my life to promoting our honorable hunting heritage and Second Amendment rights. Photos of my early years living that life sure would have come in mighty handy for such a career.

And even if such a career had never taken shape, I would really love to be able to show my kids and grandkids photos of the old man in action as a little boy who cherished my outdoor lifestyle from the very beginning.

So here’s to everyone out there who loves the great outdoors and thrills at taking our kids, grandkids, family and friends hunting, fishing, trapping, shooting, camping, boating and exploring.

Do yourself a favor and always bring along a decent camera with plenty of spare batteries and memory cards. Take that extra time to stop and document what I believe to be the most cherished lifetime memories of all; families having fun living the outdoor lifestyle.

Capture those life forming moments when we are celebrating the outdoor life we all so love. Get a photo of the young boys and girls with their first fish, their first bulls-eye, a first burnt marshmallow or a hot dog on a stick over an open campfire. Document those glowing smiles, not just for the happy, forever memories, but also to share with other friends, neighbors and classmate just how much fun all these great outdoor activities are for everyone fortunate enough to live them.

By sharing such photos with others, I am convinced the joys will be contagious and a darn good tool for luring more and more families into the shooting sports, and we can all agree just how great that always is.

You and your entire family will be happy you did.

Guns; check. Ammo; check. Bows and arrows; check. Tent; check. Stools; check. Canoe; Check. Fishing poles; Check. Tacklebox; Check. Bait; Check. Camera and batteries; Check. Happy

 

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Published by KurtD on 14 Jul 2011

It’s All About The Little Things by Ted Nugent

IT’S ALL ABOUT THE LITTLE THINGS

by Ted Nugent

My eyes nearly bulged out of my hairy little head. Dear Lord in heaven, there were beautiful big game animals seemingly everywhere. A quartet of stunning spotted axis stags stood a hundred yards yonder, standing there looking at us. Six or seven darn nice whitetails were just beyond them, casually filtering in and out of the bushy scrub. We hadn’t driven a hundred yards when a gorgeous white horned sika stag stuck his head out of a cedar thicket twenty yards off the trail. In a short thirty minute drive, I had seen more amazing big game animals than I would normally see in an entire season on average when I first started hunting. And many of these critters seemed to be so relaxed, I was aghast that it couldn’t possibly be for real.

For a guy who started bowhunting back in the 1950s, I struggled to process the information that had just smacked me between the frontal lobes. It was one of my first adventures in the wilds of the amazing Texas’ Hill Country, and I was about to implode with excitement as I was being led to my afternoon treestand.

The vast open range of this private hunting ranch was loaded with more than twenty five species of indigenous and exotic big game animals, and they were apparently in abundant numbers. Only a few bowhunters had ever hunted this place, and I was invited to sample their hunting to offer my advice on how to set it up for optimal bowhunting.

The pickup chugged up a bumpy, rocky two track road and pulled to a halt where an endless ridge of thick cedars broke off into a desert flat of prickly pear cactus and barren rocky ground. My guide pointed to a lone mesquite tree with a metal tripod wedged into the branches, and told me this was the hot spot for aoudad rams, axis deer, sika, fallow and whitetail galore. He said the feeder was to the north a short ways and would go off around sunset and I should be covered up with critters.

I am telling you, I was more excited than I think I had ever been. I said thank you and hustled over to the tripod as my guide motored off.

When I got to the stand, I became somewhat concerned, for the old tripod was nearly rusted out, and I was actually scared as I climbed aboard the squeaky, swaying, dangerously unstable stand. With no tow rope, I clung to my bow as every step created all kinds of racket, and it got even worse when I settled into the cracked, chipped noisy seat.

I didn’t feel comfortable at all and was actually spooked that I wouldn’t be able to remain steady when attempting to draw back my bow. But I needn’t had worried, for I was completely skylighted eight feet off the ground, with the sun blazing on my face, making my whole body glow against the shiny blue sky. No way would any animal not see me up here.

Next thing I immediately noticed was that the steady breeze was blowing straight for the feeder, which was not a short ways away, but rather a good forty five yards away. Under the feeder was a deep depression, void of any vegetation within fifteen yards.

I furrowed my brow, squinted my sunburned eyeballs and wondered how in the hell anyone with the most minimal basic of hunting knowledge 101 could possibly think this set up could work.

I shifted my weight best that I could to minimize the squeaking, creaking, noisy old stand, nocked an arrow and hoped for the best.

Many animals were seen coming and going in all directions nonstop, but the feeder never went off, and nothing came anywhere near my strange anti-ambush spot. Right around sunset I was shocked to see my guide driving up in his noisy pickup, right at the magic bewitching hour that all hunters wait for and put in the hours for. I walked over to the feeder to discover that it was empty, and the battery was dead, and it appeared it hadn’t thrown any corn in a long, long time.

To say I was perplexed is a gross understatement. Making matters much worse, when I asked my guide how it was that the feeder wasn’t working and was much too far away for a decent bowshot, that my stand was unsafe and noisy as all hell, that the sun made me glow with no background cover at all and that the wind was the worst possible for this stand location, that his truck’s muffler announced to the world where we had gone, and that his Aqua Velva aftershave was like an olfactory warning alarm going off, he got his panties in a wad and scoffed me off like I didn’t know what I was talking about. How dare a long haired Yankee bowhunter try to tell a real honest to God Texas ranching cowboy how to kill critters on his grounds?

Yikes! My view of Texas took a very ugly turn for the worse that frightful day, I’m here to tell you.

So the lessons here my friends are mighty obvious. Stealth, safety, silence, wind, sun, background cover, maximum advantage bow shot distance to anticipated animal activity, feeders that are full and operational, decent ground vegetation so the animals have confidence to show up and move about, scent control by all players, don’t quit hunting until all shooting light or legal shooting light is over.

Big fun, happy and successful hunts, gratifying time afield and backstraps come to those who pay attention to the plethora of little details. I assure you, the critters are paying attention to every little detail, and if they pay more attention than we do, they win.  I like it when I win better, so I leave nothing to chance. Even when we do everything perfect to the best of our ability, that mystical sixth sense of the beast can turn the tables on the best of us. Think hard, think like a predator, think like an animal, learn your lessons well, and eventually backstraps will be yours. Details, details, details. Cover them all and hunt like you mean it. Me, I’m addicted to backstraps baby. I hunt to win. I hunt to kill.

 

 

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