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4 votes, average: 3.25 out of 54 votes, average: 3.25 out of 54 votes, average: 3.25 out of 54 votes, average: 3.25 out of 54 votes, average: 3.25 out of 5 (4 votes, average: 3.25 out of 5)
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Published by ryalred on 23 Sep 2008

The Bloodtrailor Deer

Fog, mist, dark, dreary—perfect deer hunting weather. There wasn’t a leaf moving. It was the last half of muzzle loader season in Southeast Oklahoma and I had already killed a nice buck with my old Jukar smoke pole, but I had taken a week’s vacation and bow season coincides with the primitive arms season, so I thought I’d make the most of my time off and hunt with my bow. And, besides, I was anxious to try out these new Blood Trailer mechanical broadheads (they were new then). I had always had trouble getting my broadheads to fly like field points. I hadn’t yet learned the, what now seems so simple, steps to arrow tuning, and this promise of a broadhead flying just like field point was extremely appealing. My only concern was the killing potential of the Blood Trailers. I’m not a physicist, but the principles behind the mechanics of the Blood Trailer seemed reasonable to me, but the cutting blades seemed a little flimsy, but their ads had been very convincing, so, I’d give um a try.

As usual, I had some difficulty deciding which stand to hunt. I had almost 200 acres all to myself—the weather having scared off my brother-in-law and my father-in-law. I had the option of about a dozen stands from which to choose and the wind was no factor at all. Why I chose the one I did, I’ll never know. It wasn’t my favorite stand. It wasn’t my most productive stand. It wasn’t one that produced the largest deer or the most sightings. Maybe it was because I hadn’t hunted it in quite some time, or maybe the fact that the stand was close to the maximum range I had imposed on myself from the trails the deer usually used. This would be a good range to see just how good those Blood Trailers flew and their down range penetrability. Whatever the reason, it was the most fortuitous choice I had ever made in choosing a location to hunt.

I got there about three hours before dark and climbed into my stand, expecting a couple of hours of waiting before the deer started moving. I had carefully hung by doe in estrus scent bombs in three positions around my tree and now I was ready. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hear any deer coming my way because everything was so wet from all the fog and mist. I nocked an Easton 2117 aluminum arrow on the string of my old Ben Pearson compound bow and sat back for the wait. I daydreamed a little about new bows, something with more than 50 % let off would be nice, and those carbon arrows would be great, too, but that would all have to wait till next year.

I had only been there an hour when I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. Whatever it was, it was already pretty close and I hadn’t removed my bow from its hanger. It also wasn’t on one of the main trails past my stand. But, I remained motionless for what seemed like 30 minutes waiting for whatever I had seen to step out in my filed of view. Then the wait was over but the excitement was just beginning. The largest whitetail deer I’d ever seen while hunting walked right out into view, maybe 18 yds from my tree and quartered slightly away from me. He stops and began to look all around and he held his head high in the air as if to catch the scent of something, but he didn’t appear to be the least bit nervous—he wasn’t scenting me. He was smelling my scent bombs and was looking for the doe giving off that wonderful odor. He looked to be a 10 pointer with very heavy beams and a massive body. My heart was beating so hard, I was sure he would hear it. He just stood there scenting and looking. I ever so slowly removed my bow from its hanger and clipped my release onto the string. All the time I just kept thinking, “He’s so close—if I miss him I’ll be just sick.” I also kept thinking, “I sure do wish I had a Thunderhead on my arrow instead of that flimsy looking Blood Trailer,” but it was going to have to do. I slowly drew my arrow and aligned to peep and top sight pin to just behind his front shoulder and hit the release. It was a good release and a good shot. I saw the arrow hit almost exactly where I was aiming. It also made that wonderfully sound of an arrow hitting the heart/lung area. Instantly the monster buck turned and ran out of sight.

It was the longest thirty minutes I had ever waited to get down out of my stand, but I had made it a rule a couple of years early to not leave the stand for at least thirty minutes after I had shot a deer with my bow. (I would wait longer if I felt the shot wasn’t too good.) Upon reaching the ground, I walked to where the huge deer had been standing when I shot, thinking I’d find my arrow stuck in the ground where it had passed through, but no arrow. Worse yet, there was no blood. I slowly walked in the direction he ran, looking for blood after each step. I walked 15 steps and found one small drop of bright red blood. I was sure that within the next few steps I’d begin finding large amounts of blood, but not so. I only found a couple more small drops of blood. I marked each spot with a sheet of toilet tissue so I wouldn’t loose the trail and I could get an idea of the specific direction the deer was taking.

I was beginning to worry with all kinds of questions racing through my head. “Did I not make a good shot—was it too high?” “Did the Blood Trailer fail and only cause minimal damage?” “Why, oh why hadn’t I had a Thunderhead on that arrow.” I looked and looked in ever expanding semi circles in the direction I had seen the buck heading, but no deer, and even worse, no blood! It was about to get dark, and I had gone about 50 yards from where I had shot the deer. It was going to be cool that night so I decided to go in and begin searching again at daylight the next morning. I really thought I had killed the deer and it was out there somewhere and I was going to find it the next day.

I could hardly sleep that night and off and on that night I could hear it raining—there would be no blood trail. I was up before daylight and packed my backpack with snacks and water—I was going to make a day of looking for this deer. Upon arriving at the spot where I’d shot the deer the blood, what little there was, had washed away, but the toilet tissue was there, though a little water logged. I decided to make complete circles about ten yards apart beginning at where I’d stopped looking the night before. I thought he could have turned back so I didn’t want to look just in the direction I last saw him going.

By 10:00 a.m. I had made ever widening circles out to 100 yards from the spot of the shot and still no deer. I decided to take a break from that procedure and walk to two nearby ponds since I remembered that injured deer will sometimes go to water, but no deer. I was beginning to feel really sick about the possibility of loosing the best deer I’d ever seen, much lest taken a shot at. The fact that he had been only 18 yds away made me feel even worse.

I decided to try one other thing before I went back to making the every expanding circles—thinking I’d go out to at least 200 yards with them. I went back to the spot of the shot and got a line with the three sheets of toilet tissue I’d used to mark the blood spots. I decided to walk in a straight line, that direction, for at least 300 yards. At 150 yards I looked up ahead and there in a large area of grass—could it be—yes it was, the deer of a lifetime. He had run as hard as he could go and then just fell in a heap. He had been dead before I left the stand the day before.

Upon investigation I found that the arrow had penetrated the upper chest, just behind the front leg and had passed through both lungs, but had not exited on the other, lower side. My Thunderheads would have passed through and there would have been gushers of blood. Yes, the Blood Trailer had done its job properly but had fallen short of its name—leaving no blood trail. (I would never use one again.)

The deer was so huge I could not move it. I had to get my father-in-law to help. The buck’s field dressed weight—a whopping 185 lbs (for Southeast Oklahoma that is huge). Its rack was a wide, heavy beamed 10 point that I have never had scored. I’m extremely proud of it. It larger than most deer I see hanging in guys’ living rooms AND I GOT IT WITH A BOW!!!

5 votes, average: 3.60 out of 55 votes, average: 3.60 out of 55 votes, average: 3.60 out of 55 votes, average: 3.60 out of 55 votes, average: 3.60 out of 5 (5 votes, average: 3.60 out of 5)
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Published by dworakma on 22 Sep 2008

2008 Bivy Trip

2008 Elk Hunt

Friday – September 12, 2008

I left town around 1:30 pm and met Jeff’s friend Nate (AKA SuperNacho) at Ted’s Place at the mouth of the Poudre Canyon.  Nate hadn’t been up to our spot before and it’s tough to get back in there if you haven’t been, so I volunteered to caravan up with him.  It was spitting snow on the drive up and the mountain passes had several inches on the ground, it was looking like it might be a tough trip!

Cameron Pass

Cameron Pass

Got to the trailhead and Big Ron’s truck was there but he wasn’t around, which meant he was running a load of gear up the trail on the four-wheeler.  Hung out for a little bit while another afternoon shower blew threw, it was definitely looking like I might be in for a long week.

Loading Up

Loading Up

Got up to camp after dark and setup up my tent in the rain.  Had a few beers with the fellas and went to bed.

Saturday – Sept 13 (Full moon, 65-70 degrees clear skies)

Woke up at 5:00 am.  Drew and I were the only ones to make it out of camp early and we were planning on staying out for five days with our bivy gear.  By the way, after adding “a few odds and ends” my pack, water, bow all weighed in at 55 lbs.  As we were walking out of camp we noticed three muzzleloader hunters were heading in the same direction as we were.  They ended up getting in front of us which was fine, that way we could see which way they were headed and hunt some place else.  But as soon as we got to the big meadow outside of the old horse camp, we heard elk crashing thru the trees.  Since we’ve encountered elk here many times we had a pretty good idea which way they were headed and took off running, hoping to keep ahead of them.  We heard the muzzleloaders bugling to the elk and had to laugh because we knew they didn’t have a chance.  We only know this because we’ve been outsmarted at this very spot too many times.  It turns out we lucked out and made the right call.   When we approached “the knob” after jogging about 1.5 miles, it was awesome.  We had about six bulls all bugling within 200 yards.  I sat back to call for Drew and happened to get a bull on video while I was sitting (I know my video skills are pretty rough, to say the least.  If you get seasick easily you’ll probably get queasy watching).  You can hear the bull do the popping/nervous grunt at the end of our face off.  He came to within 45 yards and all the while I was waiting for Drew to shoot.  Unfortunately he was chasing one of the other five bulls, which he never caught up with.  It’s too bad my video camera doesn’t do so good capturing audio, because those bulls were close and it was amazing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYgxGCGu3VQ

After catching the bull on video they seemed to quiet down a bit and we sat down to relax with a hot cup of coffee and some granola.  Afterward, we heard a few more bugles, which gave us an idea which direction they were headed and kept following.

Checking out the map

Checking out the map

Drew with a Full Pack

Drew with a Full Pack

Around mid-day we stopped for lunch.  Actually I stopped.  Drew was going to continue another 400-500 yards up the hill and I was going to call again hoping a bull would respond and he’d be close enough to sneak in.  I’m not sure what exactly happened but I didn’t see Drew for another couple hours.  Apparently during that time he saw 35-45 elk and almost had a couple shots but it never panned out.  The last part of the afternoon we climbed out of the bowl we hunted all morning and proceeded to see another 16 elk on the adjacent hillside.  Of the 16, there was a fairly nice bull with the bunch.  He’s the other elk on the video.  I shot the footage for about ¼ mile so it’s fairly shaky but we ended up getting to within about 30 yards of that bull before I ended up getting busted.  It was pretty disappointing since he would have been a great bull and it had been an awesome stalk up to that point.

We set up bivy camp on the hillside that night about 4-5 miles from where we started out that morning.  Drew wanted to give one last bugle before calling it a night.  And wouldn’t you know it, he called a bull to within 30 yards of our sleeping bags.  The elk sang us to sleep that night, we couldn’t have asked for a better day.

Bivy Camp

Bivy Camp

Since the elk had been bugling all night and had woken us up multiple times we had a pretty good idea where to head in the morning.  As we were trying to get ready we had a bull bugling within about 200 yards of camp, so we got dressed as quickly and quietly as possible.  We ended up getting into a heard of maybe 10 cows, a herd bull and several satellite bulls.  It had gotten down to about 25 degrees that night and unfortunately my video camera was too cold to turn on so I didn’t get any footage.  We ended up chasing the herd down the side of the mountain before they lost us.  Drew got a glimpse of the herd bull and said he was big (300 inches?).

After all the excitement that morning we headed back to our bivy camp for coffee and breakfast.  Granola, powered milk and protein power for me, Drew had dehydrated Mountain House eggs, ham, and green pepper.  His was starting to look better than my granola mix; I’ll have to add some variety for breakfast next year.  We also dropped down to a natural spring to refill our water supplies.

We finally got a hold of Big Ron on the radio around 10:00 that morning and talked him into heading out to bivy with us.  He ended up showing up later that afternoon.

Big Ron heading our way from over 1/2 mile

Big Ron heading our way from over 1/2 mile

Drew and Big Ron

Drew and Big Ron

That night we returned to where we lost the herd earlier that morning but didn’t have any luck.  They finally started bugling after dark and we thought one was going to walk right up to us.  It was pretty cool to sit there in the moonlight listening to the bulls bugle.

Full Moon on the Mountain

Full Moon on the Mountain

Monday – Sept 15

Woke up at 6 am and packed up our bivy’s.  We gave a few locate bugles off the top of the mountain trying to determine which direction to travel.  We heard a couple bugles from the “triple-nipple” to the north and a single bugle down the mountain to the west.  Since heading west kept us closer to base camp that’s where we headed.  Of course when we got to the bottom of the mountain he quit bugling.  We sat down around 9:30 for breakfast and to figure out a new plan.  As were screwing around boiling water for coffee and jabbering away I saw a couple cows walking thru the trees about 45 yards away.  I told Drew to cow call, grabbed my bow and headed towards them.  Unfortunately, I think they were wise to our mid-mountain breakfast buffet and ran out of there.

About that time we heard the bull that brought us down the mountain that morning bugle again, but he was getting further and further away.  Big Ron and I decided to stay put and keep calling while Drew took off after him.  The plan was working great until we called in another hunter.  We never did see the guy but his calling was horrendous and we knew it wasn’t an elk, I think Beau (my 2 yr. old) is probably better than this guy was.

We sat in that area for a little while and eventually decided to head north.  We walked a couple miles and then hung out for a couple hours in an “elky” looking area before the evening bulging would hopefully start back up.  Nobody saw anything, we figured we’d cook an early dinner, since we would likely hunt until right before dark.  As we were cooking dinner elk started to bugle, and one seemed to keep getting closer.  We quickly finished up and headed towards the nearest bugle, which wasn’t far off.  It turns out the bull was bugling from a great wallow and was raking the tress with his antlers.  All three of us were watching from about 50 yards when the elk called in yet a bigger elk, which chased him out of the wallow.  Big Ron had been bugling which kept both the elk fired up and Drew took off chasing them again.  We talked to him on the radio after about ½ hour and he said he had shot a bull.  We went to help him track the bull and luckily found he didn’t go far.  We all worked in the dark by headlamp skinning, boning and hanging the elk meat to cool.

Big Ron, Drew & Matt

Big Ron, Drew & Matt

Tuesday – Sept 16

Drew in his Bivy

Drew in his Bivy

We knew it was going to be a long day.  It was five miles to the nearest four-wheeler trail.  Those five miles included a thousand foot vertical decent through some nasty blow-down, followed by several miles of halfway flat wilderness trail and finally a couple tough miles with another thousand-foot climb back to the top.  The worst part was we knew it was going to take two trips!  The first trip Drew and I packed half our bivy gear, and a sack of boned out elk meat, total of 75-80 lbs.  Big Ron packed out all his bivy gear and the antlers.

Big Ron Packing Out

Big Ron Packing Out

After the five-mile first trip, Big Ron heading down another trail back to base camp to get the four wheeler and Drew and I dropped back down for another load of meat and the rest of our gear.  We ended up crawling out of the bowl at about 8:30 that night by headlamp, sweating and dragging having walked 15 miles that day.  It was brutal! Seeing that Big Ron had dropped off a four-wheeler and a cooler of beer and cold burritos was quite possibly the best thing we’d ever seen.

Wednesday – Sept 17

Slept in.  Woke up and screwed around camp drinking coffee and eating breakfast burritos.  Packed up and heading down the trail by 11:00am.  Other than some awfully sore legs we had an unbelievable trip.

Packing Out

Packing Out

On a side note, we talked to a lot of guys on the trails.  Nobody had seen any elk or heard any bugles, while we had had the best trip of our lives.  Goes to show that a little boot leather is an amazing thing.

3 votes, average: 2.67 out of 53 votes, average: 2.67 out of 53 votes, average: 2.67 out of 53 votes, average: 2.67 out of 53 votes, average: 2.67 out of 5 (3 votes, average: 2.67 out of 5)
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Published by Buckeyehunter12 on 21 Sep 2008

My First Deerhunt: Whether to cry, laugh, or just soak up the moment.

  Well my first deer hunt was different I suppose you could say.  Everytihng and anything that you could imagine happening happened.  There was near death, a chance at a buck of a lifetime, blood, tears, and most of all a great memory that will never be forgotten.

       Lets start at the beginning shall we.  I was 12 when I received my hunting license.  I had squirrel hunted a couple of times and enjoyed it, but it was nothing special.  I figured I had at least a couple of years before my dad would allow me to deer hunt but boy was I wrong.  One night when we were sitting around the television watching football my dad asked me if I wanted to go hunt the early season muzzleloader hunt.  I thought he was kidding and was even in disbelief but sure enough he was serious.  Of course I screamed yes and started dreaming of what it would be like to see a deer in the wild.  The hunt was in southeastern Ohio at a wildlife area my uncle had hunted before.  He told my dad the general area of some spots he had as we pulled out of town.  The drive was long but when we finally got there I was in shock.  The wildlife area was covered in massive hills and ravines.  I thought how in earth are we supposed to hunt with that kind of terrain?  We got  there just in time to do some scouting before dark.  We had walked about a mile or so into the timber when the worst sound I have ever heard in my life went off.  We were headed up a rocky hill when a very loud rattling noise sounded out.  My dad froze and said son, dont move!  I froze and listened for further directions.  He told me to back away slowly and I followed his command.  After I was back aways he jumped backwards.  My dads foot was right above the head of a timber rattlesnake.  It struck at him as he jumped away but missed.  If he would have been bitten it would have been sure death, as I would not have been able to help him out to the truck, or drive, or even find my way to a hospital!  After that hairy incident we decided we should call it a night and head back to the truck.  My dad had a couple of spots in mind for the next morning and there was no need to go further.  That night was among the longest in my life.  I could not stop thinking about that hunt (not to mention the cot that my dad made me sleep on, while he was in a comfy bed, was nothing to brag about).  Finally, morning came after a slim couple hours of sleep.  I was so excited.  I could not believe I would actually be deer hunting!  We ate breakfast at a local tavern and headed to the woods.  The morning hunt was uneventful until later in the morning when a couple of does came feeding through the timber on the way to a thicket behind us.  The deer presented many shots for me but I could not seem to get them in the scope!  Finally they moved on out of sight and I did not get a shot.  My dad began talking to me saying I need to try hard to get them into the scope.  I realized I may never get another chance like that this year!  Just as my dad stopped talking to me there was a huge ruckus in front of us.  A deer was running towards the thicket but I could not see what it was.  Finally as he ran past us I could see it was a monster buck!  Back then I had no clue exactly how big he was but today I can tell you that he was well past 160″.  Obviously the deer had heard my dad talking to us and had taken off.  I began to tear up but realized I did not have time as I caught movement in front of me.  It was three does working their way towards us.  The lead doe finally turned broadside and I had her in my crosshairs.  I jerked the trigger ( I know your not supposed to but I was young!) and smoke filled the air.  Leaves were rustling and all heck was breaking lose!  When the smoke finally cleared I was looking directly into the sky.  I, being 100 pounds and no muscle at the time, had been blown backwards off of the five gallon bucket I had been sitting on and onto the ground.  My dad was in tears laughing and I couldnt help but laugh too.  Finally when we could breathe we got up and went to the spot where I had shot at the deer.  There was blood covering the ground and we began to track her.  Finally about 100 yards into the tracking job my dad looks at me and says that the blood is drying up.  I looked at him and asked wahat in the world that meant. He said the deer may live.  He told me to take the trail.  My heart sank as I began following the blood trail.  Almost 30 yrds later I looked up and there she was.  I turned around to look at my dad and he was laughing again.  He had lied to me.  A huge smile spread across my face as I ran up to her.  I could not believe that I had killed a deer.  After all that we had been through that weeked I actually got a deer.  My dad had almost been fatally bitten by a rattlesnake, we had missed an opportunity at a buck of a lifetime, I had been physically abused by my muzzleloader, I had been tricked, and finally I had been rewarded with my first deer.  The weekend was a rollercoaster of emotions, a rollercoaster that I would gladly ride again if I had the chance.  That weekend is what hunting is supposed to be about!  I will never forget that weekend!

7 votes, average: 3.43 out of 57 votes, average: 3.43 out of 57 votes, average: 3.43 out of 57 votes, average: 3.43 out of 57 votes, average: 3.43 out of 5 (7 votes, average: 3.43 out of 5)
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Published by Louisianaboy on 20 Sep 2008

A Skull Mounting “How to”

I get asked all the time the steps I use when skull mounting a deer, hog or just about any critter. There are several different ways to accomplish this from start to finish and I thought I would share a few for anyone wanting to try this on their own. I am not an expert by any means, but this is the process and tips that have worked for me. I will explain things using a whitetail as example but there are some things that are a little different when skull mounting a hog, coyote or bobcat.

I have boiled many skulls and hate it! It is time consuming because you have to be attentive to the skull when boiling and it takes a lot of time to cut and scrape the skull clean. Boiling is also more expensive since you have to supply fuel to get that water boiling! I began macerating (rotting) after a friend brought me a ten point that he had hung on the fence for about a week. The only thing I could do was macerate rate since it was well on its way to being rotten.

Maceration

I begin by cutting all the hide of off the deer. I use a scalpel and start by making an incision down the middle of his nose, between the eyes and all the to the end of the hide on the neck. Be careful not to cut into the skull with the scalpel or knife and scar the bone. I then strip the hide from the nose and then go around the horns to the back of the head. Once the hide is removed I cut off as much meat as possible. I leave the lower jaw bone on until after the maceration because it is much easier to remove at that point. I then take a hacksaw and cut the neck off right behind the skull. You can feel the ridge on top of the skull; move down the neck about 2 inches and make the cut.

I then submerge the skull in water up to the base of the antlers. I have found that the blue tupperware bins at Wal-Mart work wonders for this or you can use an old crawfish pot, five gallon bucket or just about anything that is large enough to soak the skull in. I have been told to pour a bit of yeast or beer in the water and it will speed up the growth of the bacteria. I have used both and macerated without and could not tell the difference. Being from Louisiana, I hate to waste cold beer on a rotting deer skull! Also make sure the you have this set up away from the house or at least downwind cause trust me….. it will stink!

It is a waiting game at this point. You should check on the skull about every 3-4 days and replace the nasty water with fresh water. When draining the water, leave about half or a quarter of the water in the container. This will keep the colony of bacteria you have grown in the container and speed up the process. The bacteria need warm water to grow and feed so during the winter I place aquarium heaters on the side of the container to aid in the process. Aquarium heaters at Wal-Mart work well but the best I have found are Elite Glass Heaters (internet). The maceration process normally takes about two to three weeks depending on the water temperature. I place my bins in an old chest freezer and run the extension cords in there to keep the heat contained. By doing this I cut my maceration process down to about 10-12 days.

This is where it gets nasty! Once the maceration process is complete I use a scalpel and pair of long needle-nose pliers to pull the meat off. The rotten meat will easily pull off the bone leaving a nice clean skull. Be sure to pull the cartilage out of the nasal cavity and you might have to do some scraping on the back of the skull to detach some of those tough pieces of tissue. Once all the meat and tissue is remove spray the skull down with a water hose and be sure to wash the brain out of the brain cavity. Be careful with the tips of the nose. They might detach but can be glued back in place once the skull is dry.

The next step is the most important in the entire process of skull mounting an animal. DEGREASING! I have learned this lesson the hard way. If all the grease is not gotten out of the bone then it will begin turning yellow or have dark yellow spots throughout the skull. I degrease by using the same tupperware container as above. Place the skull in the container and fill with water up to the burr of the antler. I use the clear Dawn Dishwashing Detergent (Bleach Alternative on the label) but pure ammonia can also be used. Again, an aquarium heater will speed up this process but is not required. I normally change the water and about every 2 days. Each skull is different and the change can be determined by the cloudiness of the water which is actually fat deposits. When changing the degrease solution be sure and rinse off the skull and container completely. Repeat this process for about ten days or until the water is beginning to stay clear. Let the skull dry and if there is dark spots still present the repeat the degreasing process again. The longer you degrease the whiter the skull you will have.

The last step is whitening the skull. DO NOT USE BLEACH! Bleach will break down the bone and eventually turn the skull yellow. I whiten with 30% peroxide and Basic White (both found at any beauty supply store). I make a paste by combining the peroxide and BW and use a small paintbrush to cover the skull. Do not get the paste on the antlers! It will stain them! Let the skull sit over night and wash the paste off with a water hose. Place the skull in the sun for a couple of days and you should a finished skull mount. If there are any dark or dull spots on the skull you can repeat the whitening process again.

Hogs, Coyotes ,Bobcats, etc.

Hogs will take longer to degrease. They have a ton of grease deep in the bone and I have actually degreased boar skulls for two months. The tusk on a boar is hollow until it gets to the tip and is filled with tissue and fat. Be sure and pull the tusk completely out to make sure it is clean. It can be glued back in and I usually “pull” the tusk to make them look a little longer.

When macerating small critters such as bobcats and coyotes be sure to watch for loose teeth when dumping the water. They tend to fall out but can be glued in when finished.

I hope this helps ‘yall.

5 votes, average: 2.80 out of 55 votes, average: 2.80 out of 55 votes, average: 2.80 out of 55 votes, average: 2.80 out of 55 votes, average: 2.80 out of 5 (5 votes, average: 2.80 out of 5)
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Published by Louisianaboy on 18 Sep 2008

“Whitetail Addict”

I am an addict.  It is plain and simple.  That has become the only way for me to describe my actions, my thoughts, and way of life.  It seems I have to have it.  I have to get my “fix” and it doesn’t matter what I have to do or where I have to go to get it.  What am I talking about?  Hunting!  Just about any kind will do but specifically the whitetail.  The mature whitetail buck is my drug of choice and I have to have a dose at least a couple of times each day.  This addiction has caused trouble in many lives emotionally, financially, and in the marital department and does not discriminate by geography, sex or age.  It is time I look at my actions and fight this “demon” head on.

 

 

 

 

I started noticing a change many years back.  It started for me back in high school.  My junior year I began dating a girl whose Dad owned around 2,000 acres.  A little over half of that land was hardwood timber surrounded by agriculture fields.  For me to say the deer population was abundant would be an understatement.  During this time I was introduced to the world of archery.  I had grown up deer hunting and had killed several deer with a gun but archery was new and exciting.  I tried to soak it all in and listened intently when anyone began talking of shooting or almost having a shot at a whitetail with a bow. I shot a borrowed bow but practiced with it daily until I felt comfortable.  I soon learned the ins and outs of shooting enough to venture into the woods on October 1st.   The year was 1993 and this is the year that my addiction began.

 

My first bow hunt was on the morning of October 1st, 1993.  I had been in the stand for an hour when I noticed movement from my left.  I was hunting a dim road between two cypress brakes that lead to the fields surrounding the woods.  The movement that had caught my eye was a doe that had taken the easy route back to her bedding area and decided to make the stroll down the road.  I stood up in the homemade climbing stand that I had made in Ag shop in High School and tried to contain the excitement that had my whole body trembling.  The questions raced through my mind.  How was I going to draw my bow?  How far was she?  Could I make the shot?  As the doe walked behind a pin oak tree I drew my bow back and settled the 20 yard pin right behind her shoulder.  I released the arrow and to be honest I really don’t remember much after that except for the hellacious briar thicket that she ran into.  I give her about 15 minutes and got down in search of blood.  I trailed her for about 50 yards on my hands and knees through the thicket until I stumbled upon her.  Although I don’t remember the shot it was perfect!  I went on to kill a 4 pt buck two days later.  I shot him at 10 yards and he fell in my sights.  Bow hunting is easy I thought.  I would be proved wrong in the years to come and it only fueled the fire for my addiction.

 

What makes me a whitetail addict?  I have asked that question many times and still have not come up with a logical solution.  Is it the chance of killing a record book buck or just my personal best?  Is it bragging rights?  Is it the peacefulness of sitting 20ft in a tree watching the sunset?  Is it the preparation the season brings in hopes of running an arrow through the boilermaker of a whitetail and feeling the success?  I have searched for the answer since that day fifteen years ago and each year it seems to get worse.  I find myself doing things and going places that will help me feed my addiction.  Let me explain some things that my self, family and other addicts have noticed.

 

This so called “whitetail addiction”, as I describe it, is the only excuse that I can come up with to explain what begins to happen around the end of July or first of August.  It is the only way that I can explain the sudden transformation that tends to take place.  Make no mistake, bow hunting whitetails are on my mind 365 days a year but it is at this time that the thoughts become more frequent and began to control my actions.  It is this addiction that has me bush hogging roads, fighting wasps at the camp and on stands, watching the ground intently for rattlesnakes and cottonmouths and moving and adjusting lock-on stands.  All this preparation is done in the hot, one-hundred degree summers in Louisiana.  There have been many times that I have looked at my buddy, Greg, and asked, “Why?  Why do we put ourselves through this?  We must be crazy”!  No, we are just addicted to shooting whitetails.

 

Not only does this “disease” affect me but it has a tendency to reach out to loved ones.  It has caused numerous squabbles and fights between me and my wife.  During hunting season, I have a tendency to get in what athletes call the “zone”.  Each waking moment is concentrated on my next hunt, where the acorns are falling or where that smasher buck can be ambushed.  It consumes me until I tend to lose track of the important things in life, such as my wife and kids.  My wife will let it go for a while but the time often comes when she must have an “intervention” and put me back on the straight and narrow.  This is done by either a soft spoken, “baby, you need to stay out of the woods for a while” or the serious verbal “slap in the face” to get my attention.  She does her best to understand but until a person actually suffers from this ailment there is no way to completely comprehend. For example, a couple of years ago I woke up on opening morning of bow season after a restless night.  I got dressed and kissed my wife goodbye and whispered in her ear, “I will see you in February”!  It was time to feed the addiction; however, she did not find that to be as comical as I did.

 

During the spring and summer, there is little to do concerning whitetails besides shed hunting or some scouting after the season.  To fill this void, I have found several internet sites that contribute to my addiction.  These hunters suffer from the same thing as myself and offer some relief during the long summer months. Whether it is giving advice on equipment, swapping stories or just chatting about last years hunts, they fill a void that the hot weather brings.  I have made numerous friends the last few years which has allowed me to extend my bow hunting opportunities outside of Louisiana.  These trips to Georgia, Alabama and Illinois have allowed me to test myself against different terrain and different species of whitetails.  Just another way for an addict to get his “fix”!

 

Will this desire to hunt ever end?  For me, I hope not.  It is one of the things that make me feel alive.  So each year I will keep preparing the camp, food plots and stands in the Louisiana heat in hopes of harvesting a trophy buck.  I will keep discussing last year’s hunts with friends who understand what it means to suffer from “buck fever”.  Each October will find me perched 20 foot off the ground with my bow in hand in hopes of satisfying my “whitetail addiction”.   

My first deer with a bow (me on the right).  This doe had now way of knowing that she would fuel my passion for bowhunting.

My first deer with a bow (me on the right). This doe had now way of knowing that she would fuel my passion for bowhunting.

 

6 votes, average: 3.17 out of 56 votes, average: 3.17 out of 56 votes, average: 3.17 out of 56 votes, average: 3.17 out of 56 votes, average: 3.17 out of 5 (6 votes, average: 3.17 out of 5)
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Published by Klyph on 18 Sep 2008

The call…

     The day had finally come for the long awaited phone call and the ten year old boy could hardly believe his ears. His father had called home to tell him that he needed to get to bed early that night so that he would be able to get up in the morning in time to go hunting. You see, the father had worked nights the boy’s entire life and the boy lived for the time he was going to be able to spend with his father on the weekends. He understood his dad’s passion for hunting and knew that during hunting season the weekends that he would be able to spend with his father were few and far between, making this call one that would change everything.
    You can only imagine how excited he was to get this call and know that he was going get to see his dad the whole weekend. The son knew he was supposed to be getting to bed early, but the anticipation was too overwhelming. When his father got home around midnight the boy was still awake as he lay in his bed dreaming of the day that was about to unfold. The father didn’t know that his son could hear every word he said from just a few rooms down the hall, and the son heard him explain that he was too tired to hunt the next day. Now the boys’ mother interjected, because she knew how excited her son was. She explained to the dad that his boy was already in his hunting clothes and that he had had her set his alarm 15 minutes early, “just to be safe.” The tired father simply said, “Really? Well, I’d better get to bed then.”
    The next morning the son smiled from ear to ear the entire 45-minute ride to his dad’s favorite hunting spot. From the time they entered the woods, the son was extremely focused and wasn’t about to let his father down. He had listened to his dad talk with his friends and had heard the same hunting stories hundreds, if not thousands of times. He remembered every detail and piece of advice as he followed close behind, stepping only where his dad had stepped a few moments prior, trying so hard not to make a sound. Every time the father stopped to peer through the trees, the son was right behind him trying to see where his dad was looking. Well, they didn’t see anything that day, but no one would know it from the stories the boy had to tell that night and for many nights to come.
    You see, this is my story, and for the last 18 years I have tried to re-live that day every time I go hunting. I try to recreate those childhood moments in the woods with my father.  I have never been one to hunt just for hunting’s sake. Rather, I hunt to fulfill the great need every boy has in his heart; the need for his father to take the time to pour his life, values, and beliefs into him. 
    But the story doesn’t end there. Since then I have found other men with similar stories and my passion for hunting has never been stronger.  Instead of trying to relive past memories, I now take every opportunity to head for the woods, taking someone with me, knowing that in the next few hours we will create memories that will last a lifetime. Hunting for me is more than just about tagging an animal; it’s about living life the way we were created to live it, making the most of every opportunity with those around us. I thank God for parents who love their kids well, and for a pastime that gives them an opportunity to pass down memories that will last for all eternity.

6 votes, average: 3.67 out of 56 votes, average: 3.67 out of 56 votes, average: 3.67 out of 56 votes, average: 3.67 out of 56 votes, average: 3.67 out of 5 (6 votes, average: 3.67 out of 5)
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Published by Klyph on 18 Sep 2008

Hand Climber Seat Strap – A MUST have

I used a Summit Viper for the last few years and loved it as a climbing stand… the only issue I had with it was its large frame when carrying it through the woods, and the amount of space it took up in my vehicle. So with much hesitation I traded it for a hand climber that folds completely flat and took care of my “issues” with the summit.

The Problem that quickly revealed itself was that the hand climber stand is much more difficult to use, especially with winter clothing, as I found out late season last year. As I climbed my first tree, I wondered why I ever got rid of my summit and spent most of my time contemplating listing my new stand on AT Classifieds as soon as I got home. Fortunately all wasn’t lost as I was able to harvest a nice doe and my thoughts quickly became focused on the “rush” of the hunt. That was my last tag of the year and my equipment was put away and I didn’t think much about my new issue until a few months ago.

I noticed the new Lone Wolf Hand Climbers now come with a strap that you use to sit on as you climb. (Link given for visual purposes: http://www.lonewolfstands.com/shoppingcart/Products/Hand-Climber-SitStrap__LWHCS.aspx ) I quickly ran to my tangled mess of old safety harnesses and created my own seat strap. (Disclaimer: Use at you own risk) 

I took it to the back yard and fell back in Love with my hand climber!

I now have the best of both worlds… A light, compact stand, that can also be used effortlessly as a sit and climb style stand.

If you are a penny pincher like my self, I am sure you can find some strapping around the house to use… but I would recommend for safety purposes to go out and purchase a seat strap if you don’t have on on your hand climber. It is worth it!

11 votes, average: 3.55 out of 511 votes, average: 3.55 out of 511 votes, average: 3.55 out of 511 votes, average: 3.55 out of 511 votes, average: 3.55 out of 5 (11 votes, average: 3.55 out of 5)
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Published by trumbow on 16 Sep 2008

General category, One in a Million!

One in a Million


    
Growing up in the flat lands of Northwest Ohio was not always the most eventful place to enjoy your childhood.  Everywhere you looked was cornfields and bean fields, woods and fencerows, and ponds scattered about.  One pond unparticular always holds a spot in my heart; it was just a mile down the road, perfectly in the middle of my best friend Brian’s house and our house.  This is where he, my brother, and I would make our summers life long memories while we were pre teens.  We still talk to this day about the time my younger brother, Dustin, went home early because we were not catching any fish.  So Dustin took off on his bike and peddled back home.  He didn’t realize what a big mistake he had made, leaving his tackle box there at the pond with two kids as warped as Brian and I.  So when Brian and I started getting into catching some fish, they didn’t go back into the pond, oh no, we just so happened to put about a bakers dozen into my little brothers tackle before we left for the day.  This wouldn’t have been so bad if only it wasn’t ninety degrees out for the next couple days and we were swimming at Brian’s pond at his house.  Brian and I had forgotten all about the tackle box, till that one trip we met in the middle to go fishing again about a week later.  I still do not think my brother has gotten over that, and it’s been every bit of twelve years ago.  
    Well these summer fishing experiences were only one of the many things we loved to do in the summers we had off of school.  Being from the country, baseball was a must.  As we got into high school, my brother was kind of lacking the talent in the baseball category and did not participate like Brian and I did.  Well I was a die-hard baseball fan/player, I was the kid that would show up thirty minutes early to, leaving an hour or so after practice because the coaches would kick me out and say, “you’ve worked hard enough, go home and work on it tomorrow.”  Now with me being a little bit older than Brian, by a little over a year, I had drove Brian to and from practices.  And my hard work at baseball had been putting him to work on his baseball skills too.  Us staying after and hitting balls, playing catch and what not ultimately made the two of us some of the best players on our team, and on top of that the county.  Both of us were named all-league and all county, because of hard work and dedication.
    Now life is going like a speeding bullet and it wont stop for either of us, with my brother living far away and Brian being basically my brother, we had gone our separate ways for a while.  I had moved about an hour away from home, where Brian lived at the time, had no friends and was pretty much wrapped up in work.  Somewhere along the line I met a girl and the situation occurred where I had became a man.  She had my beautiful little girl, Ryleigh.  In my year or two of living away from Brian, I had made some friends, but when it boiled down to the greatest day in my life, the only one that showed up, Brian.  When my girlfriend went into labor Brian pretty much met me at the hospital and was by my side for roughly 6 hours, almost as excited as I was. This was by far the greatest day in my life and I got to share it with a friend that is always there.
    With Brian getting into work with a good company, he was doing his apprentice program about half way between his house and mine.  We decided that it would be possible to finally get our own place together, that we have talked about since junior high. We always thought it would be a riot to live together and figured now was as good as time as any.  We got a place above a small town bar.  And both of us being in the early twenties, yes there were a few times we walked out of the bar and stumbled upstairs.  One of the first nights we had partook into some beverages and started the very short trip home I had said to Brian when we got upstairs, “feels good to be home,” both of us just laughing as it was only about 20 steps from the bar. We both share the same love for the outdoors; we love everything about it.  Our saying is a day wasted outside is a day not wasted in our book.  When we moved in together he brought along all of his bow hunting gear.  I had bow hunted maybe a hand full of times, pretty much to just get out and be in the woods.  But when Brian got to talking, he convinced me to get into it like he was, which didn’t take much twisting of the arm.  And after I made my bow purchase I was hooked, between Brian and his dad, helping me out, I had everything I needed to bring down a deer.  In fact last season I went down south with Brian, his father, and his older cousin on a hunting extravaganza.  With his dad going down a day early to set up camp, he calls and says he has a buck down while Brian, his cousin and I were on our way.  His dad had said,” it was a marginal hit, we will track it in the morning when you guys get here.”  So we unpack that night and wake up in the morning to do some tracking, one of my first might I add.  We get to the “spot” and there is just a mess of blood everywhere, I am pretty sure a blind man could follow this blood trail.  Long be hold, about forty yards from his stand there was the buck, with boot prints in the mud right beside it.  Yeah that’s right his dad had shot this buck and didn’t want to drag it out alone.  Smart man, but he was done hunting for the rest of the trip.  Me being the new guy they wanted to put me on some deer and I got the “spot.”  I was shooting everyday missing everything but I had a blast.  I learned so much from that trip alone.  The one night all three of us, Brian, his cousin, and I all got into this valley.  About fifty or so yards apart, and next thing you know I get a buck coming straight to me.  Ten yards away I let one fly, miss right under him, he jumps and runs about five yards and stops broad side, I am knocking another arrow and he spots me.  He made the most terrifying look I have ever seen a deer do, it was like he wanted to jump up in the tree and beat the snot out of me.  But the darn thing gave me the second shot; fling, right over his back.  By now this deer is headed right towards Brian’s cousin, the buck has a bald spot on his back that his cousin sees and he heard me shoot, so he can not make a shot after seeing this, he was dying from laughter.  We had some great memories that I will never forget on that trip.
    Two guys running around together with a little girl, you get asked some strange questions, one time without missing a beat Brian says to somebody saying how cute Ryleigh is, “thanks we are adopting her.”  I have never laughed so hard in my life, not that there is anything wrong with that, just that he didn’t miss a beat in saying it.  So with Brian starting his new career and me working in construction and having a beautiful little girl around the apartment, I thought life was great.  Well it was great, until winter came and my work started dying slowly, I had to think of my options.  I could just wait the winter out and get back at it in the spring, which I knew it was in my best interest not to do this.  So I started talking to Brian about his program he was in.  He encouraged me to go to an orientation and at least take a look into it.  I had not known much about his field being a high voltage lineman before the orientation besides the fact they climb wood poles and that’s about it.  After orientation I got invited to a climbing school and from there I was in love with it.  Brian had pushed me just like I had pushed him in high school baseball.  And now I am in my first year of the apprentice program trying to better my self and have a great future for my daughter Ryleigh.

                                                
    With Brian leading my way into the bow hunting world I am starting to pick up on things and trying to help out others.  My little cousin is a big fan of hunting, at twelve years old I am trying to get him into what I view the safest hunting we have around here, bow-hunting.  He has an old bow that shoots ok and some old sights, would love to see him with some new gear.  But all that is besides the fact that the kid is showing me some drive for something that I feel too.
     Now Brian has been there through everything, good or bad, got me into a lot of things, trouble being one of them every now and again.  But the thing about is, how many friends are out there like this?  He has showed me tons of things and I only hope I have shown him some things along the road.  And I am sure that he has been there through fifteen or so years of my life, he will be there until the end.  I view him as one in a million!

8 votes, average: 2.38 out of 58 votes, average: 2.38 out of 58 votes, average: 2.38 out of 58 votes, average: 2.38 out of 58 votes, average: 2.38 out of 5 (8 votes, average: 2.38 out of 5)
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Published by Scott M on 16 Sep 2008

The Final Countdown

Truth be told after the close of the 2007 PA firearms season I started counting down to the start of the 2008 season.  During the ’07 season I took a beautiful heavy 9 point, and that day I made up my mind it was time to take up archery hunting, up until then I’d been a gun only hunter.  Whether that was small game, turkey or whitetail deer.

From December until February I researched archery equipment.  Websites were a wonderful tool, but I found that there’s no substitute for personal experiences, so I talked to as many archery hunters as I could.  I eventually found my way to the local pro-shop, where I met with a knowledgable salesperson, and purchased a complete setup. 

After purchasing the setup I was immediately obsessed with target shooting.  Starting at 9 paces in my basement until the weather here in northwestern PA, broke and I could move the practice outside.  May and June found me honing my skills at 20 yards until my groups were tight enough to ruin 2 arrows.  That can get expensive really fast so after June I stopped shooting for groups and started practicing at 30 and 40 yards.  I aslo built a platform stand so that I could practice from an elevated position.

As the summer progressed family obligations caught up with me and my practice routine was limited to a dozen or so shots every other week.  I also found time for some stand maintenance, and early season scouting.

Now here we are 18 days and counting until Archery season opens in my part of Pennsylvania.  New scent control gear has been purchased and old favorites have been washed in baking soda, sprayed with scent control solution, and packed away until the morning of October 4th.  I’ve started to sort my gear and even pack some of it away in my day pack.  The new broadheads have been assembled and mounted on the arrows.  I’ve even taken a few shots to insure the broadhead didn’t change the flight of the arrow.

My nights are filled with dreams of my first archery harvest.  Whether that be a fat doe, or a legal buck, makes no difference to me.  I’ve invested countless hours and the thrill of that sunrise on October 4th, with all the promise it holds, will be the dividend I’ve waited to collect.

12 votes, average: 2.50 out of 512 votes, average: 2.50 out of 512 votes, average: 2.50 out of 512 votes, average: 2.50 out of 512 votes, average: 2.50 out of 5 (12 votes, average: 2.50 out of 5)
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Published by ORrogue on 15 Sep 2008

“HOW not TO”

   Like most people I have a regular job, one that has tendencies to keep me form the more important things in life, mainly hunting and fishing. In a moment of clarity I had decided that being an outdoor writer could possibly be the greatest job on earth. Where else is a person being paid to wander field and stream, valley to ridge top, carrying the latest gear sent factory direct to your door.

Although outdoor writers I believe are a select fraternity and the entrance exam wouldn’t get me into the out house.

There is one little catch to my theory. In reading thousands of articles I have come to the realization that there are basically two types of articles. These are the “sucess stories” and the “how to” articles. Now this is a double edged sword since you either need to know “how to” to be sucessful or be sucessful before you can say “how to”. This is one of those which came first the chicken or the egg kind of things, or possibly a conspiracy to confuse those who might wish to join the outdoor writers fraternity.

In discussing my dilema with a close friend he sugested a sound piece of advice, “write about what you know”. I thought long and hard about my years afield and realized I am a wealth of knowledge on “how not to”. The following are some examples.

As with every young hunter, I couldn’t wait to get off dads coat tails and do things on my own. (After all I knew it all, what kid doesn’t.) I can still clearly remember that cool foggy morning stepping from the truck, everyone was gathered around to recieve their assignments, then it came to me.

Dad looked down and said”just over the top of that ridge right along the timber line is a large stump, there is a deer trail 20 wards below it. Go sit on that stump and a buck is bound to wander by.” Of course the stump would be there, the trail would be there and the buck would wander by exactly as described the only thing missing was me. As soon as dad was out of sight my own plans for bagging a buck came into play.

These plans usually entailed slogging through streams, climbing verticle rock bluffs and doing personal battle with the likes of devils club, stinnging nettles and patches of vine maple. By comparison escapeing from Alcatraz would be a picnic. On a personal note these pieces of Northwest flora did as much to color my use of the english language as any thing else, and for all intense and purposes I did discover “how not to”.

On one particularly frosty morning carrying a recurve bow and a back quiver full of arrows I discovered how not to cross a pristine trout stream using a natural bridge. For those of you that are not aware of what a natural bridge is. it basically consists of a tree large enough to hold a person that extends from point A to boint B.

There are only a few reasons for these bridges to exsist. They may have been blown over in a heavy wind,the bank may not have been able to hold it’s mass, or a beaver could have felled the tree. Now beavers in their enginering marvel at building dams are all but ineffectual in building propper bridges. They apparently have no thought process when it comes to span, strength or grade.

At this point in my outdoor education it had not occured to me that a certian ammount of deliberation should go into choosing an acceptable natural bridge.

The bridge that I chose this particular morning was more than sufficient to hold my weight but it was completely devoid of bark, stiitng at approxamately a 30 degree angle with a beautiful white coat of morning frost. Reflecting back, at this point any good “how to” person would recognize that this natural bridge was subject to a great many flaws and continued on in search  of a safer place to cross. I on the other hand was detirmined to cross at this particular point for reasons that now escape me.

I had made it about a third of the way across the log when my feet betrayed me and lost traction. At one point I was filled with the false hope that the friction from my hastily moving feet would sufficiently dry the log so as to continue the journey, or at least hold me in a hover long enough to come up with another plan. Neither of these would come to fruition.

I can still remember as my feet left the log, how the dark brown boots contrasted nicely with the blue morning sky. Centrifugal force is a funny thing, it is possible to swing a bucket of water in a 360 circle without spilling a drop. I apparently didn’t come off of the log with enough force to either keep the arrows in the quiver or carry me around enough to land feet first. Lucky for me there was only about a foot of water in the stream and the rocks did a descent job of breaking the fall. In retrospect of this event I still believe if the log would have been angled down towards the other bank instead of up my chances for sucess would have been greatly improved.

Although it was some what painful it was still an education in “how not to”.

I at one point in time try my hand at bow building. hours of patient struggle with every power tool in my possesion turned out what appeared to be a beautiful yew wood long bow, or as my wife would say “an exceptionally thin fence post”. Wives have little to no consideration for the asthetics of long bows, or the fragile male ego for that matter.

Regardless with my new bow strung I decided to draw it for the first time. For future reference there are safer ways of doing this than standing on your back porch in a pair of shorts. And newbie bow builders if you own a hospital gown it may save precious time by putting it on before any accidents occur.(I own 3)  Psychotic emergency room nurses will also reduce any clothing to shreds unexceptable for even grease rags,they will even cut off socks if they thought an ingrown toenail lurked there.

Anyway my beautiful yew wood bow with a draw weight that I approximated near 80 pounds was about to be drawn for the first time. With eyes closed and teeth clenched I pulled on the bow string for all I was worth. At this point I can only assume that there was a catostrophic limb failure. I awoke surrounded by friends,(or at least doctors and nurses I had come to know well over the years) still holding the riser of my long bow. My clothes were in shreds but I was in a new hospital gown

Lucky for me, I do believe that the top limb gave away slightly sooner than the bottom limb rendering me unconcious. Its not all that bad, I can almost get both eyes to point forward at the same time now, and I do have a better seat in the church choir. (soprano section)

While the “How To” person can attain immediatepleasure and a certian ammount of smugness in accomplishing their tasks promptly and correctly the first time, they do miss an unavoidable number of life’s little nuances. Take reading a map for example, the “how to” person can tell exactly where you are regardless of your position and plot the most expedient way to your destination. While the “how not to” person throws caution to the wind and will take roads that turn to goat trails or possibly worse, discover seedy diners that require bill boards to announce their last fatality, or gas stations that haven’t had any for decades. Of course the last one only happens when you have never seen the gauge needle pointing that far towards the E before. All of these things will add a little demurrer to any road trip.

As I delve farther into the realms of “how not to”, I have come to the conclusion that my knowledge in this area is limitless, The world is so full of “how to” books that I might tap into an unseen and everlasting market of “how not to” books.

How Not TO…………Find Elk

                               Catch Fish

                               Survive the Wilderness

                                Fix the Car

                               Etc. Etc. Etc.

 

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