Archive for the 'General Archery' Category

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Published by twniedermeyer on 26 Apr 2012

2012 Tennessee Archery Senior Olympic Games Update

The Tennessee Senior Olympic Games has made a great change

for this year.  The State Finals for Archery are going to be held in the

AG EXPO PARK of Williamson County.  This is a very large indoor

arena in which there are many large events like barrel racing, dog

shows, gun shows, etc.  The AG EXPO Park is just south of Franklin,

Tennessee on I-65.  Men and women 50 years of age and older

participate in the Senior Olympic Games.  The state archery

finals will be held Saturday and Sunday, July 14 and 15TH. Practice

will be on Friday from 4:00 till 7:00 p.m and the state finals will

be on Sunday starting at 9:00 am.  A 900 round will be shot. 

For more information visit www.tnseniorolympics.com   fill out a registration form to participate in the games. 

 This year is a qualifying year for the National Senior Games

to be held in Cleveland, OH July 21 through August 5th, 2013. 

Since this is an open sport, one does not have to pre-shoot at a

district level first.  Just fill out a registration form, send in the fee, come, and

participate in this years Archery Tennessee Senior Olympic Games

Written by twniedermeyer, Franklin, TN.

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Published by c-lo on 21 Apr 2012

3 arrows and some whiskers

For my birthday I bought some new carbon arrows, not many just three.

I was rounding out a dozen where I’d lost, or destroyed a few. Rounding out my dozen makes me feel good. There is some security for an archer in that, not having a dozen makes me feel incomplete somehow lacking, sort of the way opening your refrigerator and finding it mostly empty feels.

Part of becoming arrow whole again is to get those arrows fletched, which I’m doing as I write this, one vane at a time. Fletching jig at my side, I glue one on, blog rhapsodize myself silly, then glue another and so on. Becoming whole again.

Fletching arrows while I blog myself silly..

I thought I’d also work on my whiskers. Laurel and the kids got me brown whiskers for my birthday, something I’ve always wanted, although I didn’t know it until a few months ago.

Whiskers or string silencers absorb vibration coming off the bowstring making it quieter, making me stealthy and badass so beware all you critters out there that I’ve not yet ever hunted!   Plus they are appealing traditional gear that looks nice, nothing wrong with that.

Putting them on is a whole other matter though, I checked the web and right away ran into a Mana’o Productions Youtube video on the subject. It’s on the long side but this dude has his quiver in order, real pro, liked him right away. I’m including it below for those of you who want to take the time to learn a new skill, polish up or just check it out. If you don’t care just skip it.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyGuPxe1BMA&w=853&h=480]

Lashing them cat whiskers on
My whiskered bow.

As soon as I was done I went outside and shot a few ends and was amazed at how well they work. On this light 35 lb bow I only lashed on two but I will do the four that Mana’o recommends on my heavier bow and see how it goes. The whiskered approach is meant as a refinement in further quieting an already quiet tool, certainly for bowhunters. I would think the soul searchers would appreciate them also, providing them with an easier, quieter path to the introspection they seek.

Check out my personal blog at:    http://charlesarcheryblog.wordpress.com/

 

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Published by archerchick on 21 Apr 2012

My Introduction To ELK ~By Tim Dehn

My Introduction To ELK By Tim Dehn
Bowhunting World FEBRUARY 1990
Like many bowhunters, I’ve dreamed for years of hunting elk. That’s an appetite increased by the elk hunting manuscripts I review each month for possible use in Bowhunting World.
Some of the best have been submitted by Pat Meitin, who grew up in New Mexico and today lives part of the year there, part of the year with his parents in Lubbock, Texas.  Meitin wrote Choose When To Bugle for the October 1989 issue and Elk Hunting’s Agony And Ecstasy for our 1989-90 Bowhunting Guide.
What came through both those articles, and through letters and calls back and forth, was Meitin’s respect for the quarry and considerable skill in hunting them successfully.  So when Meitin offered to introduce me to New Mexico’s elk, my only concern was whether I could meet the challenge.
This would be nothing like hunting whitetails or small game in my native Minnesota.  If we drew permits for a game rich area of the Gila wilderness, we’d be camping on the perimeter and hiking the better part of each day in search of elk.  In the semi open country I’d need to be able to shoot well at least to 40 yards, Meiten said, and 50 would be better.  He warned me to expect plenty of walking.
Yes the staff here could spare me for a week, And yes, I assured my wife, most of the gear I’d need to buy would be put to use later for family camping trips.  I made the April 27 permit application deadline and a few weeks later got the word we’d been drawn.  Then I started whittling away at a rather considerable equipment list.  Obviously I couldn’t hunt a magnificent animal like elk in the camo clothing I’d bought piece-meal over the past few years.  Two shirts, fleece and poly/cotton pants, and lightweight gloves came out of the checkbook.  Hiking boots, an external frame backpack and  the camping gear to fill it were put on the charge card.
The card came out again when I found that boosting my bow’s draw weight by 10 pounds totally destroyed the good braodhead flight I’d enjoyed the previous year.  With the extra string, tab, broadheads and sight pins I needed anyway, the pro shop visits set me back $120. I had to invest in a better rest and new arrows to solve my tuning problems, but the people at Bwana Archery in St. Paul made sure that bow could shoot!
Ready To Hunt
And so could I, at least good enough to satisfy Meitin I’d have a chance at a bull if they were still in the areas he’d scouted the previous two weeks.  Meitin had met me at the Albuquerque airport and then stopped at a friend’s house in Socorro to pick up his own gear and get in some last-minute practice.
“Let’s see how your bow shoots at altitude,” he said, meaning, I think, “Let’s see if this desk jockey can hit anything? I found his cam bow, Catquiver, single pin, ultra-light shafts and Zwickey broad- heads a strange combination of high-tech and traditional. He shook his head over my launcher-style rest, wrist sling, bow sling, bow quiver and four pins set for 20 through 50 yards.
“You sure do have a lot of gadgets on that bow.” Stocking up on gas and food, we filled the back of the 4-wheel-drive Toyota and headed west toward Magdalena. The 1988 rig was on loan from Steven Tiesdale, Meitin explained, a friend from Lubbock who would be up to hunt the following week. Quiet and comfortable, it would have lulled me to sleep without Meitin’s lively tales of trapping and guiding in the Gila National Forest we were winding through. Camp was an abandoned shack a few miles from the boundary of the sub-unit we’d drawn.
We tumbled into our sleeping bags under a sky filled with more stars than I’d ever seen before, thanks to the 7,000 foot elevation. Hours seemed more like minutes before the 4:15 alarm brought hurried preparations for a morning afield. It was opening day of New Mexico’s 1989 archery elk season. Meitin had spotted a herd the week before on a mesa within a couple miles of the wilderness boundary. Hiking past another camp we headed out on one of the many marked trails used by hikers and the ranchers who lease grazing rights there.
As the sky began to lighten we heard hunters bugle behind us, but no elk. So we kept moving farther from the road, deeper into the wilderness where motorized traffic is banned. And then we saw them. Distant dots on a hillside resolved into feeding elk as we focused our binoculars. They were a mile and half away, across at least two ridges and three draws. We trotted downhill, and I labored up, suddenly conscious of the altitude and the weight of my well-equipped bow. By the time we reached the peak of the second ridge I was drenched in sweat and struggling to try and match Meitin’s combination of speed and stealth.
Then I heard him. Awesome, thrilling, magical — how do you describe the first moment you hear an elk bugle? I stood there transfixed till Meitin whispered. “Come on. He’s right up ahead .” The bull was upwind not more than 100 yards from us. We could smell elk, and I confess to thinking “Hey, this is easier than I thought.” We quietly cut the distance to 40 yards, to where we could see the waving top of the cedar he was shredding just over a rise. But we could also see four cows and a calf between us and the bull, and as they moved slowly in front of our still forms the wind changed. One of the cows winded us and the whole group trotted down the canyon. We were in hot pursuit, keeping brush between us and them, when Meitin signaled a sudden halt.
Bedded in the bottom of a canyon, ignored by the elk striding by, was a solitary cow elk. We climbed a ridge to skirt the cow, then we had a bit of luck. The small herd we were chasing bumped into another group of elk in the same canyon and as the bulls bugled back and forth to keep their cows collected, we caught up to them. We crouched under the limbs of a tree, arrows nocked, as one of the herds moved in front of us. They were alert, but unsure of our location.
We were pinned, with no cover for approach and no way way to retreat. Meitin hissed at me when I started to draw on the bull, so I waited, only to watch the monarch round up his ladies and head further down the canyon. All we could do was lay back and stretch our cramped and aching legs. “Why didn’t we shoot?” I asked. “They had to be within 30 yards .”
“Didn’t you hear me whisper 60’?” he replied. We had to pace it off before I would believe it: 63 yards from where we crouched to where the 5×5 bull had stood broadside. lt’s size had fooled me. The elk disappeared as they bedded, and Meitin and I did the same. I dozed fitfully in the heat, dreaming of elk all around me. I could hear them walking and munching grass, but couldn’t wake up. When I did, Meitin and I shared some crackers, a candy bar and a few swallows of water.
We hunted back towards the truck, a distance that seemed far further because there were no elk to lure us on and there was so little in our stomachs. The spring had long ago gone out of my steps and by dusk my right knee was signalling a halt. We reached the truck two hours later. The next morning when the first of Meitin’s three alarms began to chirp I awoke to find my knee red and swollen. I had visions of spending the rest of the hunt hobbling around camp but a few aspirin and a few hours later I was mobile again.
Meitin told me about a far mesa where he`d scouted a bachelor herd of bulls, if l didn’t mind getting wet. We parked our rig by two others and dropped down a 20-foot sheer cliff into a river bottom, fording and refording the water that wound down between the distant banks. The sun was shining, there were wild flowers all about and the periodic dunkings actually felt good. We left the river to follow a rocky streambed toward the mesa, then cut up the hillside toward the top. My lungs were burning as I breathed fast and deep in the thin air.
Glassing across the canyon we were climbing out of, Meitin spotted one bull bedded below a dead tree and four others feeding about it. The next 90 minutes were the most exciting I’ve spent as a hunter. We skirted the head of the canyon and tried to pick a route to the bedded 5×5. The mesa had few trees and we kept having to retreat to keep cover between us and our quarry, as additional elk seemed to sprout from the trees and threaten to expose us.
“There’s too many bulls,” Meitin smiled ruefully, heading back toward the canyon rim where we could use the slope of the land to cover our approach. Now most of the feeding elk were to our right, the dozing bull straight ahead. We dropped our packs and made the last 300 yards on hands and knees, avoiding the loose rocks and small cactus. Our last cover was a cedar no taller than ourselves. Meitin whispered the range. “Forty yards. When that feeding bull lowers its head, take your shot .” I tried to still my pounding heart as I rose and the bedded bull came into view. The arrow bounced off the rest but the moleskin saved me. I was able to draw without being spotted.
I picked a spot about one-third of the way up the bull’s chest, finished a prayer, re-leased.  And watched in disbelief as the arrow struck the bull ’s hind hoof where it lay folded against his chest. He was up and away before I could connect with a second shot, and if Meitin had suggested digging a grave I would have climbed right in. The angry bull led eight others off the mesa. We followed for half a mile, to pick up the arrow and satisfy ourselves the wound was not serious, then climbed back up to figure out what had gone wrong.
“You were shooting good this morning. Maybe I had the range wrong,” Meitin said. I was convinced he had, but kept my mouth shut about it. A few minutes later I was glad I hadn’t tried to duck the blame. I paced the distance off at 41 yards. Meitin’s long legs made it 39. I’d simply used the wrong pin. There wasn’t much time to worry about it. The thunderstorm we’d seen building for the past hour was starting to sweep across the mesa, and Meitin claimed an aversion to being struck by lightning.
The rain-slicked slopes wouldn’t support us so we followed the streambed down. Water slides can be fun, but not in the gloom when you’re carrying a bow and pack. The moss-covered rocks were treacherously slick. The third time I fell it was in a pool up to my chest. I had decided the night before that Meitin could see in the dark. Now I accused him of being part mountain goat.
Wet and cold, we pushed through the willows that choked the lower part of the stream bed and found where a mountain lion had pulled a big mule deer down. “Great,” I thought, “If if do break my leg I’d probably get eaten before morning.” We huddled under a tree in the river bottom, ate the last of our trail food and began the long walk downstream. The water was higher, faster, and colder and I counted how many crossings we made on the way out. Seventeen.
In The Fog The next morning we awoke to a thick blanket of fog. We were out before dawn anyway, following game trails through the dew- laden grass where elk had gone before us as they climbed out of a river bottom. Fresh rubs enticed us on, but the bulls weren’t bugling and there was no way to find them in the fog. Instead of spooking what might be just ahead, we huddled beneath some bushes until the mid-morning sun broke through. I was glad I’d followed Meitin’s advice about bringing something warm and waterproof — a Stormtek fleece parka from Fieldline.
It was late afternoon before we spotted elk, three cows and calves feeding in a valley. Constantly checking the wind with a plastic scent bottle he’d refilled with talcum powder, Meitin led the stalk. We froze when a 250- pound calf appeared on the opposite side of a
 bush, 8 yards from me and even closer to my partner. “If you want to take a cow, that’s okay with me,” Meitin had whispered minutes before. So I drew as one stopped in a downhill opening 35 yards away. and mentally chalked her up. We’d been seeing bulls everyday and midway through the hunt it was too hard to give up the hoped-for rack.
We headed back through another rain-storm, lightning striking the high mesa around us. Warming up with a cup of hot chocolate back at camp, Meitin checked the map of our hunting area. “You know where we saw the cows, and then crossed the fence at the bottom of the canyon. The map says that ’s eight miles from where we parked the truck.” “So we walked 16 miles today?” “Plus some wandering around  he responded.
Tuesday started off with promise. Driving to an area we’d hunted two days before, we caught elk in the headlamps. A small herd, including an average bull, was leaving a river- bottom pasture and a frantic calf couldn`t find its way through the fence. We parked the truck out of sight and hurried uphill, hoping to catch up with the bull at dawn. Waiting on the ridge we heard him bugle below us and decided to give chase. The herd passed us halfway down and it turned into an uphill race again, with more hunters joining from the road below.
Meitin fumed at their repeated bugling and cow talking; it seemed to quiet, not encourage the bull in front of us. We were within 60 yards of the 240 bull, a spike and two cows when the leader decided he had enough and chased his charges over the hill. They were out of sight down the ridge when we reached the top. Two receding bugles kept us pounding along until Meitin screeched to a sudden halt. We’d burst into a herd of cattle and with a stomp and a snort an old cow stampeded the lot of them down the ridge, directly after the elk.
There followed a short discussion on the merits of cattle and of how satisfying it might be to blunt a particular cow. There were still elk to be hunted. With Meitin`s direction I could pick out the tan blobs with my Steiner’s at a range of three miles. but we needed a break.
We drove 40 miles into town and filled up with gas and cheap burritos, then returned to our unit to check two hunting areas close to the road. Both had plenty of bowhunters. Dirty and a little discouraged, we decided to take a rancher up on an earlier offer of a hot shower. We got wet all right, but it wasn’t quite what we expected.
Blocking a river crossing in front of us was an older El Camino with Wisconsin plates. Pulling it out was a new four wheel drive Chevy pickup and three helpful Florida bowhunters. We smiled as the Toyota cruised through with no problems, but 30 minutes later our expressions had changed. The rancher wasn’t home, and the river had doubled in size by the time we returned to the crossing. Rain upstream was swelling it by the minute.
Bowhunters from two rigs watched as we eased into the water and then punched it.  We made it all of one-third of the way across before the engine drowned. Water was lapping at the hood as we crawled out of the windows. It took agonizing minutes for our would-be rescuers to hook together their chains and tie a rope to the end. When Meitin leaned into the torrent to catch the rope his feet were swept out from under him. He caught at a bush; I caught his wrist. Then we both fought the current and the branches it was sweeping along to get the chain hooked to the top of the bumper.
Moments later we were out of the flood with the Toyota bumper bent a crazy angle. The engine compartment was packed with pine cones, sticks and bark. It took us 30 minutes to get the motor going, rising water lapping at our feet like a reminder of the mistake we’d made in challenging this rugged land.
Down To The Wire
We slept-in the next moming. I was down to two days but not yet discouraged. Meitin had been getting us within range every day; now all we needed was a change in luck that would bring him another trophy bull or me my first elk. That afternoon we parked near a roadside hunting camp and headed up a dry wash, then followed a winding ridge into the wilderness area.
We skirted a video crew and followed the fresh tracks past wallows and beaten cedars. It wasn`t long before we heard, then saw. cow elk just over a rise. They were 35 yards away and should have been easy targets, but our greed got in the way. The herd bull was approaching and we stayed crouched over, then slowly rose when he passed behind some cover 40 yards away. Not slowly enough, apparently.
The bull took his herd out of there in a hurry. We blew a second stalk, this time on a lone cow. That was too much for Meitin. “I couldn’t stalk a dead dog this week,” he said, throwing his bow to the ground. But the elk weren’t through with us.
Turning for home we stopped on top of a ridge and spotted more elk across a canyon. We hurried after them and snuck within 80 yards before running out of cover. Crouched behind a tree, Meitin alternately bugled and cow talked to try and bring the elk off the wooded hillside and within range. There was a rag bull, about 10 cows and a wall hanger that Meiten estimated would score 340 or better.
Every time one of the cows would head our way the big bull would round it up like an angry sheepdog. Before long he got them into a bunch and literally prodded them over the hill and out of sight. It was getting dark fast, and we were in for a nasty surprise. A shortcut back to the truck turned into one canyon after another, some so steep they sent us doubling back. It didn’t help that my compass and Meitin`s dead reckoning didn’t agree.
“I don’t know which direction North is. I just know where the truck 1s.” He was right, but it was midnight before we knew it. If grit alone were rewarded, we should have gotten an animal the next day. Because dawn found us in the woods again, trailing elk up from the river bottom. We caught the group within a mile of the road, close to a fresh rub we’d seen the day before. But there ’s a big difference between seeing elk and getting close enough to shoot.
We were still 50 yards from the cows and another 30 from the bull when they got suspicious and moved out. Meitin kept us on the fresh trail and four miles later we caught them moving up a wooded valley. We moved down the hillside, keeping in the sun so the rising thermals would carry our scent from them. Then, some motion or sound betrayed us and again our quarry strode over the ridge. We hunted into evening, but not as intensely. I tried to drink in the scenery, the majestic pines, the blue mist on the distant mountains, the rosy sunset. They were part of the memories that were all I would be bringing back. They were enough.
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Published by archerchick on 13 Apr 2012

Erv Plotz Hard to Keep this Bowhunter Down on The Farm by Jay Strangis

Erv Plotz Hard to Keep this Bowhunter Down on The Farm by Jay Strangis
Bowhunting World April 1990
Erv Plotz says he’s had his hunts and he’s settling down. No more playing tag with grizzly bears. No more chasing ghosts in the desert. No more freezing toes with Eskimos or fistfights in frontier lodges. No. Erv Plotz is fifty years old and he’s giving up the wild life. And why not? Not every world-class bow-hunter is able to retire to the peace of a Minnesota farm when he’s given up the chase. Just because that farm is home — always has been. It`s where he plans to live quietly the rest of his days, he says. And if anyone believes that, they also must believe muskox can fly.
An unlikely combination of farmer-trophy hunter, Plotz  has bowhunted on two continents, taken countless big game animals, placed nine trophies in the Pope and Young record book and notched several bow hunting firsts. People like Erv Plotz don’t just fade away. Try as he might to act reserved, the man still has  an uncontrolled “let’s go hunting”  look in his eye. A gleam that he’s no doubt carried throughout his 36 years as a bow-hunter, and one that’s not likely to dim. He probably displayed that gleam at age 14, while making his first bow.
Denied any use of guns, the farm boy decided he’d do like Native American Indians. The lemonwood limbs he fashioned were crude, as were the arrows he carved from dowels, with chicken feathers for fletching. But by the time he reached ninth grade, he had bow-killed his first deer. The man with a passion for bow-hunting and adventure has bow-killed 46 whitetails since.
Throughout Plotz’ life, others have seemed to identify his adventurous spirit, and the connection has resulted in some memorable experiences. When he joined the military in the l950s, he was sent to Europe. Of course, his bow accompanied him and his target shooting time actually increased. Plotz shot every day, and the longbow became a trademark of the young man. Native Europeans witnessing his skill and hearing of his passion for hunting, couldn’t resist inviting him into the field.
One such invitation came in France, where Plotz earned honors as the first modern bowhunter in Europe to kill a wild boar. He also arrowed a roe deer. Good fortune never has been in short supply for Plotz. An Austrian man whose family survived on American
C-rations during World War II met Plotz and his commanding sergeant, insisting that he take the two on a chamois hunt as a token of his gratitude. They accepted, and Plotz took a 13-year-old chamois ram in a hunt amidst the Austrian peaks. Today such a hunt is comparable to that for North America’s desert bighorn sheep, accessible only to the very lucky, or the very rich.
License To Brag
At home in the sleepy town of Clements, Minnesota, Erv Plotz sits at a dining room table, and directs his eyes past the buildings that house his hogs, across the sweeping soy-bean fields that line the horizon. He grew up in that direction, just two miles away, and like an old buck, he`s spent his life in the same territory, with an occasional foray beyond. Behind Plotz, on the other side of the farmyard, is a grassy area he uses to practice archery. He’s fired many arrows over that ground, most with a bare bow, the way his childhood idol, Howard Hill, had.
Only in the last two years has he shot with a compound bow. As a matter of fact, of the 14 bow-killed animals in Plotz’ trophy room, only his pronghorn antelope was taken using sights. Plotz still likes to handle the bow he used for many years, a 102—pound longbow made for him by Martin Archery. He’s also shot recurve and longbows by Bear Archery and Paul Bunyan Archery, but the Martin bow is a part of Plotz’ most memorable adventures. In fact, the bow itself, combined with Plotz’ ego, earned hunts in some very strange ways. On a hunt for stone sheep in British Columbia, Plotz first turned the bow to his advantage, even though his sheep hunt was a rifle kill.
Outfitter Frank Cook, Plotz` host and one of the most notable guides of the region. took a look at the longbow Plotz carried with him and scoffed at its 102-pound draw weight and slender design. Cook called the bow “a stick” and offered to wager that his son who would arrive in a few days could break the bow. Never one to avoid a good argument. Plotz accepted, but changed the terms of the wager. All Cook’s son had to do was pull the bow to win. At stake was the cost of a moose hunt. Plotz shot his stone sheep on the eighth day of the hunt. He was elated, but that soon turned to a case of nerves after Cook`s son arrived. The boy weighed more than 250 pounds and was as strong as an ox. The moment of truth had arrived. The bow looked like a toothpick in the hands of the overgrown youth. But as he prepared to draw he made one mistake. Instead of raising his elbow to draw the bow, he held the joint against his body and tried to draw from the hip, without raising the bow at all.
After the second attempt Plotz said he knew the moose hunt was his. The boy tired so much in the first two tries there was no way he would succeed if he pulled all day. Only a few years later, another run-in with a critic of Plotz’ bow would lead to a hunt for a trophy mountain lion. The “doubting Thomas” this time turned out to be a Canadian government cat hunter from the Kettle River area of British Columbia. Plotz met the man in a bar and had to listen to him cast insults at the bow’s ability to still a lion. Plotz argued with the man and invited him to “bring on the cat.”
The next day Plotz found himself waist deep in snow following a bunch of rough and ready cat hounds. He reached the treed lion first, but as agreed, had to wait for the government hunter and his pals to arrive to witness the shot. The cougar turned out to be the largest cat taken in Canada up to that time, scoring 14 11/16 P&Y points, weighing 147 pounds and measuring 92.5 inches from nose to tail.
Getting Physical
Plotz and his wife, Donna, have five children. Erv Plotz is especially proud of his sons. He says the boys are tough, and it`s obvious that’s important to him. Erv Plotz is a pretty tough customer him-self. At 50, he’s in better shape than many people half his age. Hard work has kept him that way. When the farm economy slumped. Plotz started a part-time hardwood logging business, a job which nearly cost him his life last year.
Felling huge ash trees in a boggy area with one of his sons, Plotz was struck by a misguided tree. The trunk pinned his leg against the ground, breaking it, and as the angered logger thrashed to pull himself free, he broke his arm against another tree.
One might say Erv Plotz is the physical sort. He also makes friends in strange ways. In a lodge at God’s Lake, Northwest Territories. Plotz happened to mix words with a stranger, another U.S. citizen. The two finished their debate with fisticuffs, but parted company  peacefully. So much so that months later Plotz got a call from another man inviting him on a Canadian fishing trip, and eventually their friendship led them to plan an Alaskan sheep hunt.
Plotz response:    ” When you go hunting you really meet super guys. I think hunters are a very elite group, the best people, especially bowhunters.”
Bringing ’em Back
Erv and Donna Plotz’ traditional attractive farmhouse looks like many other Mid-western country homes – until one gets inside. Past the friendly kitchen and through a warm dining room a menagerie of critters wait to greet the visitor. More than a trophy room, the Plotz’ living room resembles a natural history museum.
A full mounted grizzly bear guards the door to the patio, closely attended bythe full mount of Plotz’ British Columbia lion. On other walls, whitetail, caribou, pronghorn, mountain goat and sheep heads keep watch, while a full-mounted desert bighorn sheep perches on a corner rockpile, replete with a barrell cactus.
Perhaps the strangest creature of all, and certainlythe only one ever to grace the town of Clements, dominates the room: A full-mounted muskox. The muskox holds special significance for Plotz.
It is , he says, the first muskox ever killed by a white man in the Northwest Territories of Canada. It also ranked second in the world, at one time, among Pope and Young records. Plotz got a tip about the special muskox hunt from Jack Atcheson, a taxidermist in Butte Montana.
In February 1980, Plotz found himself accompanied by three rifle hunters who also held permits, two game wardens and seven Eskimos on a wild trip across the frozen tundra on 12-foot wooden sleds pulled by snow-mobile, with only snow drifts to guide them. The natives don’t use compasses, Plotz notes, finding their way by observing the prevailing winds’ imprint on the drifts.
That night, among a village of Eskimos, Plotz` and his bow attracted considerable atention. The natives were fascinated by the idea of a man who might kill a muskox with an arrow. The flattery couldn’t stem P1otz’ worries. He wasn`t sure what would happen when he loaded-up the 102-pound bow at 38 degrees below zero. The next day he got his answer.
Travelling with a native guide, Plotz and the man spotted a dark figure alone on the sea of white. Muskox! They circled for an upwind stalk after identifying the animal as what looked to be a large. bedded bull. They got within yards of the beast and the guide told Plotz to shoot as soon as the animal gained its feet. But at a temperature of almost 40 below, even the guides hollering couldn’t bring the animal from its bed.
When it finally arose, Plotz killed the 103 2/8 trophy. Only one other hunter succeeded in killing a muskox on that hunt, that with a rifle. Plotz` ever-changing luck took a sudden turn when he developed food poisoning from the native cuisine. He left camp only to be detained later by customs officials at Edmonton. Alberta, who confiscated his trophy and gear. Seems they hadn’t heard a rare muskox hunt had been established. It took Plotz more  than a day to resolve the situation.
Versatile Hunter
Erv Plotz loves to bowhunt. But over the years he’s also developed skills as a rifle hunter. One of the accomplishments that brings him the most pride is the completion of a Grand Slam for sheep in just three and one-half years. To complete the Grand Slam, Plotz needed 1 desert bighorn. In a wild piece of luck, he was one of six hunters drawn to hunt the trophy   animals in Arizona, and he hoped that his fourth sheep species would be the first he would take with a bow.
Plotz prepared for the hunt for four months, running over 12 miles each day on the dusty roads surrounding Clements, contacting  any  person who might help narrow down locations for a trophy desert bighorn,   practicing with his bow. By the time the December hunt came along, he was ready. Plotz learned that an Arizona game warden knew the general location of a ram with world record potential.
The warden had photographed the sheep in the Mount Wilson area. Upon seeing the photo, Plotz became obsessed. Interested in the novelty of bowhunting desert sheep, a crowd organized to assist Plotz in his pursuit. The game warden with the photograph took two weeks vacation to attend the hunt. The president of the Bighom Sheep Society would serve as guide and a flock of outfitters would come along to assist.
It was a big sheep camp to chase just one ram, but this was big territory. According to the game warden, the 2,000 square miles they could hunt held just 12 legal rams. The party never did find the once-photo- graphed monster sheep, but did manage to locate a very large ram which Plotz, bow in hand, stalked unsuccessfully four times before the animal finally left the territory.
Days later, when they finally spotted another good ram, Plotz knew the time had come to put away the bow and take out the rifle. His companions were furious. They had come all this way to see the sheep bow-killed. Plotz resisted the pressure. His permit allowed him to take the ram with a rifle, and he was through risking a rare Grand Slam just to appease his ego and the egos of his companions. He might never have this chance again if he lived 10 lifetimes. The next day, he carried the entire sheep, gutted, out on his back — Erv Plotz style.
Wh0’s Stalking Whom
The moose hunt Erv Plotz won years earlier never did produce an animal for him. A world-record class bull had been spotted, but between tangled country and overly aggressive young guides, Plotz’ yearning for a record book moose continued to be only that, a yearning. Seventeen days of brush-battling scratches and frozen toes sent him home only hungrier.
He returned to the northwest several years later. this time Alaska. with hopes of hanging that moose and a grizzly bear. Bowhunting the Christmas Creek area near Nome, Plotz sighted many grizzlies, and one morning saw a path to a stalk. The bear was out in the muskeg, a spongy area where travel was slow, but the low brush offered a chance for an open shot. After sneaking within range, he let go an arrow that zipped low, parting the belly hairs of the giant bruin. Startled, the bear began looking for its adversary, advancing in a slow, circling stalk of its own.
Plotz was unnerved. He managed to escape, but vowed not to put himself in such a spot again. Several days later he bagged a grizzly with his rifle. In the same camp, several hunters returned one day to report seeing a large bull moose on a small lake a short plane flight away. Plotz and the bush pilot took off immediately, knowing if they could spot the animal and land, they would have to sit out the r quired waiting period before legally pursuing the bull. Wind and bad weather greeted them as they reached the lake and spotted the bull. The pilot refused to land under the conditions. With no way to estimate the direction of mountain wind currents on the way down, an attempted landing could prove fatal.
Plotz would likely have jumped from the plane if he hadn’t had another idea. Snatching an arrow from his quiver, he tied a long ribbon to the fletching and dropped it over a gravel slide. The arrow planted itself firmly in the escarpment and the ribbon tailed away with the wind. With their windsock in place, the two put down safely on the lake. Plotz arrowed the bull, a 182 2/8 trophy, the next day, but the weather worsened and for three more days the hunter and pilot remained trapped with the moose carcass under the Alaskan fog.
Closer To Home
In addition to his adventures shooting three P&Y caribou and a P&Y pronghorn antelope with his bow, Erv Plotz takes great pride in the hunting he grew up with near home. Redwood County, Minnesota, is whitetail deer country — farmland, that holds more crop than anything else —where fence-lines mean cover and tiny sloughs hold giant bucks. Several miles away is the lush, forested Minnesota River valley. But Plotz says the bucks prefer the sparse upland habitat most of the year. He might know. Plotz’ many whitetail bow-kills include three P&Y qualifying bucks, with the best two of the three listed in the record book. Vacant groves, creeks and other islands of habitat hold the biggest deer in Redwood County, by Plotz’ estimation. The bucks may like to visit the vast river bottoms on occa- sion, but they don’t like to stay there, he says. He prefers to stalk the deer when he can, or take a ground blind where line fences meet small sloughs.
Last year he spotted what he called a “super buck,” but was unable to bowhunt following his logging accident. The gleam returns to the wild man ’s eye — he ’s checked with every meat locker in the county — the buck wasn’t taken before the season came to a close.
Always Something More
Cutting through the reserved exterior of the new Erv Plotz isn’t difficult, just mention elk or carp, two critters that light him up like a firecracker. For seven years Plotz has been chasing bull elk on an acquaintance’s 10,000-acre spread in Montana, and for seven years he has failed to score. Of course, he doesn’t want to just kill any elk any way. He wants a six by six or better, and he’s going to kill it with a bow.
He’s already practicing with one of his sons for the fall trip, and advising the boy that if he can’t hit the vitals at 60 yards, don’t bother coming to hunt. The area Plotz hunts is wide open country, with lots of bulls and very little cover.
Plotz now shoots an Oneida Screaming Eagle compound, something he picked up a couple of years ago, the same time he first began using sights. He says it just seemed like the time to start catching up with the advantages most other bowhunters enjoyed in speed and range. The feeling is enforced by his experiences watch- ing bull elk on the outside of his bow range.
Elk and a funny looking fish have little in common, except to Plotz. He`s been bowfishing carp for years in the springtime, and gets that crazy look when the subject arises. He wants a big carp as much as that big bull elk. As a matter of fact, he’s planning to shoot a new state record carp to add to the 40 and 42- pound fish he’s already harvested, and he says he knows where the big carp lives.
Seated at his dining room table under a mounted 40 pound carp, Plotz seems almost relaxed as he summarizes his career. “The farming hasn’t been as good as the hunting,” he quips. And he speaks of his 50 years as if it’s a lifetime come to an end —all the good luck and bad luck, close calls and the many people he’s met over the years. Suddenly, he perks up. Seems there’s this giant muskie waiting for him up at Lake of the Woods, Ontario, and he’s just got to get up there as soon as possible and catch that fish. The gleam is back.
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Published by archerchick on 12 Apr 2012

Bowhunting in Paradise ~By Dale Schlehuber

Bowhunting in Paradise  By Dale Schlehuber

Bowhunting World April 1990

There ’s a bunch feeding about 300 yards below us in that brushy pocket,” whispered my father. Clifford Schlehuber had spotted 20 of Hawaii’s axis deer through his 10x binoculars from a bare knob on the ridge that divides the island of Lanai. “I’ll head over to that notch where that bunch ran Friday and try to ambush them if they get spooked,” he advised, “and you can try stalking them. But go slow! Remember, every bush and clump of trees has a deer hiding in it! ” At various times during our week-long hunt, we had spooked as many as 10 or 15 deer while stalking other animals. We had learned that the spotted axises had used the same notch to escape a hunter, so this time Clifford would be in position to arrow an animal before it could disappear into the bottom of a 500-foot-deep, two-mile-long volcanic gulch.

 

After waiting a half hour while Clifford circled behind the available cover to get to his “stand”, I started down the steep hillside, slowly stepping to avoid any leaves or twigs, following any strips of bare, red volcanic dirt, while trying to maintain visual contact with the grazing herd. The axises had routinely come out for an afternoon lunch after
disappearing early in the morning fog that is common in Lanai. Their routines and escape patterns had been learned only alter three hard days of hunting. Too often a “perfect stalk” had been thwarted by an unseen deer, so each step was followed by a careful inspection of every bush and tree. To my right a 15-foot-high mound provided an excellent observation point high enough to clearly see the herd of deer above the surrounding thicket of trees blocking my planned path. As I topped the mound, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, freezing me in my tracks.

 

Achingly. l sat down and spun on my rump toward the movement. A half-grown fawn was eating leaves only 35 yards away. After five minutes, junior’s mother appeared from behind a clump of brush 30 yards away. I had pre-set my moveable SightMaster crosshairs for that exact range, and I knew my 65-pound PSE MagnaFlite bow would send the 2114 XX75 arrow tipped with a Razorback 5 broadhead through her chest and might hit the fawn directly behind her. Waiting until the fawn moved out of the line of fire, I slowly raised, drew and picked the spot for a heart shot.

 

Just as I was releasing half my breath and increasing back tension, a set of antlers moved above the bush the doe had been in. Letting down as slowly as my burning muscles allowed, I watched the upper fork of the small buck bob back and forth as he fed. Although not a trophy class deer, he was a buck, and we hadn’t seen any horns while glassing the herd. As this was our last day of hunting, I didn’t want to return to Montana empty handed (Sure, you went to Hawaii hunting! See any two-pointers on the beach?), so I resolved to take back a tanned cream and spot-covered doe hide to add to my collection. Now, I had the opportunity for the dark brown and spotted hide of a buck along with plaque-mounted horns!

 

Distinctive Coloration

 

Axis deer are natives of India and Ceylon that are spotted for life. Does have a dark chocolate dorsal stripe that turns to a golden honey brown down their sides, becoming a creamy color and white on the belly. Nickle size spots are arranged in rows throughout the body. Bucks tend to be chocolate colored down to the belly, with older males having a charcoal color on the front shoulders and neck. The horns of axises usually have three points to a side; brow tines with a forked main branch are the norm. Large bucks will have horns in the 30-inch-plus category, and make an impressive mount. Although the average buck weighs 160 pounds, some have been known to reach 250.

Axises prefer open parkland forests, but will adapt to dense rain forest. Lanai ’s kiawe (mesquite type) mid zone and the upper ridge’s eucalyptus forest provide ideal habitat. For 15 minutes the antlers moved about the thicket, without my getting a glimpse of the buck. The entire time the doe remained broadside 30 yards away, making any attempt to move impossible. Adrenaline surged through my system. as nothing can make me get “buck fever” quicker than hearing my quarry nearby but not being able to see it. Trying to calm myself, I recalled the first day of our hunt. We had spotted six deer, one a huge charcoal colored buck with 32 inch V horns and long, heavy brow tines. After a two-hour stalk covering only 200 yards, and spooking a jackrabbit-sized fawn at 10-feet that, fortunately, ran away from the herd, I finally positioned myself for a 25-yard, head-on shot.
As the buck exposed his throat while feeding on an overhead limb, I drew and released too rapidly, resulting in the arrow being deflected left of the mark by a small branch that in my haste, I had not seen. The buck and the herd disappeared into a deep gulch in seconds. Lanai is a small island forming a triangle with the islands of Molokai and Maui. The volcanic island rises steeply from the ocean, with most ofthe shoreline being 200- to 300- foot-high cliffs. The steep slope continues from the ocean upward to the plateau on the center ofthe island. This flat portion is where pineapples are grown. The northern edge of the plateau is bordered by a high ridge that rises to 3,000 feet, high enough to catch the moist trade winds. Often, this ridge is shrouded in fog and rain, providing the island with water from deep wells. Lanai City, the only town, has a population of 1,400 inhabitants, most of whom are of Filipino, Japanese and Hawaiian ancestry, brought to Lanai to cultivate 19,000 acres of pineapples by the island’s original owner, Dole.
Now, Lanai is  owned by Castle and Cook Co, whose CEO is David Murdock, a main-land businessman. Koele Company manages the islands pineapple operation, and administers the year-round fee hunting program for axis deer on the eastern half of the island. Archery permits good for the entire year cost $100, while rifle hunters must pay $280 for a one-day hunt.
The fee half of the island is divided into several zones so that each hunter can reserve an  area for himself. For a nominal fee. a guide can be hired through the Koele Company. The best time to get trophy antlers is from May through November. Horns in all stages of
developement can be seen due to the length of the matinig season. Now the real good news! The western half of the island is mantained for public hunting of axis deer and maouflon sheep. The archery season for deer is usually the last two Sundays of February (It’s a great way to take the wife on vacation and still get in some hunting.)
The nrst two Sundays of August constitute the mouflon season A one-year, non-resident license costs, get this, $20! Not only can you hunt axis deer and mouflon sheep on Lanai. but you can travel to neighboring islands and hunt feral pigs, feral goats, feral sheep, and if you draw a special permit, blacktail deer. Depending on the island and zone of the island, the limit can be two pigs and two goats . . . per day!  Also, Hawaii has over 15 species of game birds. including three varieties of francolin grouse. three types of pheasant, three types of dove, and Rio Grande turkey. All this for $20.
Summer Vacation Hunt
My mainland friends could not believe that I was going to Hawaii exclusively to hunt, especially in August. However, low summer airfares and the ability to combine the public hunt for mouflon with the private hunting for axis deer had me anxiously awaiting August’s arrival. We had decided to hunt deer for three days, then take a day off to participate in a tournament sponsored by the local archery club, No Nuff Archers, for the over 300 hunters that arrive for the mouflon season. The tournament is held on a Saturday, followed by a banquet and awards ceremony.
Hawaiians really know how to have fun! We were greeted at the airport by Assistant Game Warden Ken Sabino whom I had met in February on my first visit to Lanai. Ken had arranged for us to use his jeep, although vehicles are available at local service stations. If you rent be sure to ask for a four-wheel drive or pickup as there is little asphalt on Lanai, and most roads to hunting areas are poorly maintained.
Ken then gave us some bad news. The deer had so badly damaged the pineapple fields that the usual surrounding archery zones had been opened for shotgun hunting during weekends. Additionally, special wardens had been spotlighting and shooting the troublesome deer. We were in for some tough hunting, as the axises are normally spookier than our deer of the mainland.
Currently Lanai has only a 14-room hunting lodge, but Koele is building a first class hotel to entice scuba divers to Lanai’s crystal clear waters which are considered the best in Hawaii. However, I recommend the Hotel Lanai not only for its great dinners, but also the evening sessions on the hotel`s porch, where locals usually gather to swap hunting stores. I hope the flavor of the lodge and island will remain even after the larger hotel is completed.
Also there is an excellent beach where camping is allowed, but reservations must be made in advance. Toilets, showers and fire pits are available, and a quick swim in the ocean after a hard day of hunting really relaxes a fellow.
Pre-Hunt Tour Helps
 After we had settled in, we took a brief tour of the hunting area. Clifford was amazed by the ruggidness and variance of terrain and t His preconceived notion of a tropical rainforest covering the entire island were dashed by the island’s desert zones. Only the 3,000 foot high ridge north of Lanai City was vegetated, covered by a eucalyptus and pine forest. The other two zones were totally different mainly because of the constant mist which provides moisture on the ridge top. The coastal zone vegetation is similar to southwest of Texas mesquite. In this zone, the axises drink the brackish water of tidal pools, since there are no flowing streams on the island.
The steep, rocky, deeply gulched kiawe zone lies between the coast and cultivated plateau zones. This zone is very similar to the arid hills of the Snake and Columbia Rivers of  eastern Washington state.
For three exhausting days we traveled up and down ridges and gulches rising out of abandoned pineapple fields. Later, we learned that in their native India the deer are preyed upon by tigers. Natural selection had made them  warier than even whitetail deer.
Each day we took a two-gallon jug of water to fill our bota bags. The 85-degree humid climate resulted in an empty jug each evening. Our best discovery was that the abandoned fields had volunteer pineapples the locals called sugar pines” because they are much sweeter than those that are harvested.
Sugar pine juice and a sandwich was our lunch. On Friday the mouflon hunters began arriving on DC-3`s used to transfer them from other islands. That evening we exchanged hunting tales with the Hawaiian hunters who had rented a house for the weekend, The Hawaiians were as eager to hear our Montana elk hunting stories as we were to try the local dishes some hunters had prepared for the communal meal. Never have I met people who became friends as easily as the Lanai hunters.
Saturday, I participated in the 28 target tournament, designed as a warm-up for Sunday`s opening day of mouflon hunting. That evening, the No-Nuff Archers held an awards banquet. There were trophies for each division and three flights of first. second, and third places were presented.
Early Sunday morning, we jumped into the jeeps after a quick breakfast of rice and fish balls, which also were wrapped in dried seaweed and placed into fanny packs for our lunch. A large jeep caravan headed towards the public portion of the island. the caravan’s headlights lighting up the spiny tops of the acres of pineapples. That morning the sheep moved up and down the kiawe zone due to the pressure of 300 hunters moving about. I saw at least a dozen full curl rams, but couldn’t cross to the other side of the rimrocked canyon in which I was hunting.
Later in the afternoon. the sheep bedded down in the thick. man-high silver koa brush, somewhat like a thick, twisted willow. Mouflon sheep, natives of southern Europe, are the smallest of the world’s wild sheep. Ewes are usually a light sandy color, while mature rams have forequarters and backs that are black with a white saddle. Ram`s horns are large for the size ofthe animal, similar to a desert bighorn, with full curl and 1 1/4 curl trophies found on Lanai.
Occasionally, rather than curling outward, the horn will come back in close to the ram’s head, much like an aoudad or Barbary sheep. Non-residents may hunt mouflon only during the archery season, while Hawaiians must enter a special drawing lor licenses to hunt them with rifles.
I spotted two groups of rams and decided to try stalking the nearest trio bedded in the koa. After an hour and a half, I managed to get 80 yards from two full curls and a three-quarter curl. The stalk suddenly ended when another archer appeared on the ridgeline and spooked the rams. Five minutes later. I spotted them two canyons away, at least two hours of hard hiking for me. I elected to try for the other group of five rams and hiked in their direction. Again, just as I was nearing reasonable bow range, they were spooked by other hunters.
That Sunday no mouflon were taken, y although several archers had opportunities. David Yasumura. one of the Honolulu hunters with whom l had become acquainted. would have qualified for a “ram fever” award if one had been given. Despite having finished second overall in the previous day`s tournament, he emptied his quiver twice. trying to knock down a mouflon ram.
Buck Ignores Warning
 As I recalled the week`s events. the favorable breeze decided to swirl. The doe stared at
my unmoving form. I avoided eye contact, and my thoughts became serene and peaceful, reminding me of a superstition I have. I believe animals have senses other than the five humans have, and can “catch” thoughts.
It didn`t work, however, and she began a “head bob” routine that I had seen many whitetails perform: Fake a move for a bite of grass . . . head up quickly . . . fake the head down a little lower. . . spring up with the head and stare for 30 seconds . . . down again almost to ground level this time . . . and, up again. Then, she had my scent because the wind was directly to her. Three sharp stamps of her foot alerted the fawn, and, I assumed, the buck. also. A high-pitched “bark” and away she and her fawn sped. but without the buck. Where was he?
Doing a “duck walk” around the left side of the mound allowed me to see one of his escape routes. I hoped he hadn`t headed for the herd and spooked them, too. Wait! Freeze! There he was 50 yards away. and not running, but leisurely eating. The young buck had ignored the doe’s warning and was now broadside, neck stretched upward as he nibblcd at the fruit of a pukawie tree. The 50 yards downhill were almost bare, providing no chance of getting closer. However, I had spent the summer at our local club range and felt comfortable taking a shot at this distance. l set the sight for46 yards, allowing for the slope. I drew, let out half my breath. held the left arm solid with hand relaxed. increased back tension. and smoothly released.
The arrow sped toward the lung shot I had chosen, however, at this distance there was enough time for the buck to react to the string noise. He stepped forward. the arrow hitting him in the middle. As he circled towards where the doe had been. I could see that the liver shot was going to require some tough tracking in the dense brush in the basin.
I waited an hour before beginning to track. The orange XX75 shaft, minus the last six inches. was laying  10 yards from where the deer had been hit. The surrounding brush`s green leaves were splashed with small, almost misty red dots. making blood trail tracking more difficult. And I knew there would be no blood trail from the liver shot anyway. But, I
still looked. I began making sweeps in the general direction me deer had gone, using the  broken shaft as the center of each increasingly bigger arc.
I heard an animal crash through brush as if it had been spooked from its bed. I was sure  it had been the buck, and searched the area roughly. Three hours later we headed back in the dark. I spent a sleepless night. knowing a wounded animal was suffering. In six years of bagging several deer, two elk, an antelope and a rocky Mountain goat,  I had never lost a hit animal.
The next morning we packed our gear for our trip home. Clifford suggested we drop our bags at the airport and return to the hollow for one more hour or searching. Dad knew how much I wanted to find that buck.
Parking the jeer, Clifford headed up the hillside while I went toward the spot where I thought I had jumped the bedded deer. “l found him! I found him!” Clifford yelled. He hadn’t walked 50 yards in the waist high ferns before he almost stepped on the hidden carcass Bowhunting rarely goes as planned, and this trip has been no exception. We both had missed some relatively easy shots at deer and had had an excellent time chasing the sharp-eyed Mouflon. However. I am dreaming of returning next August not only for the hunting and beautiful scenery, but especially for renewing contacts with the friendly people on the pineapple island of Lanai.
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Published by archerchick on 12 Apr 2012

Texas Record Book Weekend- By Thomas L Torget

Texas Record Book Weekend – By Thomas L. Torget
Archery World February 1989

Two Florida Archers Arrive At A Sprawling South Texas Ranch For a Weekend Bowhunt. They leave with THREE Pope and Young Whitetails. Is This Place Special?

For George Cooper, “buck fever’”, is
something that happens to the other
guy. After taking almost 100 deer during
the last 30 years of hunting, George is pretty relaxed
when facing yet another routine shot at yet
another routine buck.

At least, that’s how it used to be. Things changed dramatically at 9 a.m.
last October 11. That is when George was overwhelmed
with all the classic symptoms of this dreaded

hunter’s disease: dry rnouth, pounding heart
high blood pressure, shortness of breath,
sweaty palms and trembling fingers.

ln short, Cooper was completaly unglued.
“I had adrenaline up to my eyeballs!” admits
the veteran Florida bowhunter, “I.was so
shaken up I Was sure I’d have a heart attack
and crash right out of my, stand, I’ve.never
been so rattled in my life. It was horrible.”
The cause of all this emotion was a solitary
whitetail buck. When the deer lifted its, head
high as it stood 80 yards away, Cooper knew
this buck was special. Its thick rack sported
10 enormous tines that seemed to reach toward
the south Texas sky. As the buck stepped
out and began moving down the trail, the bow
hunter eased into position fo ra shot.

“There were several does and smaller
bucks nearby when I first saw him,” he
explains. “He walked slowly toward the pond in
front of my stand. When he reached the water’s
edge and lowered his head for a drink, he
was just 15 yards away. I tried drawing my 80-
pound bow, but l was shaking badly. The arrow
rattled against the rest and the sudden
noise spooked all the deer.”

The big buck, however, did not panic. He
slowly trotted off, stopping 45 yards away.
When the deer tumed broadisde and glanced
back toward the pond, Cooper didn’t hesitate.
He held his 40-yard sight pin behind the
buck’s shoulder and let the arrow fly.

“I flubbed the shot badly,” he concedes.
“I was sure he was 40 yards out, but he was
actually closer to 50. My arrow sailed right
under his chest and off he went. I felt totally
miserable about screwing up such an opportunity.
Bowhunters don’t get chances like that
every day. In fact, most of us never see a buck
that big, much less get a shot at him.”
Five minutes later, the impossible happened:

The big buck came back. As the
whitetail paused at the water’s edge just 18
yards from Cooper’s stand, the shaken bow-
hunter was determined not to miss again. The
buck was quartering slightly toward the
hunter as his arrow drove through both lungs,
putting the buck down for good after a 150-
yard sprint.

As Cooper stood over his magnificent trophy,
he had to pinch himself to be certain all
this was real and not just a bowhunter’s
dreamland fantasy. The events of the past
three days certainly seemed unreal. Cooper
and his hunting companion, Hal Arve, had
come to the Kenedy Ranch in south Texas for a
weekend bowhunt. They fully expected to see
plenty of deer and they were optimistic that
they’d locate some good bucks. But these veteran
bowhunters knew how slim the odds
were they’d be able to arrow a Pope and
Young record-book whitetail. So as Cooper
stared down at his incredible trophy, their
third of the weekend, a reality test pinch
seemed appropriate.

Reality Strikes
The adventure began several months ear-
lier when Cooper and Arve decided to travel
to Texas to hunt the largely unknown Kenedy
Ranch. From the perspective of a whitetail
deer hunter, this place is like no other. Headquartered
60 miles south of Corpus Christi,
the ranch covers 400,000 acres of some of the
finest deer habitat in Texas, a state that’s home
to more than 20 percent of all America’s
whitetails. And most amazing of all, the ranch
went virtually unhunted for more than a century. Hunting by anyone other than family
members and friends didn’t begin until 1986
when Sarita Safaris, Inc. , an outfitter based in
Corpus Christi, obtained commercial hunting
rights to some 66,000 acres of the ranch. That
year, 52 rifle hunters harvested 62 bucks that
averaged 6.5 years of age. Almost 30 percent
of the bucks taken scored between 145-166
Boone and Crockett points. Only seven of the
62 bucks taken scored fewer than 130 points.
How ’s that for a season’s harvest?

As the 1987 whitetail season drew near,
Sarita Safaris began receiving inquiries about
bowhunting opportunities on the ranch. A
bowhunting program was established and
Cooper and Arve were told they’d be welcome
to test their luck during Texas’ October
archery season.

“We arrived Thursday night, October 8,”
says Arve, a 36—year-old insurance salesman
from Homestead, Florida. “George had
hunted the ranch with a rifle the year before
and had told me it had plenty of big bucks. We
were really excited about the prospect of taking
a record—book whitetail with our bows.”

“This may sound crazy,” adds Cooper, a
50-year—old farm machinery dealer from
Princeton, Florida, “but the toughest challenge
we faced was making sure we didn’t
shoot the wrong deer! There are plenty of
young bucks on the ranch in addition to the
very mature bucks that are six to eight years
old. When you’re not used to seeing so many
mature whitetails, a three or four·year-old
eight—pointer can be very tempting. So we
made sure we spent the first day just looking
over what was available. We kept reminding
ourselves to be patient.

Friday morning Cooper and Arve were
both in treestands before daylight. Perched
high in their mesquite trees, they saw plenty
of deer, including several excellent bucks. But
neither archer was offered a close-range shot
at the buck he wanted. Arve watched a mas-
sive 10-pointer pass within 25 yards of his
stand, but a limb obstructed his shooting lane,
preventing a shot.

Saturday afternoon Cooper drove around
the ranch with guide Mike Mireles in an effort
to locate a big buck that might be stalked. The
pair found a handsome 10-point buck and
Cooper managed to sneak to within 40 yards.
After evaluating the buck’s rack, however, he
chose to let the deer pass in hopes of finding
something better on Sunday morning.
Arve, meanwhile, was back in his treestand.
At 7 p.m., he watched a beautiful 10-
point buck approach slowly toward the water
hole in front of his stand.

“He sparred pretty good with a big nine-
pointer,” says Arve. “He really intimidated
that other buck. After their bout, the 10-
pointer walked to the edge of the water and
lowered his head to drink. He was 20 yards
away and I knew this was my chance.”

The arrow launched from the 75-pound
overdraw bow struck the buck in the neck,
severing the jugular. The deer raced around
the pond and into the thick grove of oaks before
piling up 150 yards from Arve`s stand.
The whitetail’s rack scored 135 Pope and
Young points, easily surpassing the 125-point
minimum for a typical whitetail.

“I was really proud of that deer,” beams
Arve. “I’d taken 10 whitetails with a bow pre-
viously, the best being an 11-pointer I arrowed
near Lake Okeechobee in central Florida.
But none of those deer compared to this
one. This was a real mature trophy — six and
a half years old.”

Don Quixote
Sunday morning found Cooper perched
atop a unique “treestand” he’d constructed
out of a pair of two-by-ten boards.
“I wanted to hunt a spot where a game trail
passed close to a water hole,” he explains.

“The weather had been extremely dry for
months and the deer were really coming to the
water. The best spot seemed to be atop a metal
windmill. So I lashed two boards together
near the top of the structure and made what
looked like a swimming pool diving board. It
was a one-of-a-kind treestand, that’s for sure.
It may not have been pretty, but it sure
worked!”

It was from this stand that Cooper arrowed
his trophy buck. It was six and a half years old

and scored 149 3/6 Pope and Young points,
ranking it among the top five whitetails ever
arrowed in Texas.

Arve, meanwhile, decided to return to his
mesquite tree for Sunday morning’s closing
hunt. “l had been watching a big 10-pointer
come and go over the weekend,” he recalls.
“For the past two mornings, he’d come
across the field to the same spot at the edge of
the pond. He was never in a good position for
me to shoot from my treestand, so I moved to
a ground blind about 25 yards from the mesquite
tree. It was nearer the water and I
thought it might give me an opportunity for a
shot if that buck came by again.

Hunched low in the branches of his makeshift
blind, Arve squinted through dawn’s
first light at a faint movement near the mes-
quite tree 25 yards away. The 10-pointer appeared.
“The first time I leave my treestand,”
laughs the bowhunter, “the buck comes down
the trail next to that tree and stops tive yards
away — broadside! There was a lot of high
grass between us, so I didn’t have a shot right
away. I eased up on my knees and waited for
him to move into a gap in the grass that would
give me a clear shot. When things looked
right, I drew back and released. The shot
looked perfect, but I couldn’t be sure where it
hit. He only ran about 20 yards and stopped. I
tired another arrow and this one hit him in the
neck. He went down for keeps. My initial
shot, it turns out, was a good lung shot.”
Arve’s second buck was an amazing eight
and a half years old. Its rack tallied 144 4/8
Pope and Young points, placing it among the
top 10 bow-killed whitetails in Texas.

Whitetail Heaven
How can one ranch have so many high-
scoring whitetail bucks? The answer lies in
both the ranch’s location and its history. The
property is located in one of the best trophy
whitetail areas of the South, the well-known
“brush country” of Texas. More than 80 per-
cent of all Texas whitetails listed in the Boone
and Crockett record book were taken in counties
located south of San Antonio. The Kenedy
Ranch lies near the southern tip of the state,
where the terrain is a mixture of oak groves
and rolling grassland pastures. Much of the
ranch ’s eastern and northern borders lie along
either Baffin Bay or Laguna Madre, waters
which connect to the Gulf of Mexico. It’s a
unique experience watching trophy whitetail
stroll along a sandy beach, but it’s a scene
often witnessed on the Kenedy Ranch. And,
there’s plenty to see in addition to whitetail
deer.

“The ranch is loaded with wild turkeys,
javelina, feral hogs and nilgai,” says Gerald
Ashbrook, a member of Sarita Safaris’ board
of directors. “The nilgai is an antelope im-
ported from India. It’s a huge animal, almost
as big as an elk. We have about 10,000 bulls
and cows on the ranch. They’re tough _to hunt
so they make excellent trophies. The meat is
delicious, too, tasting much like beef.”

Ashbrook says the ranch was founded in
1866 when Mifflin Kenedy dissolved his part-
nership with Richard King. The result was the
formation of two enormous ranches, the
Kenedy ranch and the more well-known King
Ranch.

Until 1986, hunting on the Kenedy Ranch
was limited to the Kenedy family members
and a few friends. Much of the property is
now owned by a foundation established by the
Kenedys, and it is that foundation which
leases commercial hunting rights to Sarita Safaris.

“We’ve had two terrific seasons so far,”
says Ashbrook, “and we’re looking forward
to many more. Obviously, we’ve got lots of
land to hunt and we’re careful not to overhunt .
any part of it. Next season, we’ll use some
new areas and we’ll ‘rest’ some of the areas
we’ve hunted in 1986 and 1987.”

Ashbrook noted the ranch includes
230,000 acres that are off-limits to all hunt-
ing. “That area is a permanent game preserve
that will never be disturbed by hunting,” he
says. “We realize we’ve got something spe-
cial here. Our challenge is to maintain the
high percentage of mature deer that we have in
our whitetail population. The high numbers
of six, seven and eight-year-old bucks is what
makes this ranch unique. There just aren’t
many places where deer have the chance to
live that long. When they do, they can grow
some pretty impressive headgear! ”

George Cooper and Hal Arve agree. Even
before departing the ranch last fall, they made
reservations for a return trip in 1988.
“We saw more Pope and Young-caliber
deer in three days last October than we’ve
seen in decades of hunting elsewhere,” says
Cooper. “You can bet we’ll be back next October.
If there’s a better place in the world to
bowhunt whitetail deer than the Kenedy
Ranch, I sure don’t know where it is.”

Author’s Notes
Information about bowhunting the Kenedy
Ranch is available from Sarita Safaris, Inc.,
PO. Box 8995, Corpus Christi, TX 78412.

The ranch is located in Kenedy County and is
headquartered 60 miles south of Corpus
Christi. Out-of-state bowhunters can reach
the ranch via commercial airline service to
either Corpus Christi or Harlengen.

Bowhunting fees are $125 per day, plus a
trophy fee for each animal harvested. Trophy
fees range from $100 for a whitetail doe or
javelina to $3,000 for a whitetail buck. The
daily fee includes all meals and lodging in
modern cabins at either of the two hunting
camps operated by Sarita Safaris.

Texas’ archery deer season usually opens
the first Saturday in October and runs about
30 days. The state’s general deer season (gun
or bow) usually opens the second Saturday in
November and ends the first Sunday in January.
ln most counties, the fall turkey season
runs concurrently with deer season.
A Texas hunting license costs $10 for
residents and $200 for non-residents. A $6 arch-
ery stamp is also required of anyone bowhunting
deer or turkey during the October archery
season, In Kenedy and most other counties, a
hunter may harvest four whitetails,
two of which may be bucks. A copy of Texas` hunting
regulations is available from the Texas
Parks and Wildlife Department,
4200 Smith School Rd.,
Austin, TX 78744.

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Published by archerchick on 12 Apr 2012

Bowhunting the Southwest ~By Mike Lowry

Bowhunting the Southwest-By Mike Lowry
Archery World’s Bowhunting Guide ’88
I was just finishing winding up my winch cable as the old gentleman stepped onto the jeep trail. As I walked over to say hello, he set the lower limb of his bow on the toe of his boot, pushed back his sweat-stained cowboy hat and rested his arms on the top of the bow. After a friendly hello and a handshake, we talked for almost an hour about the bowhunting around Ely, Nevada, and how dry it was hunting here. “Here” was up in the cooler, greener, and generally higher and more forested area of the mountains that sat northeast of Ely.
The old bowhunter then told me that, because I looked like a nice “young fella,” he’d let me in on a little secret. ” I’ve lived in this country all my life,” he said, “and if ya want big trophy deer, get the hell out of these mountains and hunt the high desert .” He then went on to tell me of an area southeast of Ely that, though it didn’t look it, held some real wall hangers. “Most people just don’t believe those deer are down there, or if they do, won’t hunt them there. But I tell you what, if you want to work for a big one, that’s the place .” If there’s one thing I have learned over my bowhunting years, it’s to listen to people  especially older, more experienced people. The next day found me driving along a very dusty road leading into low, sage-covered hills that looked better suited for hunting jack rabbits or horny toads than big mule deer. As I eased along, looking for a good camp and hunting spot, I was reminded of the Jicarilla Apache Reservation of New Mexico, where I’d grown up. Some of the best mule deer hunting in the world was on that reservation; as old memories surfaced, my excitement about the hunt grew. Noticing some green growth in the bottom of one of the side canyons, I turned onto the little-used ruts of an old road, parked about 150 yards from the green and walked over for a look. The Bureau of Land Management had put in a stock trough that was full of clean water. The mud at the lower end of the trough, where the water had overflowed, told the story; deer tracks, lots of deer tracks, some very big, covered the bottom of the draw.
My partner, Mike Sagers, and I smiled at each other as we headed up the side of the draw for a better look at the surrounding country. Half-way up, Mike pointed out a deer standing by a little clump of grease wood. As we watched, it took off up the hill, followed by six others — all bucks. We sat down and watched in wonder as they skylined going over the top. I hurriedly picked my chin up off the ground and closed my mouth before a dozen or so blow flies could buzz in. Three of those bucks could have easily gone into the top of the Pope & Young listings and the rest were mighty respectable.
Giggling with glee like two school kids, we hurried back to the truck and took off to find a place to camp. Not for the last time I thought io myself, Thank the Lord for the 0ld f0lks!
Lessons Learned
 Memories of those big bucks and all the near misses hurried me along a year later as Mike and I picked our way up the hill in my old Suburban. We were far better prepared for the high desert hunt this year and ready to capitalize on last year’s learning period. The spot we had spent over an hour leveling for a tent last year was there just as we had left it, as was the fireplace next to the rock face and our pile of powder-dry firewood, still stacked as if it had only been an hour since we cut it. No wonder the deserts hold so many secrets of ancient times; change comes very slowly, We quickly put up my tent, one with large screened openings on all four sides. Next to it, we put a 12 x 12 sun shade to protect ourselves from the heat of the day. There was very little natural shade here — one of the lessons learned from the year before. After storing most of our gear away, we brought out the coolers — one with our food, one full of ice. Then came the water; this year we brought a ten-gallon Gott cooler filled with crushed ice and then water, and a 30- gallon plastic barrel for washing and cooking. In this country, you would be wise to saturate yourself with water. In other words, before you go out in the morning, drink all you can, then take another drink. I also carry a bota bag with me, which is a lot quieter than a canteen.
With camp set and a quick meal under our belts, Mike and I set off on foot to do some poking around before the next day’s hunt. The year before, we had learned some of the movement patterns of the deer. In most instances they started to hit the water hole about 5- 5 :30 p.m. You could almost set your watch by it, in fact.
The deer are thirsty by then and, unlike other places I’ve hunted, when these deer decide to come for a drink, they literally run up to the water, stick their head in and suck up a belly full. The trick is to be on the water well before they come in; failing that, you should be on a good approach lane. I say “lane” because these deer won’t really use any set trails, but are liable to come in from any direction.
Finding a good vantage point in the shade of a small bush, we sat down and began to glass. The area we were watching was where three good draws came together about 600 yards above the water. Brush covered the northern faces of the draws, and grew thick and twice as tall as a man in the bottom. Trying to glass every square foot of cover, I began searching the terrain for bedded deer. The 7 x 35 Browning binoculars were well suited for this kind of glassing, offering enough magnification to see everything, yet not so much as to cause objects to bounce around at every little movement I’d make. I’d tried other compact glasses and also stronger, larger glasses, but for me, after a half hour or so my eyes began to protest the harsh and unusual punishment. I agree with Dwight Schuh, who said that good quality optics are probably more important than the most expensive bow.
Gridding the area off, I slowly began to search the draw back and forth, looking at everything in the optical picture, then moving just enough to pick up a new area next to the one I had just looked at. Twenty minutes later on the third pass over the same bush, I thought I saw an antler. Intensely focusing in on a shadow under the bush, I saw a large set of antlers slowly turn and then return to the original position, blending perfectly with the larger stems of the bush behind them.
I put down my glasses, gently eased the 2OX spotting scope into position and zeroed in on the brush. Either this deer had some very large antlers or a tiny head because the main beams were at least six to eight inches out past his ears on both sides and somewhere around 24 inches tall. As I looked him over, I became aware of a pounding noise and found it hard to sit still. My breaths began to come faster — and all I was doing was looking at him from 500 yards away!
After everything I’d taken with my bow, these really big bucks still get to me the most. To be honest, I hope it never changes. Mike and I watched the buck for a while and then began to spot other deer getting up and stretching, relieving themselves and starting to feed. Before long, it seemed the whole draw began to move.
At last, the big boy stood up. I was surprised, though not disappointed, to learn that he was a monster three-point with about six-inch eye guards. What was more surprising, however, was the four-point that appeared just behind him. This buck was almost a carbon copy, with one more tine but a few inches shorter in height. Both had unusually long tines and heavy mass. They stretched and turned down the draw toward the water. As if waiting for this signal, all the other deer began to head in the same direction, the last ones hurrying to catch the others.
Looking at Mike’s watch, I saw it was 5:20; these deer hadn’t yet been disturbed out of their routine. As they went out of our sight line, we picked up the spotting scope and carefully backed out so as not to disturb them now.
Hunting The Draws
Two anxious bowhunters walked out of camp an hour before sunrise the next day. Mike
took off toward a water hole and I went over the saddle above him to see if I could make a stalk on the other side of the hill. The birds soon began to noisily announce the brightening eastern sky. Down the saddle, I could hear sounds of movement. Something coughed and I strained to see what was there through my binoculars. Gradually, the dark spots below me began to take on depth and form as the light of dawn grew brighter and brighter. I could now make out several  browsing around on the opposite hills. Where was Mr. Big? Soon it was light enough to see everything, though the sun was still minutes from its grand appearance. Does and fawns, small two-by-threes and a couple of larger bucks, though not the big boys, wandered below me. Sneaking along just under the skyline like the Indians in a Louis Lamour novel, I backed over the ridge through a small stand of brush so I wouldn’t be spotted.
A morning breeze blew against the right side of my face as I eased along, carefully feeling for anything underfoot that would give me away. Suddenly, a loud snort and the heavy “thump thump” of what surely must hare been the world’s record buck caused my heart to do 14 quick laps around my chest cavity.
Peeking through the bush in front of me, I was startled to see a very ordinary doe staring my  way as if trying to determine what I was. Frozen in position, I watched, trying to avoid any eye-to-eye contact. Within a few minutes, she turned and walked stiff-legged over to the ridge line and out of sight. Moving to my left about 20 yards, I snuck up behind a small bush and slowly raised up until I could see through the top of it.
Fifty yards below stood five bucks and a doe. They were alertly looking at the spot where the doe had just come in. If I had merely followed her over the ridge line, they would have had me pegged. As it was, they were alert but not yet spooked. A couple of the bucks were tempting, in the 140- 150 point range, but this was the first day of the hunt and I knew there were much larger deer around. Not knowing what was over the hill, the deer finally decided to leave rather than take a chance.
A loud snort and pounding hooves signaled Mr.  Big. I sat watching them walk single file down the hill to where Mike should be sitting. As they reached the bottom of the draw, they stopped for a quick drink within 25 yards of where I figured Mike had set up. It was exciting to see the drama unfold, and as I glassed the deer,  I kept waiting to see an arrow nail one of them. Nothing. I wondered what he was waiting for. Soon, they filed away and up the other side into the thick stands of mountain Mahogany to bed for the day.
Where was Mike? Later I found out that at the last minute, Mike had decided to move up the draw 100 yards, where he had to sit and watch the bucks walk directly past the spot I thought he had been in. That’s deer hunting; almost always in the wrong place at the right time. Working my way down the ridge, I glassed a tremendous buck already bedded down under one of only five or six bushes in the whole bowl. He had chosen his spot well; there was nothing within 300 yards that was more than knee high — and not much of that, either.
I watched him for quite a while and then backed over the ridge and hunted my way over to Mike. When I finally found him, he was pretty disgusted about not being in position for a shot at the group of bucks, so I asked if he wanted to see a really good one. Ten minutes later we were glassing the bedded buck. We didn’t think he was one of the two we had seen the night before, but he was in the same class. Since I had found him, and because stalking is my favorite way to hunt, Mike encouraged me to go for him.
Courting Mr. Big
By now, the sun was up and its heat was steadily pulling the wind up the draw to the deer. Dropping back over the ridge, I hurried around and well above the deer’s bedded position and into the bowl above him. Being sure to keep the bush between us, I started down into the bowl. Every move had to be painstakingly slow because there was no room for error. A broken twig, the crunch of gravel or carelessly dragging a branch across a pant leg could end the stalk prematurely.
 I took two or three slow steps at a time, feeling for anything that might make noise, stopping and glassing for other deer who might mess things up. I moved again, so slow and easy that I was sure I melted into the surroundings. Constantly checking the wind with the little feather glued to the fine thread on the upper limb of my bow, I was aware of everything around me. I tried to imagine being a cougar stalking his prey and wished I had his sense of smell and padded feet.
Finally, 30 yards from the bush, I nocked an arrow and eased closer. The pounding heart rate started again, for I knew he was there, not 15 yards in front of me. Closing my eyes for only an instant, I told myself to stay in control and pick a spot. I took two more steps to the right and still couldn’t see him. Doubt began to creep into my mind; is he still there? I glassed the bush and then up the ridge to Mike, only to see him frantically giving me the “stay where you are” signal. I waited, worrying that the wind might change and give my position away. My bow got heavier as I held it out, ready to draw and shoot at the slightest movement. I decided to wave Mike down toward the deer, hoping it would stand up and look at Mike. He started noisily down into the bowl in plain sight. This is brilliant, I told myself. The buck will see 0r hear Mike, stand up and I ’ll have an easy shot. Wrong! The buck didn’t move at all as Mike moved closer and closer. Suddenly, the bush exploded as the buck hit his feet at a dead run, right around the bush and straight at me. I had drawn my bow at the first movement, but what the heck would I shoot at on a deer running straight at me with his head down and closing fast? Our eyes met and I saw recognition_ in his eye as he veered off to my left. Swinging with him, I released as he ran by at the speed of light. . .squared.
As I watched him run over the saddle at the top of the bowl, I knew he wasn’t to be mine. Mike walked toward me. We just couldn’t believe the buck had let him get that close before leaving cover. Why hadn’t it stood up as he came down the hillside? The only thing we could think of was that the buck had been asleep and hadn’t known Mike was there until he was in the critical zone, and that’s why he took out at a dead run. What a let down!
That afternoon found me over the ridge and down the other side looking for the buck. As I tracked along, I kept scanning the small growth of cedar and mahogany that stood halfway down the hillside. It was much hotter and even the light, long-sleeved camo t-shirt felt like too much, but the memory of that big buck fueled my enthusiasm. Looking through an opening in the trees, I spotted a doe feeding and another lying down above her. As she turned away, I moved forward a couple of steps and then froze as I saw the buck with
them. He was between the doe and me — about 60 yards out — sitting on his butt like a big dog. I’d never seen a deer do that before and since he was looking the other way. I eased forward, hoping he would stay there I hadn’t taken two steps before he stood up and started feeding away from me. Since the wind was calm, I dropped back and below  planning to use the trees as cover.
If all went well, I would get within 40 yards. No sooner had I reached the trees than a doe and fawn went busting out the other side spooking the whole bunch over the little saddle and into the next draw. I ran uphill 100 yards or so and peeked over the ridge. Nine deer were crossing the next ridge and walking up the far draw. As I watched with the binoculars, they walked for a bit, then stopped to look back to see if anything was following Satisfied they had gotten away, the buck stopped to feed near the top and soon the big guy and a couple of others lay down under the only cedar on the hillside.
Seeing my chance, I backed off the ridge and ran up the hill, circling around above the deer. Gulping in great gasps of air, I began to wonder if I wasn’t too old for this, but then smiled , for I knew it wasn’t true. . .yet. After catching my breath, I crept over  the saddle and then crawled up to some small clumps of sage, looking down to the cedar tree. I could just see the tips of antlers, so I sat back and waited. Soon, I thought, they’d be up and would probably feed right through the saddle just below me. Some 30 to 45 minutes ater Mr. Big stood up and started feeding my say.
Here we go again, I thought. Just as he was coming into range, I heard a motor and turned to see a pickup come down the ridge behind me. This can ’t be happening, l thought. The driver stopped as he came even with me and saw the deer standing below him, looking up. He started to open his door, saw me and, to his credit, waved a “sorry” and went on down the ridge.
Turning back to the deer, I looked at the place the buck should have been. He wasn’t there. Hoping he hadn’t left the country, I crawled down to the next clump of sage and peeked over the top. There he was, feeding about 60 yards below me. I drew back, eased up, put the 60-yard pin right behind his shoulder and released. The arrow zipped over his back. Nocking another arrow, I drew back, eased up again and saw him looking downhill to where the first arrow had hit. He never knew what happened as the 2216 passed clean through him and off down the hill. The buck bolted down the hill, only to lay down within 100 yards.
A short time later he got up and moved around the hill out of sight. As I tracked him, my respect for this deer grew more and more. He’d used every trick in the book to lose me and even had me stuck for a while until I found where he had back-tracked and lay dead in the sage. This old boy was tough right to the end. While I took his picture and admired my trophy,. I thought back to the old man I had met on the worn jeep trail. His advice had been right — Thank the Lord for old folks.
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Published by archerchick on 11 Apr 2012

Eyes of A Champion – By Dean Phillips

Eyes of A Champion – By Dean Phillips
Bowhunting World June 1990

 

I only had about 5 minutes of light left, but I knew
the deer was there. Then, he stepped out of the
shadows, broadside at 15 yards. I drew my bow, but when I tried to see
the deer through my sights, all I could see was
a blur and my lighted sight pins. I held the bow
at full draw and pulled my head out to the side
to make sure the deer hadn’t moved. I could see
the deer clearly as he stood in the same spot.
Once again I took aim through my peep and
again couldn’t see the target. I tried to relax my
draw and when the cams rolled over, my arrow
fell off the rest and clanked against the bow
riser . .
Does this conversation sound familiar to
you? Have you ever experienced the frustrations
of this situation yourself? If you have,
don’t feel bad. My research shows that for
many bowhunters, all too often this moment
of truth ends in disappointment and frustration
because their shooting style renders them
helplessly inaccurate in low-light conditions.
Now that we’re in between bow seasons, this
is a good time to work on the mechanics of
shooting that can make you as accurate with
your bow in low-light conditions as you are in
bright sunlight.
To correct the situation, we must go
straight to the root of the problem: your vi-
sion. You can have 20/20 vision and still be a
terrible shot in low-light conditions. The
physiological process of shooting a bow accurately in dim
light obviously requires some
degree of quality in your vision. But more importantly
it requires quantity! That’s right.
Quantity! A vast number of bowhunters today
are learning to shoot their bows with one eye
closed and thereby reducing the quantity of
their visual process by 50 percent.
I was intrigued with this problem when I
became aware that so many of us were
plagued with this habit. I say habit because in
most instances a person can leam to shoot
with both eyes open and improve their low-
light accuracy to a large degree.
Of all the bowhunters in our society, there
are those who reach plateaus and realms of
greatness that lift them out to us as symbols of
excellence. I wanted to talk to a few of these
“champions” to get their ideas on shooting in
low-light conditions and let them offer advice .
on improving your abilities in these situations.
Learning Eye Dominance
A year or so ago, my wife Marilyn and I
were watching The Johnny Carson Show one
evening and he had this cute little blonde-
headed girl on the show with a bow in her
hand. Her name was Denise Parker. “Boy,” I
thought. “I bet she’s gonna pop some balloons or
something? Was I in for a shock!
E This “little” girl was shooting her target arrows
through the center of tiny Lifesavers
candy. Johnny said, “Denise, I see that you’re
left-handed? “No, I’m right-handed but I’m
left-eye dominant, so I shoot left-handed,” replied Denise.
Denise Parker has taken the archery world
by storm. She was the youngest member of the
U.S. Olympic team in Seoul in the summer
I games of 1988 and came home with a team
bronze medal. She is the youngest person to
ever win a gold medal in any sport at the Pan
American Games and she won the individual
I and team gold there at the age of 13 in 1987.

Denise held the world record, which she
broke again in the Indoor Nationals in Salt
Lake City during 1989. She also holds many
national records for indoor and outdoor distances
for both juniors and women. In 1989,
she also won the bronze medal at the World
Championships in Lausanne, Switzerland. In
July of the same year, Denise returned from
the Olympic Festival held in Oklahoma City
with the gold medals from both team and
individual competition.
To realize that Denise accomplished all
this by age 15 is unbelievable, but adding the
fact that she is actually right-handed but
shoots left-handed, puts Denise in a world all
her own. Through my conversations with her,
I came to realize just how important it is for a
bowhunter to know which of his or her eyes is
the dominant one. Denise tells how her archery career
started at age 10. “I started shooting because
my dad had just taken up bow-
hunting and it was something we could do
together. I had only been shooting about a
week when we realized something was
wrong. I was having a terrible time with left
and right misses. With help from my dad and

a local archery shop, we discovered that I was
left-eye dominant? Denise switched to a left-
hand bow and the rest is history.
Denise pointed out that she could have
continued to shoot right-handed. “I could
shoot right-handed if l wanted to, but I would
have to wear a patch over my left eye to keep it
from taking over while aiming.” She said that
there were toumament-level archers out there
that were wearing patches over their eyes to
prevent this from happening. Obviously,
Denise, her dad and the pro at the archery
shop thought that being able to shoot with
both eyes open was very important. Important
enough to learn to shoot opposite-handed.
Looking at Denise’s past, and looking at her
future, it was a wise decision.

She’s Hunter, Too
Although a champion target archer,
Denise is no longer just a “paper puncher”.
Having had a desire to bowhunt with her dad
from the very beginning, Denise drew her
bow on her first deer in the fall of 1988. “I
was hunting with my dad and some of his
friends when we spotted this nice 2-by-2 mu-
lie on a hillside. My arrow struck the deer’s
spine and he immediately rolled down the hill
and into the same path our vehicle was on.
From the time we spotted the buck, it was all
over in about 5 minutes.”
With target shooting and hunting alike,
Denise feels shooting with both eyes is very
important. “Although I see my sights with
my left eye, I am also looking at the target
with my right eye.”
After my discussions with Denise, I real-
ized that just as the toumament archer who
wears a patch over his dominant eye, many
bowhunters could be closing one eye because
they are not pulling the bowstring to their
dominant eye. Should a person who has this
problem, and who has been shooting a bow
for several seasons, now switch to an oppo-
site-handed bow? Denise had only been
shooting for a week when she made her
change, so the switch for her was not that
drastic, but for someone who has been bow-
hunting for sometime, this could seem an
overwhelming task.

Just how important is shooting with both
eyes open? Could someone who is left-eye
dominant and shoots right-handed leam to
shoot accurately with both eyes open, any-
way? At age 14, an accident left the nerves in
Alan Altizer’s left hand severely damaged.
He started shooting a bow at age 3 and was
shooting left-handed at the time of the acci-
dent. This incident left him unable to draw a
bowstring with his left hand so he promptly
started shooting right-handed. Even though
he is left-eye dominant, he continued to shoot
with both eyes open. Sixteen years later, Alan
Altizer is now one of America’s premier bow-
hunters. With nine Pope And Young class
whitetails on his wall at age 30, Alan has al-
ready accomplished what most could never
do in a lifetime. His shooting success has led
him to be co-founder and president of a video
company that specializes in bowhunting videos.

 


Alan’s success as a bowhunter is not some-
thing that just happened. “I shoot my bows all
the time. Sometimes I’m up ’til 2 or 3 o’clock
in the morning sh00ting,” says Alan. He believes
that shooting with both eyes open is as
important to bowhunting as breathing is to living.
Alan cites two important reasons. “First
of all, it’s almost impossible to judge distances
with one eye. I believe all your senses
are feeding your brain information when you
are hunting. You’re hearing, smelling, and
most importantly seeing what is around you.
When you draw your bow, these senses continue
to work and your sight is the most important at the
moment. Why would anyone I
want to reduce his visual perception by 50
percent at a time when you need all l00 per-
cent of it? ”
Alan continues, “Secondly, although I
shoot a Browning Mirage compound bow on
my videos, I also enjoy shooting a Black
Widow recurve bow instinctively. There is re-
ally no way I could shoot instinctively with
one eye closed.” Alan uses sight pins and a
peep on his Mirage, but he shoots it with both
eyes open just like his recurve.
Start Without Sights
On giving advice to a bowhunter who
wants to learn to shoot with both eyes, Alan
states, “I would recommend starting with no
sights or peep. Take a small piece of paper
and lay it in the lawn and start shooting at it
from about 15 yards. When you draw your
bow, don’t look at your arrow, don ’t look at
your bow. Just focus on the target with both
eyes and keep shooting at it. Once you be-
come comfortable doing this, it will be easy to
use your sights and keep both eyes open.”
Alan agrees that being proficient in low-
light conditions is important. “I’ve killed
some of my nicest deer very early and very
late. In each instance, I don’t believe I could
have done it with one eye closed .” In addition
to urging you to use both eyes, he has some
other tips for hunting in low light. “Early
morning and late afternoon, the horizon often
will be very bright compared to the shaded
woodlot that you may be hunting. Try to avoid
looking into this bright light which would
constrict your pupils and thereby reduce your
eyes’ light-gathering ability. Wearing a hat
with a brim that shades your eyes from this
light will help also, and just like the gunfighters
of yesteryear, try to position your stand so
that the rising or setting sun will be at your
back.”

Alan has some common sense advice
about low-light shooting. “When you’re
hunting early or late, always be familiar with
the area immediately around your stand, be-
cause small saplings, brush, limbs and other
arrow deflectors disappear quickly as the
light starts to fade.” He continues. “If you
know that you will be hunting in low—light
conditions, then you must practice shooting in
similar light. At night, the light from a street-
light or utility light is perfect simulation of
low-light conditions. This way you can practice
for hours instead of being restricted to the
15 minutes or so of dawn or dusk.”

Alan closes with some words of caution,
“When hunting late, always have a good light
with you. A good tracking aid like a spool of
Gametracker thread can help you track your
deer and it can also keep you from getting
lost! And whatever you do, don’t take
chancey shots. If you don’t have confidence
that you can make a good, clean killing shot,
don’t take it.”

 


Alan has gathered from his experience a
wealth of knowledge concerning hunting in
low-light conditions, and now would be a
good time to point out that when I speak of
low-light conditions, I ’m talking only about

legal shooting hours. These legal shooting
hours vary from state to state. In many states,
the hours run from 1/2 hour before sunrise to
1/2 hour after sunset. A general concensus
among bowhunters is that those two, half-
hour periods will provide the most opportunity.
But some states require you to quit at
sunset. If you live in a state with this law, then
your only real bout with low—light conditions
will come in that 30 minutes immediately
preceeding sunrise.

; Hunting Big Bucks
I One such state is Minnesota, and residing
I there is a man who loves to bowhunt that first
I half-hour before sunrise. “Of the 23 Pope
And Young whitetails I’ve taken, over half of
them were killed in the pink light minutes be-
fore sunrise,” states Myles Keller. Since
Myles hunts exclusively for big bucks, patterning

a big deer’s movements has a lot to do
with the clock. “I’ve been bowhunting for
over 20 years now, and I ‘ve seen a definite
change in the behavioral patterns of big bucks
in the last few years. Just like most bowhunters,
I really enjoyed hunting the edges of
fields in the late afternoon. But times have
changed, and so have the big bucks,” says
Myles. He feels the increasing hunting pres-
sure is changing the way a person should bow-
hunt. “For a buck to grow huge antlers, he
needs to reach at least 3 years of age. In order
to do this today, he must become almost exclusively
noctumal. If you’re hunting for this
kind of buck, your best chance to catch him is
very early in the morning as he tries to slip
into his bedding cover. If you’ve calculated
things right, and are at the right place at the
right time, you better be able to shoot your
bow accurately in these low-light conditions .”
Having started bowhunting at age 15 with
a recurve, Myles just naturally started shoot-
ing with both eyes open. “Although I ’ve been
shooting all these years, now that I ’m shoot-
ing a compound, I find myself tempted to
close my left eye sometimes when I’m practicing.

For some reason, I feel this is more of a
temptation for someone who shoots a com-
pound bow with sights. I think that they feel
they will be more accurate with one eye
closed, but this is not true, especially in low-
light conditions .”

Myles sums up what he feels is the key to
shooting accurately with both eyes in three
words, “practice, practice, practice.” He
adds, “If a person wants to learn to shoot his
bow with both eyes open, then he should practice
that way all the time. Not just in low-
light, but in the middle of the day also.” He
also feels many hunters overlook the help they
can receive from their local archery shop.
“Most of the pros at your local archery shop
really know what they’re doing. They can
help in areas such as bow tuning, equipment
selection and shooting problems.”
Myles believes the hunting instinct is natu-
ral for man. “Man is considered a predator
because he has both eyes in front. It is also a
proven fact that each eye has a separate and
specific function at all times. That alone
should be enough to encourage bowhunters to
learn to shoot with both eyes.”
Myles Keller is considered, by most, the
greatest whitetail bowhunter alive today. And
for good reason, too. His 23 Pope And Young
whitetails is a feat never accomplished before.
Of those 23 monster bucks, some provide
special memories. Myles remembers the
Christmas holidays of 1977, when “hunting
in Wisconsin, I had this enormous buck was
trying to cross paths with. After patterning
him for about 10 days, I thought for sure my
stand was situated perfectly to get him early
the next morning. As dawn broke on Christ-
mas Eve, the increasing light revealed the
buck slipping down a ridge on the other side
of the slough from where I was positioned.
Feeling the pressure to get home for
Christmas, at 10:30 I decided to move my
stand to the other side of the slough to try to
catch him if he moved back up the same ridge.
As I approached the area, I spotted a deer
through the hardwoods about 40 yards away. I
could tell it was a big deer, and it seemed very
busy with the job of digging acorns from underneath the fresh snow.”
“Slipping from tree to tree, I was able to
close the distance to 30 yards. From there, I
recognized the buck as the one I was after.
Momentarily awestruck by the massive ant-
lers, I paused behind a tree to warm my
hands, check my bow, and make sure there
was no snow or ice in my arrow nocks. I then
slowly eased to within 20 yards for a clear
shot at the still unsuspecting trophy. After a
deep breath, I released my arrow, which took
out both lungs. A few minutes later and 50
yards down the hill, I stood over the largest
racked Whitetail ever killed in the state of
Wisconsin.”
That state record still stands today, and the
buck scored as one of the largest eight-
pointers ever recorded by both Boone and
Crockett and Pope And Young. Myles continues,
“Although I was ready for him very
early, he forced me to change my strategv. I

don’t want anyone to think that early and late
are the ‘on1y’ times to take big deer. Having
patience for an all-day hunt and the willingness
to change your game plan are important
factors, also.”
After bow season, Myles Keller is a very
busy man. As the advisory staff director for
XI Bows, he spends many hours traveling to
hunting shows, operating a booth for XI and
setting up the display of his Pope And Young
trophies. “My most memorable deer did not
qualify for the record book,” states Myles.
“My most memorable deer only scored 92
Pope And Young points, but he was my ‘first’
deer. I know there are a lot of bowhunters going

after that first deer, and I believe that
shooting their bow with both eyes open will
help make it happen.”
After talking with Myles, Alan and
Denise, I wanted a professional medical opin-
ion from someone who understands the pro-
cess of aiming a bow. Dr. Phil Walters is an
ophthalmologist at The Johnson City Eye
Clinic in Johnson City, Tennessee.
Having competed on his high school rifle
team, Dr. Walters knows the importance of
understanding the functions of the eyes during
the aiming process. “First and most importantly,

a bowhunter should know which of his
eyes is the dominant one and then pull the
bowstring to that eye. As far as I know, there is
no correlation between eye dominance and a
person being right or left-handed. A bow-
hunter can’t assume that he or she is right-eye
dominant just because they’re right-handed.”
Which Eye Dominates?
Dr. Walters explains how to detemiine
your dominant eye. “Take a piece of notebook
paper and cut a small hole in the center about
the size of a dime. Then, hold the paper at
arms’ length in front of you. With both eyes
open, aim through the hole at a small target
across the room such as a door knob. While
doing this, cover your left eye. If you still see

the target through the hole with your right
eye, then you’re right-eye dominant. The opposite

would happen if you are left-eye dominant.
“By drawing the bowstring to the dominant eye,

this will allow the hunter to shoot
with both eyes open, and medically speaking,
provide him with ‘binocular vision’ .” Dr.
Walters says that binocular vision, or seeing
with both eyes, will not only improve a bow-
hunter’s accuracy in low-light conditions, but
improve his accuracy at all times. “Opposed
to ‘monocular vision’ , or seeing with one eye,
binocular vision helps in several ways. First,
with binocular vision, you have a wider visual
field and you have depth perception. But,
more importantly to the bowhunter, binocular
vision allows your brain to perform the act of
‘visual fusion’. This is the physical act of fus-
ing the two separate pictures that each eye
sees into one single picture. This is very im-
portant in the actual aiming process, espe-
cially if you use a peep and sights ,” states Dr.
Walters.
Continuing, Dr. Walters explains, “When
you draw the bowstring and peep to your dominant eye,

you should focus on the target. Your
dominant eye will see the sights through the
peep and also the target. But, you must under-
stand, that with the peep, the sights, and the
deer or target, this is quite a confused picture
for just one eye to see. That’s where the im-
portance of the non-dominant eye comes in.

With the non-dominant eye open, it has no
objects interposed between it and the target as
the dominant eye does with the peep and
sights. It can, therefore, focus clearly on the
target. Your brain then fuses these two pic-
tures together to produce a single picture of
the target with the sights aligned over it. If a
bowhunter will trust this visual process, he
will be amazed at how his accuracy will improve.”
Using Both Eyes
Dr. Walters believes that most bowhunters
who shoot with one eye closed do so because
they learned to shoot that way and not because
they have to. He adds, “Some bowhunters
may complain that aiming with both eyes is
confusing. But once they become comfortable
with fusing the different pictures seen by the
two eyes, the hunter will begin to enjoy the
advantages of binocular aiming.” As far as
low-light conditions go, Dr. Walters adds,
“No one’s visual acuity is as sharp in dim
light as it is in bright light. Obviously, two
eyes will be better in these conditions than one
eye alone
Dr. Walters’ medical explanation confirms
what many bowhunters have known all along;
that two eyes work better than one. In my own
experience, I have found that a sight light or
lighted pins like those in my Sight Master bow
sight improve my accuracy in these situa-
tions. The reason for this is that the bright-
ened sights, seen through my dominant eye,
enhances the fusion process. I can see the
deer clearly with my non-dominant eye and
the lighted pins are more clearly seen over the
target.
How does all this relate to the general bow-
hunting public’? I conducted a written survey
through several archery shops in my area.
More than 500 bowhunters participated, answering

a questionnaire concerning this subject.

Over 53 percent of these bowhunters
said that they shoot their bows with one eye
completely closed. Of that 53 percent, 87 per-
cent said that they had missed a deer in low-
light conditions because they couldn’t see the
target clearly when they drew their bow.
Overall, more than 95 percent said that
they saw more deer early in the morning and
late in the afternoon than any other time of
day, emphasizing the need to be accurate in
low-light conditions.
I hope this information is something that
will make you a better bowhunter. Considering Denise Parker, Alan Altizer, Myles Keller
and their accomplishments, there should be
something you can draw from them to help
you, and the way you shoot your bow. By understanding and trusting your visual process,
and with some determination and hard practice, you too can develop “the eyes of a champion.”  >>—>

 

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Published by Casey Stutzman on 04 Apr 2012

Why Athletes Make Better Hunters

 I am always amazed how much money hunters will spend on the newest gear and technology to gain an advantage in the woods, all while ignoring their fitness and hunting skills.  Your body is your most lethal weapon; a bow is just an extension of that weapon.  We spend time and money to make sure our equipment is in proper working order that during the moment of truth it will perform but somehow don’t see the value in that same amount of care a preparation of the “human machine” which requires far more care and matinance to perform than any bow or rifle.  Simply put athletes make better hunters because their body and sense are finely tuned to be at its best when the game is on the line.  Before you dismiss the rest of this article because you have never been into sports let me assure you hunting is a sport and you are an athlete.  Everyman is has an athlete with in him; it is that sprit that drives us to compete and seek risks and adventure.  Your instinct to be an athlete is just as strong as your instinct to hunt; the feeling you get when you triumph over a challenge is no different than the one you get when you provide for you family from the fruits of the wild. Below are 3 benefits you will receive as a hunter when you choose to release your inner athlete.
Communication – Fit athletic individuals are often thought of as having strong bodies but their true strength lies in their nervous system.  To keep it simple let’s just say the function of the nervous system is to run communications throughout the entire body.  Improved “communication” can have many benefits for hunters including;
·         Improved reaction times.  “Quick” athletes are made not born. Consistent training improves the speed of communication from the brain to the muscles and vice versa,  this allows the body to react more rapidly to a stimuli.  Vision works into the equation as well, your brain gathers enormous amount of information from your eyes, and improved communication makes this process more effective.
·         Body Awareness.  The term used to describe a person’s awareness of their body and movement is space is call proprioception.  Again through training athletes have very high proprioceptive abilities; this same ability will benefit bow hunters during their draw cycle.  Being able to “turn on” certain muscles (especially postural) at will leads to more accurate and consistent shooting.  Often in archery articles you read about the importance of practice at short ranges to develop “muscle memory” for your draw cycle, athletes will more quickly develop that memory and it will “stick” in the brains better.
good posture – the benefits of good posture are 2 fold; first it will lessen the stress put on upper and lower back from excessive sitting in a tree stand.  The second is a biggie, more accurate shooting!  Posture is all about putting the body in the proper position so that everybody shows up to work; good posture is the cornerstone of core stability.  What I mean by that is if my shoulder blades are in the correct position in relationship to my ribcage and pelvis there are more muscles active to give my “structure” rigidity and a stable platform.  In this sinerio the work of drawing and holding at full draw while keeping a steady pin are shared throughout all the muscles in the body (when standing).  It’s the difference between having 2 friends come over to help you plant a new food plot or 20.
Breathing and heart rate – this is kind of a given.  A trained body has a lower resting heart rate and is able to make better use of oxygen.  Translation for hunters; when you see that buck and your heart begins to race it will not rise to the levels that will affect your shooting because it is starting at a lower rate.  Second you don’t need as much oxygen because your body has become efficient at using it, this gives you more control of your breathing and allows you to take smaller breaths that will keep your pin on target better even at an elevated heart rate.
Recovery – Sitting all day long can be very demanding on the body.  Sitting puts us in a very negative posture that causes excessive stress and tension on specific areas, when standing this same stress provided by gravity is better distributed throughout the entire body.  A fit athletic body will recover better and faster from the stress of sitting allowing you to sit all day and then recover better so you can do it again!  Bodies that are inactive do not deal with stress well because they are not as used to it.  A fit and athletic person’s body is under the constant stress of training and exercise and responds in a very positive manner by adapting to that stress to become stronger and speed up its recovery process so it is ready for the next round.  Think of a cell phone battery, if I want to make a 30 min phone call and my battery is full I have plenty of power to make the call and can expect that the phone will recharge quickly to full power.  If I start my call with only a 50% charge on the battery that same 30 minute call will leave my battery almost fully drained and it will take me much more time to charge back up
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Published by archerchick on 04 Apr 2012

Mounting Bear and Boar Skulls -Robert Steenbeke

Mounting Bear and Boar Skulls – Robert Steenbeke
Bowhunting World June 1990

Thump! That’s as close as I can describe the sound of hitting a 150-
pound wild boar with a pickup truck.
I know what that sounds like because I
did it, not on purpose mind you,
but I did it. Of course, hitting a wild animal with a
truck in Texas is noting unusual.

During any average 24-hour period in the Hill Country
there are nearly 100 animal/vehicle mishaps.
What happened after my collision however, was
quite unusual, and it leads nicely into my taxidermy
story, so let me tell you about it.

The boar wasn’t killed by the impact of my truck
and kept on going, crashing through a fence and into
a whitebrush thicket. When I backed up and got out
of my truck I could hear him in the thicket, growling
like a cornered dog. The only weapon I had in the
truck was my bow, so I hesitated to go into the brush
after him. I just couldn’t let the animal suffer
though, if indeed he was, so I started checking things
out. What made me wonder about his suffering or
not was the fact that the growling did not sound hurt,
just mad as the devil and looking for revenge. If I had
not found any blood at the scene I probably would
have left, but I did find blood on the fence, and a few
drops were also visible on the other side. Since I had
permission to hunt that thicket, I decided to try to do
something about the situation.

Clutching my bow, I made a circle downwind of
the growling. Thirty yards into the thicket, facing his
backtrail, there stood the hog, except he was only
using three legs, and one of those didn’t look too
steady. Slowly, I stalked to within 20 yards of him
and looked for a hole to put the arrow through. I
thought I found one big enough and let the arrow go,
but I ticked a limb and hit a little far back from where
I wanted to. Still, the shot looked good and I didn’t
figure he was going too far.

After an unproductive search for my arrow, I took
up the blood trail. I had gone about 50 yards when I
spotted a rabbit. It was an easy shot to make, so I
took the broadhead off the bow and put on a washer
backed field point. Just as I got the field point on the
bow I heard a grunt. Looking up, I saw the boar,
coming for me as fast as three legs could carry him,
his mouth wide open and looking like he had a hundred
teeth, each a foot long. I was scared, I don’t
mind telling you, but having absolutely nowhere to
go in that whitebrush thicket, I drew back the bow
and let him come. When he was where I knew I
couldn’t miss, I looked him in the eyes and let go of
the shaft. Fortunately, I got close to my mark,
smacking him in the bridge of the nose and passing
through into the throat, stopping the charge but not
dropping him. The hog then crashed into the brush
where the arrow hung him up just long enough for
me to get another arrow on the bow, off the bow, and
into him. This shot was right where it belonged, and
as the animal turned to run away, he stumbled; four
steps later he went down for good.

That late Spring afternoon is one I will never forget,
I guarantee you that, but still I wanted to have
some permanent memento of it. I decided that the
hog’s skull would do just fine, arrow hole and all.
This is the step by step of how I mounted it, and this
procedure works equally well on cougar, bear, wolf
or most any critter without antlers or horns.

Step 1: Using a small razor-sharp knife, cape out
the skull. Start at the mouth, opening it up and cutting
where the lips are connected to the base of the
gums in both the upper and lower jaws. Cut and peel
the skin from here up over the nose, and clown
around the lower jaw. It will start to get difficult
where the skull widens just in front of the eyes. At
that point, switch to the neck end of the skull and cut
and peel from there. Once you have the skin off, cut
off as much meat and connective tissue as possible.

Step 2: Boil water in a pot that will hold the entire
skull. When boiling rapidly, add two teaspoons of
Borax per quart of water, then put in the skull and
jaw. Let the water come back to a boil for 20 minutes.

Step 3: After 20 minutes of reboiling, remove the
skull and jaw. Using a hot pad and channel—lock pliers,
carefully remove the front teeth back to and including
the canine teeth. Pour the water used for
boiling through some kind of strainer to catch any
teeth that may have come loose and fallen out.

Step 4: Let everything air cool. Do not try to rush
cooling by pouring cold water on things or they will
most probably crack. Once it’s all cool, you will
need to either clean the pieces up. Use a wire brush
and/ or DULL knife to clean all the loose teeth. Use a
sharp knife to finish removing every bit of
flesh, including the eyes and tongue, from the
skull. The brain is then removed with a drill
and a whip made from a coat hanger. This will
break it up, and then a garden hose will blow
it out. Now, let everything dry for about a
week, longer if it’s very humid.

Step 5: While the skull and jaw are drying,
out out a plaque to mount them on. Make the
plaque big enough to stabilize the mount, but
not so big that it makes the skull look small, 2-
3 inches of space around the skull is about
right. For a more professional look, router the
edge of the plaque. Complete the plaque by
using a good prestain sealer, stain, and finish
that matches your decor. Follow the directions
given by the manufacturers of the products you
choose to use. They want your repeat
business, so they tell you the best ways to get
me best results.

Step 6: When the skull is done drying use
2 wire brush to remove the last little bits of
flesh and tissue that are still left, and to prepare
the surface for painting. Brush on a good
quality prestain wood sealer and let it dry to
complete the preparations for painting.

Step 7: Use a good quality, appliance
white spray enamel to paint the skull and jaw.
Apply several light coats rather than one thick
one, since a thick coat will run. Let each coat
dry thoroughly before applying the next or the
paint will peel. And, be sure to paint the parts
from every angle, People always seem to notice any
little spot that you miss.

Step 8: After the paint dries thoroughly,
set the teeth back into the jaw using clear silicon
sealant/adhesive. Wash your hands well
before handling the skull or jaw to minimize
ugly fingerprints. While resetting the teeth,
you will find that you can reset them with less
root, making them appear longer than they
actually were. In my personal opinion
though, they look really fake when they are
too long. It also makes assembly harder since
the bottom jaw will need to set forward of normal
to allow for the extra length. Experiment
with the length until everything fits together
firmly, yet you get the tooth length that you
want to show.

Step 9: Assemble the skull and jaw and
position them on the plaque exactly where you
want them to wind up. Find a bolt which,
when the skull is on the plaque, will reach
through the plaque and about 3/4 of the way
through the brain cavity. Remove the skull!
jaw and drill a hole through the plaque for the
bolt, right under where the brain cavity will
wind up. Countersink this hole so the mount
won`t sir up off the table or wall.

Step 10: Put the bolt through the hole,
tighten it into place with a washer and nut on
top of the plaque, then put a dab of paint or ink
on the top of it. Carefully lower the skull/jaw
onto the plaque exactly above the spot you
want it to sit. The ink will mark a spot on the
bottom of the skull where you should drill a
hole for the bolt. Be careful not to drill all the
way through the skull. Drill and countersink a
second hole through the plaque, right be-
tween the jaws and under the bridge of the
nose. Then repeat the bolt, skull, ink trick
again, using a bolt that goes 3/4 of the way
through the nasal cavities.

Step 11: We are now ready for final assembly.
Turn the skull upside down on a soft
towel or rag to prevent skuffing the paint job.
Fill the two holes you drilled in the skull with
silicon sealant/adhesive. Put the bolt assembly
into place and allow l2 hours to dry before
turning the mount over. Tum it over and
presto! , you have a mount to be proud of.
Felting the bottom of the plaque makes a truly
professional looking table top display, or add
thin rubber pads to the bottom and use as
bookends when you get two of them, or add
hanging hardware and use as a wall mount.

They all look great, and are sure to be a conversation starter. >>—>

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