KIDS HEAR THE DARNDEST THINGS

My kids know all about hunting, fishing and the outdoors.  They've grown up around it and participate right alongside me on many outings.  However, many of their neighborhood friends don't have a clue about hunting or fishing.  But the good news is they are curious and I take the opportunity to teach them a few things.  Most lessons are good, too.  Well, except for one little slip recently.   

For nearly two decades, every time I back my truck or boat into the driveway it's not uncommon to have kids ranging in age from 5-15 come over to poke around in my livewell or see what rode home in the back of the truck.  They're intrigued, fascinated and truly inquisitive about hunting and fishing and the resulting fish or game.  Childlike curiosity is entertaining, too, with questions that run the gamut.

"How did you kill it?"
"What part do you eat?"
"Do you eat the fins?"

Many of the neighbor kids are older now so my audience isn't as large.  But last weekend when I had a deer to get out of my truck my little neighbor girl, who is in 3rd grade, was playing in the leaves with a little boy who was her classmate and his 4th grade brother.  I was actually going to try to get it out without being noticed as she's quite the animal lover and I was concerned about her feelings.

But the boys saw me and said "Oh, he's got a coyote!" 

I told them it was actually a deer and drug it around to the back yard to hang it so I could process it.  I turned and saw three little faces peering through the fence between our yards.  I asked if they wanted to come see it and they hollered "YES!"

As they came through my garage I told the little girl I wanted to make sure she knew there was a dead deer laying there.  She said she knew and marched right up to it without a qualm or any hesitation.  They all started in with a barrage of questions.  After a few minutes, their curiosity quenched, they went back to playing in the leaves as I got busy with a knife skinning and quartering my deer.

I was in a hurry as my son wanted to go deer hunting that afternoon.  A careless slip of the knife and my pinkie finger was cut bad enough I knew it may require a trip to the ER for stitches.  It caught me by surprise and I hollered an expletive that would have made Charlie Sheen blush.  I dropped the knife and looked up just in time to see all three kids staring at me between our houses.

I took off for the sink and hollered at my wife.  As I washed my hands trying to assess the damage my wife starts freaking out as my blood trail was better than my deer that morning. 

"You need to go to the hospital!!!"  she screamed, a lot. 

I had to laugh as the scene reminded me of the one from Saturday Night Live where Dan Aykroyd portrayed Julia Childs cutting up chicken and she cut herself with the knife.  Google it if you haven't seen it (be forewarned...it's gross). 

Anyway, I told my wife I didn't have time to go to the ER and in all seriousness, it looked to be borderline stitch-needing.  In true, redneck style, I got some electrical tape and a paper towel and wrapped it tightly to stop the bleeding.  I did shove it in a latex rubber glove and went back outside to finish processing the deer. 

When I turned around I saw those three little faces at the fence again.

"I think I saw you cut yourself!" one little boy said.

"You did?" I responded.

"Yeah, I heard you holler, drop the knife and start jumping all over and then run inside," he said.

"Did you hear any bad words?" I quizzed.

All three heads shook back and forth and the response was in unison and not very truthful sounding...."uh,uh, noooo!"

Too bad kids hear the darndest things. 

 

BACK IN THE GAME

I fell in love with bowhunting when I was a senior at K-State.  So much so I likely skipped a few classes to head to the far reaches of Tuttle Creek Reservoir to sit in a treestand on a few mornings I should have been in Chemistry or Biology classes.  But I graduated with flying colors and a degree in Fisheries and Wildlife Biology so I must have made most of them.  However, the bad news is I never killed a deer with my bow!

To make matters worse, I wouldn't kill a deer until the end of my third season bowhunting.  I had taken a job with the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission and spent the first year there finding places to hunt.  Finally, I killed a small doe the second year and could finally consider myself a full-fledged bowhunter.

That first animal opened the flood gates and things got easier as I learned from my mistakes (I made my fair share and then some).   My interest in the sport escalated and I found myself traveling to the far reaches of Northern Quebec chasing caribou and to several Mountain and Midwestern states chasing elk and whitetails.  I was hooked on bowhunting in a big way and loved every minute of it.

But as happens, my interest waned a bit when I had kids and more responsibilities all the way around.  I just didn't have the time to get out as much as I used to and time in a tree was at a premium.  Add to this the fact I lost my two favorite spots to bowhunt and I've been a little off-track for the last few years. 

Don't get me wrong, there have been plenty of deer that died in front of me.  My twin boys have both killed several deer now and my daughter killed her first deer last month while home on fall break from college.  I've enjoyed that as much or even more than shooting one myself.  But solo time in a tree is almost therapeutic and I missed it.

A new-found friend turned me onto a spot to bowhunt and things were looking up.  I was more excited this fall about my bowhunting prospects than I had been for some time.  The first time in my new tree yielded several deer sightings and that warm, fuzzy, content feeling I get from watching the woods wake up was back.  It's a magical time.

The second time in that tree last weekend started off slow but then a fair-sized buck cruised through just out of range.   A short time later three generations of antlerless deer eased down a trail I was watching.  My Mathews came to it's old, familiar anchor point where it had been thousands of times over the years and I grunted to stop the biggest doe at 18 yards.  The shot was perfect as all three deer bolted.

As I walked up to the first deer I'd killed in a couple years I thought about how much I'd missed bowhunting and close encounters.  Even though only a doe it felt vaguely like the first one I worked so hard for years ago which was a huge trophy in my eyes.  It's a wonderful sense of accomplishment and I was grateful for the opportunity.  It feels good to be back in the game.        

FIRST DEER

My daughter, Ashley, used to tag along as an observer on hunts as a youngster.  We enjoyed spending quality time together outdoors.  Even though the highlight of some hunts were a couple donuts and a jug of chocolate milk enjoyed sitting on the tailgate I still cherish many of those experiences.

Ashley took the Kansas Hunter Education Course when she was 9 years old and killed a few turkeys several years later.  But then came school activities and sports and she got busy.  But likely worse yet as far as hunting participation was four, right shoulder surgeries from age 14-18.  Recoil, shotgun or rifle, was never an option during those years and archery was out as well.

Meanwhile, her younger twin brothers had gotten into deer hunting.  They've each killed a deer or two and I think their tales of success, or near misses in some instances, rekindled a desire Ashley had as a youngster. 

"I want to kill a deer when I come back on fall break, Dad" she said, now a college sophomore several hours away.  "It's on my Bucket List."

I didn't realize a 19-year-old could have a Bucket List, but if she has one and that's on there I was game to help her check it off the list.  Recent changes in deer hunting regulations allow kids in all units and adults in four units to use a crossbow.  This option would prove beneficial for Ashley's situation and two of my friends offered up the use of their Horton crossbows after hearing of her request.

We practiced shooting when Ashley got back home and she had no trouble hitting the bullseye.  A quick refresher course on where to aim using a deer hunting DVD and a laser pointer and we were ready to go hunting.  I was surprised at how excited she was as we crawled into the ground blind later that afternoon.

Ashley and I chatted and laughed to pass the time.  Our topics were different now than those when she was a youngster but still quality time spent together.  It wasn't long and Ashley went on point like a prize bird dog.

"DAD!  There's a DEER! she said.  "It's looking RIGHT at us, DON'T MOVE!"

I couldn't see it yet from my vantage point in the back of the blind.  I was amazed at Ashley's reaction and how fast her heart rate and breathing went from cool and calm to 90-to-nothing.  I laughed and told her to relax and we'd see what happened.

We'd chatted about Ashley's expectations on what she wanted to shoot.  I bought her two deer permits so she had several choices.  She had said she really didn't want to shoot a little one, buck or doe.  I told her whatever she wanted to do was fine with me.

As the deer came into my view I could tell it was a small doe and Ashley was instantly disappointed she wasn't going to shoot.  She had the crossbow up and rested on shooting sticks and was watching it through the scope at 20 yards.  To a first-time deer hunter it likely looked as big as a house.  

"Oh, Dad, if I could shoot this one that would be SOOO PERFECT!" she whispered.

Without hesitation I said, "Let's do it.  Put the crosshairs right behind the shoulder and slowly squeeze."

At the shot I knew it was true and the deer bolted.  Ashley wasn't quite so sure as it happened in the blink of an eye.

"Did I get it?" she asked in between labored breaths. 

"Yep!" I responded.

She couldn't wait to get out of the blind and go look.  The deer traveled about 60 yards and Ashley was the first to spot it.  Her excitement level grew as we admired her first deer. 

"That was SO cool!" she said.  "I couldn't believe how fast my heart was beating!"

Ashley was anxious to share her success with friends and family via text and Facebook.  Many of her girlfriends offered immediate congratulations and "You GO, girl!"

One commented "I wish my Dad would take me hunting!"

I'm sure glad I did. 



     

   

FANTASTIC FALL

Fall is a wonderful time for many reasons.  The weather cools down, football seasons kick-off and there's plenty to do in the great outdoors.  Hunting seasons are getting into full swing and the fish are strapping on the feed bags in preparation for winter.  Fall fishing is some of the best of the year and gone are the majority of boats making a day on the water peaceful.

I got a chance to meet an old friend, Eric Sher, and make a new one, Jeff Davis, for an afternoon of crappie fishing in Jeff's boat recently at Melvern Reservoir.  Melvern is a crappie factory and there's plenty of man-made brush piles in the lake to find hungry fish.  We met at the ramp at 1 p.m. and were off in search of big slabs.  Light winds and seasonal temperatures promised a perfect day.

The bite was a bit slow and we hopped from pile to pile trying to find something more than the obligatory dinks offered in a plentiful crappie population.  Running and gunning we managed to put the occasional keeper in the boat.  Nothing huge, but all were 10-13 inches and size really doesn't matter much to me as they all look perfect frying to a golden brown in hot grease. 

We had plenty of time to chat and I learned Jeff is a transplanted Cajun.  He came here via the Army at Ft. Riley back in the early 1990s.  After his 4-year commitment he decided to make Kansas his home to raise a family and enjoy all the Sunflower State had to offer outdoors.  Crappie fishing is likely his favorite and he admits there's plenty of options near his home in eastern Kansas.

The day turned to evening and the fall colors on the surrounding hills were amplified with a gorgeous sunset.  We watched the sun dip behind the horizon and the various hues of orange, yellow and red were spectacular as they stretched across the water and finally disappeared. 

Jeff fired up his boat and we headed back to the ramp, commenting on what a wonderful day it had been.  Fishing wasn't all that impressive, despite a dozen keepers that would feed my family a wonderful meal with fish sandwich leftovers.  With results like that I can't call it slow by any stretch and we had enough action we never got bored.  Spending time on the water on a perfect fall day is never boring to me anyway.  Meeting new friends with the same interests is a bonus, too, as the Kansas outdoors is a wonderful place to be.   

WHEN A PLAN COMES TOGETHER

When you're dealing with Mother Nature and the great outdoors, it's often difficult to get all aspects of an adventure lined up and cooperative on an outing scheduled months in advance.  A special waterfowl hunting opportunity for youngsters 15 years of age and under last weekend had been on my radar since the same time last year.

I had taken my 12-year-old boys to Cheyenne Bottoms Wildlife Area for their first real duck hunt.  They shot a few ducks and had a great time.  These youth seasons are the perfect chance to get new hunters out and help them get off to a good start as the focus is solely on their experience.  My only regret last year was that I didn't get my nephew lined up to tag along with us.  I told Dylan he was on the list for this season and he's been looking forward to it for some time as he'd never hunted ducks.

My nephew lives two hours away and not in the direction I was headed to Jamestown Wildlife Area for this year's hunt.  But to his parents' credit they logged about 7 hours of drive time in two days to meet me and get him picked up.  That's a pretty big commitment of time and money and I'm sure Dylan appreciated it as much as I did. 

We arrived at the marsh's primitive campground and the first thing the boys noticed were the mosquitoes which were instant and persistent numbering in the hundreds and hovering around fresh flesh.  I sprayed all three boys with repellent and we got busy setting up the tent.  We gathered our gear, loaded the duck boat and headed out for an afternoon hunt.

Action was steady to start and the boys had eight ducks down in about the first 30 minutes.  All were blue-winged teal and Dylan's first duck would be photographed for posterity.  Gator, my 2-year-old black Labrador retriever, was busy and the boys got a kick out of watching him work.

After a short lull in the action things picked back up and flocks of teal started buzzing the marsh.  Cody was first to finish with his six ducks and Dylan wasn't far behind.  Brandon needed just a couple more and he picked those off and we were done by about 6:15 p.m.  One lone greenwing teal was in the mix of the boys' bags as the rest were bluewings.

As I tried to shoot some photos there were ducks landing all around us.  It was hard to keep Gator's attention and the boys laughed at his commitment to watching ducks.  I finally managed a few decent photos and we picked up and headed back to camp.

The evening was gorgeous.  Light winds and crisp temperatures made a big fire inviting.  We roasted hot dogs over open flames as we watched flocks of teal headed back to the marsh to roost and listened to screech owls and coyotes start an evening serenade that stretched well into the night.  Sleep came easy for the boys as they nestled into sleeping bags. 

I couldn't have scripted a more perfect outdoor adventure for my boys and nephew.  The weather cooperated perfectly, the ducks were there in mass and all the ingredients were in place to make this experience one me and the boys will remember forever.   I love it when a plan comes together.  

KUDOS TO MOMS/DADS LIKE THIS ONE

I've always had a big interest in KDWPT's Pass It On Program.  Hunting and fishing have been an important part of my life since I was a youngster.  The great outdoors is indeed a great place and I've enjoyed my time there. 

My Dad was the first one to take me hunting.  He was a weekend-warrior of sorts, pheasant hunting with his buddies from work a couple times a year.  Once I got old enough at  9 or 10 years old to tag along I would get to be "one of the guys."  My Dad didn't hunt anything other than upland birds but the bug had bit me and I took it from there.  I now hunt many species near home and afar.

But the world is now full of Dads who are busy, or aren't hunters themselves.  There's no shame in the latter as some just haven't ever been exposed to it.  So what's a kid to do who thinks he or she might have an interest in hunting?  A good bet would be to check out one of KDWPT's special hunting opportunities.

Many of these are geared towards helping kids, or adults with limited experience.  The perfect example was the 13th Annual Harper County David Berry Memorial Youth Deer Hunt.  I was paired with a youngster, 11-year-old Adam Hall of Hutchinson, and his Dad, Mark.  Mark had never hunted but was intent on spending time with his son who had developed an interest in hunting after receiving a bow and arrow as a gift.  I admire parents like Mark who take the initiative to make time to take their child hunting, despite their own inexperience.  Adam had never been deer hunting and his very first hunt would go from near-tears to jubilation in minutes.

We climbed into a tower blind overlooking a crop field.  It wasn't long and we spotted several does and fawns off  in the distance.  A short time later, two does stepped out from our left.  Adam got the gun up and ready and I could tell he was excited.  My confidence was high as his shooting back at the range was spot-on.  However, Adam's shot missed it's mark and the youngster was understandably dejected. 

But I told Adam and Mark that our chances were good to see another deer before shooting time was over.  I tried to console Adam and I chatted with father and son about the highs and lows of some of my experiences to help ease the pain.  Everyone misses at some point or another and that's part of the game.  Adrenaline is a complicated beast. 

It wasn't long and four more does walked out in front.  I did a better job this time of getting Adam calmed down prior to the shot and reminding him to SQUEEZE the trigger and stay steady.  I had binoculars on the big doe when he shot and at the sound I told Adam he just bagged his first deer as she piled up after a short sprint. 

Adam was now fired up and ecstatic.  We walked to his doe and a big, wide smile on Adam's face said it all.  His Dad was admiringly proud, too.  I was glad to help Adam get his first deer and even more importantly show Mark how much fun it was to share the outdoors with his son.  My hats off to Mark and other Moms and Dads just like him.     

WHITE-WINGED WONDERFUL

The Kansas dove opener is a season I've always cherished.  It signals a time to get together with friends and kick off the fall hunting seasons.  And my anticipation this year would be no different and despite not even firing a shot it may have been my most memorable ever.

My 15-year-old nephew, Dylan, has fallen head-over-heels in love with hunting and fishing.  His parents had signed him up for a couple special youth deer hunts near their home in Topeka and he killed a doe on each hunt.  And he's killed a couple turkeys, too.  However, he's never hunted flying game but was more than anxious to try when I suggested he come down to hunt with his cousins and I. 

He didn't waste any time and started practicing his wingshooting the week before coming down.

"Hey Uncle Marc, I broke 18 out of 20 clay targets last night," Dylan said in a cell phone call. 

"Really?  Were they still sitting in the box?" I kidded him.

I told him that was a great start but warned him that doves might be just a bit more sporting.  He found out opening morning that statement would prove very true. 

Dylan and one of my boys, Cody, and I headed out to a KDWPT managed sunflower field.  My other twin, Brandon, had opted for a KU football game with one of his friends instead.  Ouch.  I mean the fact he cheers for KU, not that he didn't go with us (I'm a K-State alum if it's not obvious).  We arrived to find the field surrounded by others with the same idea so we eased into position.

I had stools for Dylan and Cody and they would sit in front of me with their 20 gauge shotguns.  I didn't plan to hunt but wanted to stand behind them and just make sure they were safe and took good shots while providing a bit of wingshooting instruction.  As it got light shots rang out and both boys got excited. 

Cody was first on the board and I held his gun as he ran to his first downed bird of the season.  He was all smiles on the way back and grabbed his gun and sat back down in the ready position.  Both boys were getting plenty of shooting and Cody managed to connect on another five birds while Dylan was still looking for his first one.  He'd never boast or mention it but I think Cody was quite proud of himself in front of his older, by a couple years, much larger cousin. 

"So how do these doves compare to those clay targets?" I asked Dylan.

"A LOT HARDER!!" was his reply laughing. 

We had been seeing a few white-winged doves mixed in with the normal mourning doves.  A single white wing came wheeling by and Dylan finally connected on his first bird and ran to pick it up.  I was probably more excited than Dylan and Cody offered his congratulations, too.  It took him about a box of shells to get his first bird, but the smile on his face was worth every shot.  I told him I'd shot hundreds of doves and never SEEN a white wing, let alone shot one.  I think that made his first bird ever even sweeter.

Dylan was a quick study.  His next empty box of shells had eight birds laying beside it and he added another white-winged dove.  He listened to what I said and learned quickly about swinging, keeping both eyes open and on the target.  I was proud of him.  Cody must have been listening as well as the most birds he'd killed prior to this year was five.  He shot a limit (15) of doves with about two boxes of shells and he, too, killed a white-winged dove. 

The boys talked non-stop on the way home and couldn't wait to call moms, sisters, brothers and cousins.  We hunted the next evening, despite the thermometer on my truck reading 105 degrees.  It wasn't near as good but the previous morning was a wonderful way to start the 2012 hunting season.  Despite never popping a cap, I'll remember that hunt forever and I'm betting my nephew and son will, too.