YOUTH HUNTS ARE A GOOD TIME

The Kansas Department of Wildlife, Parks and Tourism (KDWPT) offers a variety of special hunting opportunities.  Most are in the fall but spring turkey hunts are on the list, too.  Many of them focus on youth hunting opportunities and they're conducted in various parts of the state.

The KDWPT youth turkey hunt at Hutchinson has been going on for a dozen years or so and 10-12 youngsters are treated to a wonderful experience during the special youth season.  Most kids manage to kill a bird over the course of an evening and morning hunt.  If not, there's always tales of narrow misses and what-ifs.

There were 10 kids present for this year's hunt and one youngster and his father came all the way from Denver, Colo., to participate.  Shotguns were patterned and participants were treated to grilled hot dogs, chips, snacks and drinks (courtesy of the Ark River Chapter of Pheasants Forever) before heading afield with their parent or guardian and a volunteer guide.  Each kid walked away with a Cabela's gift card, camo hat, box call and information on hunting wild turkeys.

The evening hunt was a good one and for once the weather cooperated.  About half of the kids managed to kill a turkey the first evening.  Those that didn't were back bright and early the next morning and the weather and morning promised to be a good one.  When all the smoke cleared and the shotgun shells quit flying, eight out of 10 kids had killed at least one bird.  One of the youngsters who didn't get a bird missed several times and the other had too many turkeys in range at once and a good shot (one that wouldn't kill several hens, too) never really materialized. 

However, even an "unsuccessful" turkey hunt is a memorable experience.  Turkeys flying up to roost, non-stop gobbling, turkeys fighting and calling, deer sniffing turkey decoys at only 15 yards and all the other sights and sounds of time spent in the woods is worth the price of admission (although there is no fee to participate in these hunts, other than the required licenses or permits).  Killing a turkey is the ultimate goal but a successful hunt is often about more than the end result.

For many of the participants this is their first

exposure to turkey hunting so everything is new.  A parent or guardian is required to tag along and oftentimes they learn as much or more about the experience than the child.  And even just the time spent together as a father and son or daughter or mother and son or daughter is special.  It's good to slow down, breathe easy and relax in an ever-changing, fast-paced world and just enjoy the moment.  There's no better place to do that than the great outdoors.

   

To find out about special hunting opportunities for species such as waterfowl, deer and turkeys, check out the KDWPT web site at www.ksoutdoors.com. 

"SPRING" TURKEY SEASON

Spring is here....or so they say.  My front yard looked like an ice skating rink and trees buckled and broke just two days ago when the Kansas spring turkey season opened.  Rain, sleet, snow, ice, hail and BIG north winds.  Ouch.  I'm guessing anyone who went Wednesday morning has a BAD case of turkey hunting fever. 

I opted to wait until the weather moderated just a bit.  I'm all about enjoying the morning as much as killing a turkey.  Turns out this morning was above average for enjoyment, but not so much for shooting a big ol' tom.  I'd still give the experience a 9 on a scale of 10. 

It was 29 degrees with light winds when I met a friend who invited me along on a hunt on the edge of the Flint Hills.  We bundled up like we were deer hunting in the winter, rather than turkey hunting in the spring.  Coveralls, stocking hats, gloves and the works weren't too much.  As we readied our clothes and gear we heard the first gobble of the morning.

And it wouldn't be the last gobble, either.  The creek bottom had no fewer than a dozen different gobblers and they were hammering as it got light.  Two pairs of geese cruised low at different times, honking the whole way and it was a natural-sounding symphony some would pay money to hear.  A handful of deer had a front-row seat and listened intently.

We'd call occasionally and the birds would answer.  But the gobblers had plenty of female company and when they hit the ground they went three different directions.  Unfortunately, none of them were our way but we could still keep tabs on them with their occasional calls.

We kept calling and started to get a couple gobbles that sounded as if they were moving our way.  It wasn't long and a half-dozen black spots emerged down and across the bean field from where we sat at the far edge. 

"I think they're jakes," my buddy whispered as he got his binoculars up.  "Yep."

I'm not opposed to shooting a jake but I like for them to put on a show.  If a young tom acts like he owns the joint and comes in strutting and gobbling then that's what I pay to see and I'll punch one of my tags.  These jakes were like the 3 Stooges times two.

They would run towards our decoys in stages and stop.  As another eased by the entire group would take off like a bunch of kids heading towards the lunch line.  It didn't take them long and they eased up to our decoys only 15 yards away.  Blankly and blinking, they stared at our decoys, several of them displaying a weak attempt at a half-strut. They reminded me of a bunch of teenage boys at a middle school dance staring across the gym at a cute girl trying to get up the nerve to go talk to her. 

We let the jakes ease back off in the direction they came and started calling again.  Several series later our calls were met by a short, but thunderous and deep gobble.  It was getting closer and he popped out near where the jakes first entered the field.

"Now we're talking," said my buddy looking through his optics.  "That's a big ol' bird."    

He strutted and gobbled and started our way.  He was about halfway across the field to our location when three hens entered the field straight across from us.  They had the six jakes in tow now and the king of spring was having none of that and took off after the hens.  Our optimism turned to pessimism and bad words to boot. 

A  north wind made our seated location a bit chilly, but we stayed put as we still heard birds and the others were still within sight.  Deer passed within easy rifle range and a few even got into bow range before smelling us.  We called in two more jakes who acted as squirrely as the first bunch and they, too, got a free pass. 

We decided to get up and chase a distant gobble we'd heard earlier.  Trying several more locations to no avail we made one last stand on a creek bottom.  Although we could hear hens calling in the timber we never heard another gobble.  As I walked out to get my decoy, my buddy got my attention and pointed behind us across the creek.  Two toms, one in full strut, and two hens were less than 150 yards away and they never made a sound as they walked behind us heading away.  We watched as a coyote had the same dinner ticket idea we had and circled them.  The birds never moved an inch and simply watched the curious canine with heads stretched high.

We tried to get ahead of these birds but when they finally saw us they had a much different response to a two-legged threat.  They got the heck out of Dodge.  We decided it was time we do the same and called it a day shortly after lunch.

The only thing I returned home with was a bleached-white deer skull (I'll use it for coyote trapping this fall), an antler tip I picked up hoping it was lucky (it was not) and a fuzzy, slightly out-of-focus picture of a nearby doe. 

Despite not filling a tag the morning was a success and I can't wait to do it again.  I'm just hoping spring actually does arrive and I can dress accordingly.     

 

  

WATER WOES

Not that it's any big secret...but drought sucks!  Just ask anglers, hunters, city water supplies, farmers and numerous species of fish and wildlife.  The last couple years have been a struggle for anything or anyone that utilizes or relies on adequate precipitation.  Although recent snows and precipitation have helped, the state of Kansas as a whole has a long way to go.

Reservoirs in Kansas have suffered dramatically over the last few years.  Inadequate rainfall and record-setting heat throughout the summer have dropped them many feet due to evaporation.  Others have multiple users with city water supplies and irrigation removing even more water.  Throw all of it into the mix and you've got a recipe for the worst water conditions we've seen in some time in parts of Kansas.

Boat ramps are high and dry.  Low water levels in the winter and summer can cause massive fish kills.  And if you can access some reservoirs getting from point A to point B can be an adventure, and not always an excellent one as it's treacherous at times. 

But as hard as it is to say, drought isn't ALL bad.  Wetland managers have had ample time to control cattails and disc pools to encourage moist soil plant growth.  Dense stands of smartweed and millet provide tons of seeds which are like M&M's to migrating waterfowl.  Fisheries biologists can create and place brushpiles in areas accessible to both bank and boat anglers.  Park staff have been busy removing years of silt from some boat ramps and around loading docks.  Low water levels have allowed much work similar to this and more in some places. 

Drought it nothing new as history can attest.  And as always, there's an end in sight, maybe even something to look forward to.  Some of the best years of fishing have followed extended drought conditions in reservoirs.  Exposed shorelines have erupted in woody and shrubby vegetation and when the lakes fill up again this habitat will provide excellent spawning areas for various sportfish species.  More, young-of-the-year fish will survive with adequate escape cover and places to hide from predators.  Drought-stricken lakes recently filled are much like new ones first impounded and the fishing that follows can be phenomenal. 

And one of these days we will get rains again and lakes and reservoirs will return to conservation pool.  I've been doing a rain dance most days in recent weeks with hopes I can soon launch my boat on some of my favorite waters.  But as my wife can tell you, I can't dance and got married so I wouldn't have to anymore.  Here's hoping Mother Nature takes pity on those of us who are rhythmically-challenged and takes care of it herself.     

MEANINGFUL MEMORIES



Rodger 3/31/56-2/23/13





A friend of mine passed away recently after a lengthy battle with cancer.  Rodger was an avid outdoorsman who loved to hunt and fish.  He was only 56 years old.










One of the few times I didn't get stuck in the middle
Rodger (left), Jim (middle) and me


I first met Rodger about two decades ago.  Another friend, Jim, introduced us and over the years we all spent thousands of hours chasing fish and fowl.  Being the new "kid" on the block I was often relegated to the middle of the blind or boat which was mostly fine by me.  I simply watched and learned and appreciated the opportunity to tag along.



Our trips broadened in scope and 10 years ago the three of us went to Saskatchewan to hunt ducks and geese.  We had a great time and there was plenty of laughter along the way and memories made that we still talked about for years afterwards.  We cooked goose meat 17 different ways and quickly grew tired of deploying and picking up 600-700 snow goose socks morning and evening for a week straight. 

Rodger (left) and his son, Matt, compare fowl

It was shortly after our return from this trip that Rodger's doctor would discover he had a brain tumor.  But Rodger continued enjoying the outdoors as often as possible, despite painful treatments and medication. 

Rodger's son, Matt (left), Jim (middle) and Rodger limited out and laughing

We talked often during his illness of a cast-and-blast vacation in Louisiana.  We wanted to hunt ducks in the morning and fish for speckled trout and redfish in the afternoon.  Jim made it happen three years ago and the three of us loaded up and made the 12-hour trek to Hackberry Rod and Gun Club.  Rodger looked forward to it as he'd never seen the ocean.  It would indeed be a memorable outdoor road trip.

The duck hunting was great and lunch was even better.  Authentic gumbo and banana pudding were the norm and a quick nap and we had plans to fish.  Unfortunately, Rodger wasn't feeling well enough to get out the first two afternoons so we relaxed in camp.  But things worked out on our last afternoon and we had a wonderful fishing trip.  We all caught limits of big redfish and some nice speckled trout, flounder and other assorted species.  The weather was beautiful and the fish Gods shined on us.  For three land-locked Kansas boys we were livin' large.       

One cool cat with two goofy hats!

Rodger is gone now but memories from trips like these and countless others are etched in stone in the back of my mind. 





Rodger was a devoted husband, father and friend.  We all figure God needed a duck hunting or fishing partner so He called Rodger home.  So here's hoping, Rodger, that the view of the outdoor world from your new seat finds all the greenheads cupped and committed and the walleye fat and hungry. 

So long, friend.

You will be missed.           

NO TAG SOUP

Tag soup isn't something most deer hunters like to eat.  The old joke is if you don't kill a deer you can take your permits and boil them and eat that instead of fresh venison steaks.  Tag soup is nasty!  Trust me, I've eaten it the last couple years as my bowhunting success was a bit off.

But this year was MUCH better!  A nice, big doe fell to an arrow after just a couple sits.  Other opportunities came and went, by choice, and then on Veteran's Day I had a really nice hunt.  I had just crawled into my stand and attached my safety belt at about 2:30 p.m.  It was just a few minutes later when I heard a chainsaw crank up several hundred yards down the creek.  Minutes later my heart would start racing.

I first saw the buck as he trotted, likely boogered by the human activity, towards me entering the timber from the field's edge.  I didn't get a good look but enough I dismissed him as too small.  However, once inside the timber I got a better look and he "grew" and I knew I had to decide QUICKLY as he was coming fast behind me from my right. 

I grabbed my bow and turned and as he got closer I decided I was going to shoot if I could get it done.  As the buck closed the distance I tried to draw my bow only to have the safety strap on my vest catch my elbow and prevent me from getting to full draw.  I wiggled a bit and finally got to full draw and grunted to stop the trotting buck.  He didn't hear it and another grunt got him skidded to a halt a mere 10 yards away. 

It was an easy shot distance-wise, but I was all kinked up trying to shoot behind me to my right (I'm right handed).  And when I get buck fever it's a full-blown sickness.  If buck fever is a temperature of 101 degrees, I get to about 106 degrees in short order!  Despite three decades of bowhunting experience I still get fired up!  The resulting shot wasn't a good one and I knew it within just a couple minutes. 

I figured I should probably come back the next morning and look for my buck.  I sat in my stand for another hour and watched a fork horn buck come down the same trail and stop and smell the spot of the impact.  He continued walking, unalarmed whatsoever, and stepped right on my arrow!

The night was long and sleepless, but fortunately near freezing so I knew if I could find my buck the meat would still be good.  I got on the trail at 8 a.m. and it wasn't long and I found him.  It was a bit of an ordeal to get him out of the woods but in the end perseverance, patience and persistence paid off. 

As I tagged the unique-looking whitetail (he had a nice, main-framed 5 points on his right side and a  big, alligator-foot-shaped left side with another dagger coming out of the base), I was thrilled to be on the board again.  No tag soup this year and those venison steaks were mighty tasty!



   

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.