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.        

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.       

 

SUMMER COMES TO A CLOSE

I don't know that you can really say anything good about the drought we've endured the last two summers.  Between that and the 100-degree days summer has been a bit relentless.  But as the saying goes if life gives you lemons make lemonade.  It's cliche, but about the only way to justify anything good about a drought.  If you're a bowfisherman, the last two summers have provided buckets of lemonade. 

Low water levels in many of Kansas' rivers have allowed plenty of access (the big three, Kansas, Missouri and Arkansas) are public within the normal water marks.  Access points allow bowfishermen plenty of latitude and miles and miles of opportunity to shoot species such as carp, gar, river carpsuckers, buffalo and several species of catfish.  An ATV is helpful to haul gear, drinks and supplies.  It's not uncommon to travel miles searching for schools of roaming fish.

I've never been a big bowfisherman, but enjoyed several trips this summer with friends.  The first one found us traveling miles and miles before we ever found water deep enough to hold any fish.  One hole about knee-deep was home to a handful of carp and it was literally like shooting fish in a barrel.  Fortunately, for some of them, my aim was horrible as I hadn't practiced and many escaped unharmed. 

On another trip a friend who is an avid bowfisherman invited me along.  He and his friends had literally shot until they were too tired on numerous trips and had great action for weeks prior to my arrival.  Our action was fast and furious, too, but once again my aim sucked.  While I shot a couple dozen fish, my buddy could have filled a small pick-up with his bounty.  It was fun just watching him as he was a fish-shooting machine. 

A cooler-full of rough fish all chunked or ground up makes for great coon bait come trapping season.  Buffalo are tasty and not a bad way to feed a bunch of folks for a fish fry.  Regardless, the drought made for some excellent bowfishing adventures for many Kansans.  I hope next summer isn't like the last two, but if it happens, head to the rivers and lap that lemonade!

LAST DAY OF SUMMER VACATION

Kids all over Kansas are heading back to school this week.  Summer vacation is over and the days of sleeping in, swimming, camps and the like will soon be a distant memory.  Younger kids tend to like school while older ones would rather it be summer year-round.  I've got a couple right in the middle as they still like school, but sports camps, a chauffeur (my wife is a school teacher so she's off in the summer, too) and a flexible sleep schedule make it hard to say so-long to summer.

My son, Cody, has been asking about going squirrel hunting the last couple weeks before school started back up.  We planned to go yesterday morning but were greeted with the first decent rain showers we've had in months when I walked outside at 5:30 a.m.  The forecast the night before had a 10 percent chance for showers but most of central Kansas was green with radar rain.  I sent Cody back to bed and although he was disappointed he didn't mind a little more shut-eye.  

Our plan was to try it again this morning on Cody's very last day of summer vacation.  As we climbed in the truck it was a cool 63 degrees.  I told Cody we would likely leave with the seat heaters on and return with the A/C blasting as the forecast was for 98 degrees today. 

We pulled into our spot at 6:15 a.m.  Although legal to shoot, it was still a bit too dark to see well in the timber so we waited a few minutes.  As we stepped into the woods I knew it was going to be a beautiful morning.  Light winds and cool conditions make for great squirrel calling.  I carried a 20 gauge shotgun and my .22 rifle.  Cody was intent on using the .22 but I had his back-up plan, too, if the squirrels wouldn't sit still. 

Our first stop with the calls didn't elicit any response.  The next few spots we caught glimpses of a couple squirrels but couldn't get any shots.  It seemed many of our calling locations early had squirrels responding, but they were too far away and didn't move towards us much.  Undaunted after 45 minutes we eased through more timber.

On the next stop I was about 5 seconds into a calling sequence when Cody tugged on my shirt and pointed up.  I hadn't heard or seen the squirrel but he was going ballistic and on a dead run down the tree next to us.  I handed Cody the shotgun and he made a nice shot as the squirrel wasn't slowing down. 

We were on the board now and Cody was excited.  A couple more close calls and the next spot found us with a squirrel barking across a small creek about 50 yards away.  Cody had the .22 and was trying to maneuver into a good shooting rest.  I reminded him about his breathing, squeezing the trigger, etc., to make an accurate shot and told him to shoot when he was on him.  The rifle cracked.

"That's a dead squirrel," Cody said a bit nonchalantly and seemingly not surprised as the squirrel tumbled to the ground.

I was shocked.

"Good shot, buddy!" I said.

We had a couple more encounters but didn't add any more squirrels to our day's total.  Just for fun Cody spent 15 minutes shooting at hedge apples and other targets and his marksmanship was impressive.  Maybe the long shot wasn't too lucky after all. 

As we walked back to the truck I asked Cody how many other 13-year-old boys likely spent their last day of summer vacation hunting squirrels with their Dad.

"Probably none," he laughed.

I was certainly glad there was at least one. 

    

DROUGHT IS ROUGH

Drought conditions have persisted for much of Kansas for the last two summers.  You wouldn't think that last year's problems could get worse but water-wise they may have done just that this summer.  We're seeing the first rain in some time as I write this but it won't be enough to call an end to dry conditions over much of the state.  But it's a start.

Drought affects all kinds of wildlife, either directly or indirectly.  Obviously, species like fish need water to survive.  Pheasants need adequate nesting cover.  Pheasant chicks need protection from the elements in ground cover, as well as the insects utilizing those same plants.  Dry conditions are a one-two punch for pheasants.  Add an early wheat harvest and it doesn't look promising.

And despite a better-than-most-years prediction for migrating waterfowl numbers it isn't looking good for the home team.  Ducks need water and that's at a premium in many parts.  A buddy and I went to check out a spot we hunt on the Arkansas River recently to assess the situation.  Wow!  That pretty much sums up what we found.  Riding ATV's for about 7 miles of river we found 95 percent of the water measured in inches.  The deepest was just over my knees and I'm short.  Sad indeed (the lack of water, not that I'm short).

Standing where we normally sit to hunt I remembered past photos with smiling duck hunters and ample water.  I tried to guess as to the composition of those photos for comparison.  I got surprisingly close.  If you look at the treeline in these two photos I'm within a couple feet of the same location where I took each photo.  Oh what a difference a couple years makes.

Granted, rivers like that are constantly changing.  New sandbars form from one season to the next and log jams change places.  As duck hunters we adjust to those conditions but as long as there's water we're good to go.  But when things dry up that's not good news for ducks or duck hunters.  Here's hoping we get a couple toad stranglers between now and opening day.    

SARAH'S FIRST FISH

It's not uncommon for friends of my kids to show an interest in the outdoors.  Many of them have never hunted, fished or trapped.  I've never turned down one of their requests to tag along and several of them have grown to love the outdoors.

My daughter's friend, Sarah, just graduated from high school.  She's been a regular around our house for the last year or so.  She accompanied Ashley and I on several trapping expeditions last winter and enjoyed it as we caught beavers and raccoons. 

One day earlier this summer Sarah made the comment she'd never caught a fish.  I couldn't believe it and told her we'd make sure she could check that off her list of "Things To Do Before I Go Off To College."  She was excited at the prospects.

Sarah actually caught her first fish without my help.  She'd accompanied some of her friends to a pond one evening where they caught "perch."  I told her they were likely green sunfish and only inches long shouldn't count as her first "real" fish. 

It was hard to schedule an early morning trip as both Ashley and Sarah worked summer jobs during the week and weekends were busy.  We loaded up the boat and headed to the lake one evening hoping to tangle with some big channel catfish.  It was 103 degrees when we launched at 5:30 p.m. so the evening was far from pleasant. 

Unfortunately, we fished until about 9:30 p.m. and while others in the boat caught only a few fish Sarah never had a bite.  I told her we'd do better in a couple weeks when she went camping with us.

Our wake-up call was at 5:30 a.m. but Sarah said she was up at 4:30 a.m. and wide awake.  I teased her that she was too "exthited to thleeeep" like that little kid on the commercial going to Disney World.  We loaded the boat with gear and were off as it got light.

It didn't take Sarah long to catch her first "real" fish.  She set the hook and the pole didn't budge and I knew she had a nice channel cat on the other end.  With a little coaching she had the nearly 5-pound fish flopping at the surface in no time.  She was excited and her smile said it all as she posed for photos.

Sarah's luck was good that morning and she caught another half-dozen just like it.  Our boat ended up with 20 keepers in just a few hours so it was indeed a productive trip. 

We weren't even back to the ramp when Sarah asked if I'd text her those photos so she could send them along to friends and family.  She couldn't wait to download them to her Facebook page.   

Sarah will remember that fishing trip for a long time.  I will as well.  It's always nice to see someone discover the joy of the outdoors and I was glad to be a part of it.       

SPOON FED

Summer is definitely here.  Temperatures are scorching now and it's really not unexpected for July or August in Kansas.  Another given for fishing this time of year is a tactic that gets as hot as the afternoon sun.  Spooning for various species of white fish is a killer technique and works well.

Spoons of assorted sizes and styles work well.  The shad hatch has been going on for weeks now and anything that resembles this dead or dying bait fish is a good choice.  An old standby is the Kastmaster which has been around for decades.  Others work similarly well when fished vertical or pitched and retrieved.  Much of it is personal preference.  As long as it has some flash and a good treble hook it will surely catch fish.

I headed out one evening recently to El Dorado Reservoir with my twin 13-year-old sons, a buddy and his 19-year-old son for a pleasant evening on the water.  I graphed a nice break and some fish in about 18-feet of water and dropped a marker.  Before I could get my boat turned back around fish were being caught from several seats.  The action was fast and furious as spoons were fished and jigged on or near the bottom.  Most fish were small wipers, but the occasional decent fish was tricked, too.  We caught 40 fish in the first 30 minutes.  Regardless of size, my boys were having a blast and I was having fun watching them.

The action slowed so we motored around looking for more schools of fish.  It wasn't long and we found some, but nothing compared to the first action we encountered.  We fished for another few hours and caught more wipers and white bass, crappie, walleye and some monstrous drum on our spoons.  Our final tally stood at 87 fish.  We didn't have many really nice fish and I wasn't interested in cleaning any anyway, so all were returned to the water.  

The spoon action will remain good for weeks.  It's a great way to beat the heat and an evening on the water is a perfect ending to any day.  Give it a try.  You might be surprised how simple it is and most of the time it really works!    

FRIDAY THE 13TH NOT TOO UNLUCKY

I've never been a big believer in superstition.  Granted, I don't make it a habit to walk under ladders or break mirrors, but I don't worry about it too much.  So when another Friday the 13th rolled around last week it wasn't even on my radar.  I was on vacation camping with my family so it was all good.

My daughter and I planned to hit the lake early with hopes of catching some big ol' channel cats.  My twin boys were still in town at the last day of a week-long tennis camp so my boat was emptier than normal.  That's okay as it gave Ashley and I a chance to spend some time together before she heads back to her second year of college shortly.

We were on the water at about sunrise and it was a pretty morning.  Temperatures were in the mid-70s and still comfortable when we dropped anchor on a hump and started fishing.  It wasn't long and the action heated up.  Ashley was having a little trouble feeling the bite so I gave her my rod spooled with Power Pro line.  She liked its sensitivity much better and was catching nice cats routinely in no time.  It didn't help her confidence much when I grabbed her rod and started using it and doing the same.

"I guess it's not the rod, huh?" she laughed.

"I've had more practice," I smiled back at her.    

We had a blast netting fish and pitching a few back that most anglers would keep.  I was keeping a mental tally of fish in the livewell and we were in the mid-teens when I counted to double-check my math.  I told Ashley we needed to make the last few fish good ones to make the morning last as it was barely 8 a.m.  She agreed.

The last few cats added to the livewell were in the 6-7 pound range.  It was about 9:30 a.m. when we decided to call it a morning and go clean fish back at the camper.  Actually, "we" didn't clean fish but Ashley added moral support as she texted pictures on my phone of our successful morning to all her friends and a few of mine, her brothers and grandparents. 

"Wow, today is Friday the 13th, too," Ashley laughed when she glanced at the date on my phone.  "I guess it wasn't too unlucky, huh?"

 It was anything but unlucky.  There likely won't be too many more Daddy/Daughter (she doesn't call me Daddy much anymore, except earlier that morning when she tangled with a fish big enough to nearly pull the rod completely under the boat and she pleaded for help..."DAAAADDDEEEEEEEE!") trips as she finishes up college and starts her own life.  It was indeed a fine morning and likely one of the things I remember as she drives off to school again next month.

4TH OF JULY FUN

Independence Day is a great time to celebrate.  Fireworks, cookouts and time with friends and family are all on the day's agenda.  It's not a bad time to get in a little fishing, either.  That's exactly what a couple friends, Jim and Rodger, and I decided to do bright and early before all the day's festivities. 

We all commented aloud about the early wake-up call at 0-dark-thirty.  We've all hunted waterfowl together for a couple decades now and normally our pre-dawn meetings involve big black (or sometimes yellow) dogs, lots of decoys and MUCH cooler weather.  We didn't have any dogs or decoys and the temperature was already 81 degrees and the sun wasn't even in the picture yet.  And today rather than greenheads and gadwalls we were after whiskered ones with stinkbait and chum, the latter aromatic enough to gag a maggot. 

We anchored my boat at both ends and dropped baits.  It wasn't long and we were catching fish.  Some were nice ones in the 3-5 pound range and we had plenty of "dinks" to contend with as well.  The highlight of the day was a big, fat, bullheaded channel cat that stretched Rodgers line for quite some time and later tipped the scale at nearly 9 pounds.  Fishing was good but catching wasn't spectacular.  Just the Sunday prior Jim and I had caught a near-limit of big channels in less than 90 minutes.  Today wasn't as good for whatever reason but we did manage a dozen nice keepers to clean to quench Rodgers fresh fish hunger. 

Even though it wasn't a 5-star fishing day it was still fun.  We all hadn't been together in some time and the jokes and jabs were flowing freely.  As we fished we chatted and pointed out this spot or that spot where we'd killed ducks in the past. It was nice to think of cooler times as the morning's sun quickly heated things up to the mid-90's well before noon.  It's all good in the great outdoors.        

TOO HOT TO FISH...ALMOST

Yeah, there's not much doubt that it's hot and miserable outside.  This summer is shaping up to follow last summer's lead and I don't much care for it.  These continuous weeks with 100-degree-plus days flat-out suck.  The old country song that mentions, "Too hot to fish," isn't far off and nearly true. 

But I still really like fishing.  And it's often the highlight of summer camping trips with me and my sister's families.  There's only one way really to beat the heat and that's to get up and go early.  Which leads to another problem as I've got a couple just-turned teenage boys who like to sleep.  And my daughter works all week and is taking a couple online summer college courses so she's tired by weeks end and not likely to get up with the chickens.  I don't blame them a bit.  But I'd rather lose sleep than skip fishing.  Plus, I've become the master at a big ol' power nap mid-afternoon and I'm good at it. 

We try to get on the water by at least 7 a.m. or so.  I'd rather go earlier but figure I'm pressing my luck with that departure time.  It gives us 3-4 hours of solid fishing which is usually plenty, particularly if the wind isn't blowing.  The heat index goes up way too quick with no breeze.  If it's breezy we're good 'til noon or so if the fish are biting. 

We had some luck on our last camping trip catching walleye, catfish, white bass and wipers.  Fishing wasn't fast and furious but it was still fun.  Early morning is a nice time to spend with family on the water and the boat traffic is typically not too bad.  It doesn't look much better for the coming weeks so I guess it's up and at 'em early again.     

BAND ON THE RUN



Clarissa Peterson holds a Canada goose gosling about to be fitted with a
leg band and released.  Information gathered from band recoveries will help
guide the future management of Canada geese in Kansas.
Photos Courtesy of Clarissa Peterson

 Fish and wildlife management can be interesting work.  Biologists gather field data and evaluate their findings to determine the best plan of attack for providing opportunities for wise use of these resources as well as goals for future management.  One way to gather data on waterfowl species like ducks and geese is to band them.  

Bird banding has been around since the 1800s.  A simple leg band is placed on a captured bird and released to live its life.  Band recoveries can provide information on movement, reproduction, harvest and a myriad of other data.  The Kansas Department of Wildlife, Parks and Tourism (KDWPT) currently has a couple bird banding studies underway now.  One focuses on doves and the other is looking at gathering information on resident Canada geese.  The latter is in full swing right now.

Canada geese adults are flightless as they go through a molt each summer.  It typically lasts several weeks and the birds don't venture far from water as it's their only means of escape during this time.  It's also the perfect time to round them up and do a little reasearch. 

Framed nets are laid flat on the ground in an octagon-like shape.  Adults and goslings are herded into the center and the frames are lifted and walked towards the middle to form an enclosure.  Both adults and goslings are fitted with a numbered, metal leg band issued by the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service.  The bird is then sexed to determine its gender and this information is recorded and now corresponds to a specific bird.  It's released and other than some new "bling" and possibly a few ruffled feathers no worse for wear.  

More than 600 Canada geese were banded last week in the greater Wichita area.  About 8 KDWPT employees from several divisions took part in the effort.  It was a long day that started shortly before sunrise and lasted until about sunset.  It's a hot, sweaty job and geese aren't always friendly, nor do they smell good when they all get nervous and loose green tootsie rolls everywhere. 

It was interesting, though, and nice to know that efforts like these will help guide the future of Canada goose management in Kansas.      

SHINY AND NEW

The cool temperatures and fall trapping season are still many months away.  However, trappers are likely readying gear right now even when the mercury soars and approaches triple digits.  Sweat equity now will translate into a smooth transition once the season gets here and there's nothing left to do but lay steel.

Trap preparation is a critical component of success.  Using equipment that is proper and adequate for the job increases the likeliness of a catch.  Many old time trappers prefer to treat or coat some of their traps with dye and wax to keep them in good working order and lasting.  New products on the market in recent years allow trappers to coat their traps with other liquids mixed with gasoline or water.  Much of the choice is personal preference and some depends on target species. 

BEFORE SOAK

AFTER SOAK

Used or old traps can be readied by a good cleaning using a pressure washer.  Extensive rust can be removed by soaking traps in a 50-50 mixture of vinegar and water for a day or two.  A light coating of rust is preferred before treating traps as it helps the dip stick better to the metal.  Hot days are perfect to dip traps as the heat helps cure and dry the traps quickly.  Most traps need several dips to get the desired results.

Once the traps are dipped it's simply a matter of checking their operation.  Pan tension can be adjusted and is personal to some extent and also depends on target species, too.  Traps should be in good working condition in order to facilitate a smooth transition to the field come fall.

Now is also a good time to check the rules and regulations concerning trapping  All traps must be tagged with either the owner's name and address or they can also use their KDWPT-issued license number as identification.  It's not a bad idea to read-up on what traps can be used where and which ones have restrictions.  Knowledge goes a long way in preventing conflicts with others using the outdoors and is good public relations for all trappers. 



     

RAT PATROL

Summertime means lots of things to different people.  But chances are there aren't many outdoor folks that have June 1 on their radar as an important date.  And I'm guessing most people couldn't tell you the significance of the date, either.  That's because it signals the opening date of one of the most overlooked small game species Kansas has to offer.  Squirrel season is open now and there's a good chance you'll have most any public area all to yourself.

I love squirrel hunting.  Or, more accurately, I love calling squirrels.  You can have the "go sit under a tree and wait," as that's not my style and I can't sit still anyway.  Calling squirrels is as exciting, on a relative scale of course, as bugling in a bull elk.  I like to refer to squirrel calling as the "Extreme" sport of the small game hunting world.

Calling squirrels relies on using a distress call.  Tree rats are territorial and overly protective.  Once they think a hawk or owl has one of their own they go absolutely crazy barking and often come running to check out the commotion.  I often joke about having to shoot the very first one I ever called in self-defense, but it wasn't far off.  He was ticked and coming down the tree trunk I was standing against.  Ten feet above my head he met his match.  Bright-eyed and mouth agape I was hooked.

I went out for the first time this season last Tuesday morning and witnessed a gorgeous Kansas sunrise.  I stepped into the woods at 6:05 a.m. and started calling.  At 6:55 a.m. I killed my last in a limit (5) of fox squirrels and was headed back to the truck.  I left several squirrels still barking at the last stop.    

Unusually successful?  Nope.  It often works that way in good habitat.  I don't know that I've ever done anything hunting-wise that worked as well as calling squirrels.  It's a great chance to beat the summer heat, introduce a kid to hunting or just enjoy a nice morning. 

Give it a try....it's a hoot!  

 

WHAT I DID ON MY WEEKEND VACATION

I'll be the first to admit I'm not mechanically inclined.  Nor do I have a keen sense of construction science.  But I am smart enough to be slightly dangerous and haphazard when power tools are involved.  I've royally screwed up some stuff and my friends have had some good laughs at my expense.  Fortunately, I still have all my fingers and my power tool privileges have been reinstated. 

So last weekend when the wind was howling and I was bored since I wasn't fishing I decided to build a portable fish cleaning station.  For the past two decades my chest freezer in my garage has served as an impromptu platform that has processed thousands of fillets and is adequate.  However, it gets a little nasty in there and awful toasty in the summertime.  I was looking for something I could stick under a shade tree in my backyard.

It was about 5:30 p.m. when I dreamed up this plan so the lumberyard was closed.  But the local hardware store had 2"x4" studs, 8-feet long that would work just fine.  I bought six of those for $3.69 each and a pound of screws for about $10.  In all I'd have about $35 in it.

My construction plans were to fly by the seat of my pants which has proved eventful in the past.  But I reasoned even if I screwed things up I wouldn't be out a whole lot.  I had several goals, one of which was to incorporate a piece of countertop I could take off and keep out of the elements and also use in my garage in the winter or inclement weather.  I also needed a place to fill a pan with water to clean the fillets and a tub kept underneath to house my electric knife, plastic bags and other supplies.  A convenient spot to hang my hose was on the list, too. 

In less than a couple hours I finished my project and was quite proud of my accomplishment.  Granted, you wouldn't want me to build your house but the finished product got rave reviews from friends, neighbors and family.  It's sturdy, functional and light enough I can move it easily by myself. 

Other than a coat of paint or stain it's nearly complete.  The only step left is to get out and catch some fish and see how well it works! 

GOTTA HAVE FISH FOR FISH TACOS

It's always a gamble to count on fish as a main course on a camping or road trip.  Some anglers have a back-up plan and that's probably a good thing.  But knowing what we did about Glen Elder Reservoir I had no such thing and I was positive we would catch plenty of tasty walleye for wonderful fish tacos I planned.

However, our trip started out much slower than expected.  Wind gusts well into the 40's didn't help matters but that was still no excuse.  So when we started catching a few sub legal walleye and some REALLY nice white bass I made an executive decision.

"We better start keeping some of those whites if we want fish tacos!" I laughed and told my buddies, Kent and Jim. 

Se we pitched a few into the livewell just in case.

Don't get me wrong, white bass meat is plenty palatable.  But given the choice I'm all over walleye fillets.  Walleye is the filet mignon of the piscine world and white bass is hamburger.  But I love hamburgers, too, and was going to be happy to have them under those circumstances.

But the fishing Gods shined on us and we started catching keeper-sized 'eyes.  Once we had at least one for each of us the white bass got a pardon and swam hastily away after they were pitched back into the lake.  Life was good once again.   

If you're wondering, here's how I do my fish tacos.

Grill or fry the fish fillets.  I like to use Shore Lunch Beer Batter recipe if I'm frying and light oil and Cavenders Greek Seasoning if I'm grilling.

Add the cooked fish fillets to a tortilla, I prefer flour but corn works, too. 

My favorite ingredients beyond that to add to the "taco" (get big tortillas as the concoction gets large in a hurry) are Chipotle and garlic salsa, sour cream, shredded cheese, guacamole, coleslaw and black beans.

Bon appetit!  

TOO MUCH WIND BLOWS!

Wind is nearly a constant on the Kansas landscape in the spring.  And at this time of year it doesn't seem like there's much middle ground and usually it leans towards way too much.  There's never much rhyme or reason but you can bet whenever I schedule a fishing trip it's going to howl.

A couple buddies and I had a wonderful trip to Glen Elder Reservoir last May.  A gorgeous afternoon on our first day allowed us to find some fish and despite bad weather the next few days we managed to do well.  We caught boat loads of walleye and huge crappie.  Last fall we decided to return again so we booked reservations for one of the cabins in the state park for last weekend.  Our hopes were high for another great trip.   

We were leaving Thursday morning.  The previous four days prior to our departure were absolutely gorgeous.  Winds 10-20 mph with temp's in the 70s and 80s.  But the closer we got to Thursday the forecast didn't look favorable as far as the wind was concerned.  And they were right and then some.

Don't get me wrong.  I generally like SOME wind, particularly for walleye fishing.  But everything is good in moderation and the extreme makes me grumpy.  It's hard to find fish and if you do big winds don't give you a lot of options on how to catch them. 

We got on the lake at noon as most boats were leaving the ramps like rats from a sinking ship.  They'd "had enough" they said of the giant winds.  Wind speeds were constant at 33-38 mph with gusts well into the 40s.  Undaunted, we headed out.  Amazingly we caught enough fish to consider it fair success.  But at the fish cleaning station we got more wonderful news.

"Did you hear it's supposed to be worse tomorrow?" one angler asked as we discussed the wind.  "Yeah, it's supposed to blow 60 mph tomorrow!"

Granted, he was an angler and prone to exaggeration, but he wasn't too far off.  Friday was worse.  Again, we still managed to catch fish but I would consider our success mediocre.  My chair up front was a lonely one.  I couldn't even sit in it at anchor as waves would crash over the front with my added weight. Several times the winds blew my rods up and out of the rod holders.  Brutal.

Saturday the winds finally backed off about lunch time.  We'd been on the same pattern catching enough keeper 'eyes for a few fish frys.  Add a couple dozen wipers, white bass and huge slab crappie, including several 15-inchers, that ate our jig-and-nightcrawler combinations each day and it still wasn't a bad trip. 

Of course, Monday, my first day back at work was absolutely perfect for a day on the water.  I guess that's the way it works when you fish in Kansas.  I'll take the good with the bad...I just wish the bad wasn't SO darn windy!  

WHO SAYS CORKS ARE FOR SISSIES?

You may have heard some hard-core anglers scoff at the notion of using bobbers (corks or floats) for many types of fishing.  Some believe they're better reserved for kids, novice anglers or those only fishing from shore.  But if the truth be known a bobber can be a deadly tool in an angler's arsenal for many species of fish, particularly this time of year.  Such was the case recently for a couple buddies and I fishing Milford Reservoir last week.

I rarely fish Milford so we were hunting for some likely looking crappie spots.  I found several brush piles and while we caught a few on these piles we found no concentrations of crappie to bite.  So we started pitching jigs to a rocky bank and dipping in and around stick-ups.  My middle-of-the-boat buddy caught a monstrous crappie dropping a jig next to a submerged tree and our day was looking up.  My back-of-the-boat friend strapped on a bobber the size of a beach ball and started pitching his jig there, too.  He followed suit catching several BIG crappie.  The game was on.

One little stretch we worked yielded a bunch of nice slabs with most averaging about 1 1/4-pounds.  Real bruisers, fun to catch and colored as vividly as an impressive painting the fish wasted no time whacking the jig causing the bobber to twitch or go completely under.  Without the bobber the jigs would have been snagged more often than not.  It also allowed a real SLOW retrieve which seemed critical as well.

So don't overlook the ol' bobber.  It can save the day in a pinch and makes fishing a jig more effective in certain situations.  A bobber is also deadly for walleye at times.  But that's a story for another day!

Good fishing! 

LIFE AND DEATH LESSON

I once read where 70 percent of all cottontail rabbits born die before they reach 5 months of age.  It doesn't sound kind but if you look at real world Mother Nature it often isn't, particularly at the bottom of the food chain.  Nowhere in the wild will you find animals with the anthropomorphic traits Walt Disney would lead you believe to be true.  It's a coyote-eat-cottontail world and only the strong survive.  It's not pretty in a predator-prey world. 

But I still have a bit of a soft spot for young animals.  All this despite shooting thousands of ducks, geese, pheasants, quail, rabbits, deer, turkeys and more over the last few decades.  Herein lies the quandry some of my friends and coworkers find entertaining.  Some have even referred to me as a "closet bunny-hugger." They laugh when I tell them of stories like I've experienced in my backyard for the last week-and-a-half.

It all started when my 18-month-old Lab, Gator, found a nest of rabbits that were no more than a day old.  By the time I saw them he had all six of them out on the grass and was rolling around on his back, playfully flipping one of them up into the air.  Two were already dead from the slobbering and cold evening.  I kenneled Gator and put the remaining four back in the hole and covered them with grass and fur. 

The next morning I checked on them and two more were dead.  I had my twin boys with me and they are well-aware of how nature works and although sad they realized the perils of being a prey species.  Had the neighborhood cats found them (don't get me started on free-range cats) they would all have been killed and maybe some of them eaten.  Gator was just looking for a play toy in his own backyard. 

So for the next week every morning and evening when I let Gator out of his kennel to feed and let him run I covered the hole with a Rubbermaid tub.  Occasionally, my boys would go out to check on the rabbits' status and hold them and show them to other neighborhood kids.  After they were done they'd stuff them back in the hole and cover them up.  So it went for the next week.

It's important to note that not once during the last 10 days did I ever see the female rabbit at the hole, or even in my fenced backyard for that matter.  She fed them under the cover of darkness and they grew well and rapidly.  All wild animals should be left in the wild, no matter what it appears.   

Finally, the other morning I forgot to put the tub over the hole and when I went back out Gator was chasing the two small rabbits, who were now able to run all over the place, around as a game.  Once again, I put the young rabbits back in the hole although they barely fit.  I put Gator up and went back to check on them and they were gone and nowhere to be seen and likely now fending for themselves.   

Rabbits have raised more than a dozen litters in my backyard in recent years.  Some of them make it to adulthood while others haven't been so fortunate.  Watching them grow is a natural life lesson.  Understanding they die and why is also the same.