THIS BUCK WORTH MORE THAN A DOLLAR

A deer hunter's first deer is memorable.  A deer hunter's first buck might be even more so, as antlers are a magical thing.  These "firsts" only happen one time and the sights, smells and sounds of a successful hunt are etched forever in the mind of a someone who puts their first tag on a Kansas whitetail.  My soon-to-be-son-in-law, Jake, did just that and will remember all the details of these experiences for years to come.

In addition to his deer permits, Jake had to buy the Apprentice Hunting License as he hadn't taken the Kansas Hunter Education Course yet.  That was fine, as I'd planned to help him anyway since he was new at it.  He started out using my crossbow and just 40 minutes into his very first hunt had a close encounter with a doe at 15 yards that just didn't work out.  And after only another 50 minutes or so on our third trip to a ground blind he shot a nice-sized adult doe that barely went 75 yards or so.  He was thrilled and I was proud to witness his first deer.

He was likely even more excited for his chance to take an antlered deer.  He'd seen pictures of bucks taken by his friends and me and the antler allure wasn't lost on Jake.  However, I put no pre-conceived notions in his head about antler size and told him he would be the judge of what he'd be happy with as his first buck.

As easy as filling his antlerless tag was, filling his buck tag proved more difficult.  We had some hunts where we didn't see anything and others where we saw plenty of deer just out of bow range. One of the most memorable outings had Jake watching two really nice and big bucks, about two hours apart, that nearly gave him a shot but it never materialized.  And he'd observed, on several occasions, a small, half-racked 4-pointer walk right under our stand he chose not to shoot.

"I would have shot him if he had the other side," Jake laughed.  "But I'd like to have something for BOTH hands to hold on to for a photo."

I understood completely.

The firearm season opened and Jake borrowed my Remington 30-06.  A buddy of mine was gracious enough to offer up his prime property to set up a ground blind for us to try to get Jake's first buck. We hunted the first Saturday morning of the season and surprisingly, never saw a deer.  We hunted the next Tuesday, both morning and evening, with a close call at last legal shooting light but a nice buck made good on his escape thanks to a doe and a fawn that spooked.

It was coming down to the wire for the firearm's season when we headed back out the last Saturday morning.  We popped up a ground blind on the edge of a bean field in nearly the same spot where the buck stood on Tuesday evening.  We had a great vantage point in three directions as daylight came and the woods began to wake up.

I saw deer first, several does, on the wooded hillside over 200 yards away.  Jake got his binoculars up and said excitedly, "There's a buck behind them!"

It took several minutes before I could finally see the buck and his antlers as he was statuesque standing beside a tree with his rack obscured by limbs.  He started after one of the does and I could clearly see antlers.  I told Jake to get his gun on the shooting sticks thinking we'd have to try a shot at about 210 yards. But as we watched, over the next 5 minutes, each doe made their way to the edge of the bean field and started trotting across headed right at us.

"Uh, oh," I said to Jake.  "They're liable to get downwind and smell us and spook."

But luck was on our side as the first couple passed by within easy bow range.  I was watching the last one disappear from my sight to our left when I thought Jake whispered, "There it is," referring to the last doe.  I told him to be still and he didn't twitch.

I moved my eyes ever so slightly to the left, looking past Jake in his stoic position and the buck was standing there in the only open window on that side, nearly filling it up as he was less than 20 yards away.  Jake could see it for the last few seconds and he'd whispered, "There HE is!"  He'd covered 200 yards just out of my sight as I couldn't see from my angle in the blind!  My heart rocketed.

As quietly as I could I whispered to Jake to get his gun off the shooting sticks as he would have to get it out the side window and shoot off-hand.  The buck sensed something was up and started to head back the way he came taking a couple, slow steps at a time, then stopping to look around.  Jake moved perfectly when he wasn't looking and got the gun out the window.  The buck started to trot and I grunted to stop him and he turned perfectly broadside at only 30 yards.

"You're going to have to hurry," I told Jake.  "He's not going to hang around."

Jake shot and the deer buckled but took off on a dead run in a looping arc away from us as Jake racked another shell.  He'd run more than 100 yards before starting to falter.

"He's stumbling!" Jake said ecstatically.

And down he went running full-stride.

Jake was on Cloud 9, fist pumping and reliving the experience verbally over and over talking a mile a minute.  His excitement was contagious and I was thrilled, too.  We continued chatting about how fortunate we were to have it all finally work out this time as Jake's first buck was truly earned.

"How long do we have to wait to go get him?" Jake asked.

"Whenever you quit jabbering," I teased him.

Jake's feet barely hit the ground as we made our way to the downed buck.  His reaction was priceless and he was beyond happy to grab the antlers of his first buck.

"That was SO cool!" he kept repeating.

It was even more rewarding knowing we'd worked for it and put in our time.  Jake never got discouraged and was excited each and every hunt about something different as it was all new to him. His first buck was indeed, very cool, and I was happy to be a part of it.              

 

GONE IN 60 SECONDS

It's often said timing is everything.  While that's true in life, it's also true in the outdoors as well. Sometimes the timing is good and everything works out and other times not so much.  I recently encountered a close-but-no-cigar timing issue on a rifle deer hunt.

I wasn't the one hunting, actually, but I was assisting my soon to be son-in-law, Jake, with his first deer hunting season.  He was successful taking a doe with a crossbow earlier in the year and we'd been working on trying to get him a buck when rifle season came along and we broke out my trusty Remington 30-06.

Jake's off work on Tuesdays so we decided to hunt both morning and evening.  The morning hunt was a bit brisk, okay it was downright cold, with a 20-some degree temperature and 20 mph north wind. We sat for about 3 hours near a bedding area with the only sighting being a doe and fawn that sauntered within 25 yards of our ground blind.

We used another pop-up ground blind for the evening hunt and placed it at the edge of a bean field bordered by timber on three sides.  It was an ideal setting and I liked our odds for seeing and even killing a deer.  The wind died and it got eerily quiet and still.  We were entertained by squirrels expressing their displeasure with our presence, some sitting and scolding us just a few feet away.  One climbed the tree above our blind and seemingly purposefully dropped twigs and acorns on our blind.  I whispered aloud I'd be back this summer to even the score and Jake chuckled.

As we got closer to sunset at 5:06 p.m. we still hadn't seen any deer and I was surprised.  Finally, at 5:16 Jake whispered he saw a deer in the tree row to our left.  Another deer was with it and a doe and a fawn slowly fed out into the field over the next 15 minutes or so.  Jake kept a watchful eye on them hoping a buck would follow.

The doe got far enough out into the field she either saw us moving inside the blind, or realized our blind hadn't been there before.  She started the usual doe 2-step stomp and head-bob routine and worked her way in until she was standing broadside at 16 yards with the fawn just behind her.

"Do you think you could hit that one?" I whispered to Jake.

"I think I could hit it with a rock!" he laughed.

Jake was amused by her antics and our attention had been solely on her as she got close and daylight quickly faded.  He was watching her with binoculars when the fawn bolted and the doe blew a warning and followed it back across the field.

 

"There's a BIG buck!" Jake whispered loudly as he watched their retreat.

I glanced at my watch and it was 5:35 p.m.

"Get your gun up," I instructed.  "We've got less than a minute!"

I got my binoculars focused just in time to see the doe and fawn reach the buck standing at the edge of the woods and he turned tail to run with them.  I bleated loudly trying to get him to stop.  He was a nice one and I would have loved for Jake to shoot it but in just a few bounds he cut left into the timber never offering a shot.

"He's gone, Jake," I said dejectedly.  

"That was cool!" was his reply.

Jake had enjoyed the show and shenanigans of the antlerless deer.  He'd never seen anything like it and he might have been as excited about the close encounter with a nice buck than some hunters are when they actually shoot one.

We'd hunted nearly 6 1/2 hours that day and our opportunity came down to the last 60 seconds of legal shooting time.  It didn't work out but we'll be back at it again this weekend trying once again. Timing is everything and here's hoping it works out in Jake's favor this time.  

DEJA TWO FLATHEAD CATFISH!

Some say lightning never strikes twice in the same place.  While I don't want to necessarily test the theory, I'm hear to tell you I wouldn't bet against it after the last couple weekends.  And here's why.

You might remember my last Blog entry highlighted a huge flathead catfish that was in the neighborhood of a few large kindergartners weight-wise.  He was big and beautiful and ultimately released as a result of being foul hooked.  I'd have likely released him anyway, but I had no choice.

So, fast forward a week to a similar fishing trip.  I was joined this time by a buddy, Jim, and my nephew, Dylan, for a morning of fishing on the same chum hole where I'd pulled Moby Flathead from the weekend prior.  It was another beautiful morning and we'd fished for a couple hours and had plenty of channel cats in the 2-6 pound range in the box and weren't going to keep any more.

I'd pitched a line out and let it set on the bottom a short distance from the boat while I worked on rigging my other rod.  I noticed that line went slack and picked it up and slowly cranked the reel handle a couple times.  I felt resistance and set the hook and the fight was on.

I turned to Jim and Dylan and said, "Surely, this isn't another big flathead, is it?"

I've caught literally thousands of channel catfish off of chum holes on several Kansas reservoirs in the last decade-plus.  I can honestly say I can't remember EVER catching a single flathead catfish during that time so the last weekend was a first.  I would be utterly shocked if this was another one.

But the fight was somewhat similar to the one the weekend prior.  My rod was doubled but this time the battle wasn't nearly as long.  I still had to switch hands with the rod a time or two after one would get tired.

The huge fish surfaced and I could immediately tell one thing was different.  It was hooked in the bottom lip!  And the next thing I could tell was it wasn't nearly as big, but still a monstrous fish on rod and reel.

I got the fish into the net and wondered aloud if my 30 pound digital scale would cover it.  I thought it might be close and it was as the display read 28 pounds, 12 ounces.   I was happy and we shot a few photos as my nephew kept saying, "Dang that thing is big!"

It was now time to determine the big fish's fate.  He wouldn't fit in the iced-down cooler I use for keeping channel cats, but I could create a make-shift stringer from some rope and tie him to the side of the boat.   Or, I could release him.

"We've got plenty of fish fillets for today," I said as I eased the big fish over the side of the boat.

He made a fast recovery and left with a big splash.  I slapped some slimy high fives with my fishing buddies and enjoyed the moment.

I'll fish again this weekend.  And if I happen to catch another big flathead I'll likely release him, too. But the next thing I'll do is head to the nearest store and purchase several lottery tickets. Because there's no way lightning strikes the same place THREE times, is there?
    

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY

Okay, just to get it out of the way and beat all you internet funny folks to the punch, I'll admit it.  I'm the "ugly" one in this trio of words, despite the fact this monstrous fish had a mean-mugging face only a mother could love.  To me he was absolutely beautiful and a fine specimen of all things piscatorial.

Our chance meeting started out innocently enough and his kind was not my intended target.  I'd taken my daughter, Ashley, and her boyfriend, Jake, to a nearby reservoir for an early morning trip to chase channel catfish on a chum hole.  It was beautiful as we launched at first light and we were only a few minutes in when I caught a fat 3 1/2 pounder and tossed him in the cooler.  A short time later I felt a similar "whack" and set the hook again.

This time my rod immediately went double and under the boat and the drag screamed.  I was using a 6'6" medium-light spinning rod with a reel spooled with Berkley Trilene Big Game 15 pound test monofilament.  All of the components were taxed to the max.

I wondered aloud what I might have and figured it was a giant carp or huge blue catfish.  The battle lasted for nearly 15 minutes and I'd try to get some line back one reel turn or two at a time.  Slowly, I started to win the fight and eventually ended up swapping ends of the boat as the fish dictated the game.  

At first glimpse I saw yellow and thought I'd hooked a big carp.  But a second brief look showed a unique tail that could only belong to a flathead catfish.  When we all got a good look at the huge fish, Ashley quickly handed the net to Jake.

"I'm out!!!!" she laughed.  "That thing is huuuuugggeeeee!!!

Jake took one stab at him and the big cat soaked us with a flick of his paddle-like tail and dove back down.  The next time up Jake was able to maneuver the fish's head into the net and we hoisted him into the boat and gently placed him on the front deck.  Ashley and Jake were WAY more excited than I and marveled at the massiveness of this unique predator of the deep.  Their reaction, and the fact I even landed this fish, was the "good" part of the equation for sure.  

The "bad" part of the experience was the huge flathead was foul hooked, but just barely, and legally had to be released.  One barb on a #4 treble hook was buried in his flesh just in front of his tail fin.  It was a miracle I even landed the fish and I was shocked.  Even if the fish had been hooked legally there's a good chance I would have released it anyway, although one that size would have fed the entire office staff at work.        

We tried to weigh it but my digital scale only goes to 30 pounds and he maxed it out.  I guessed his heft at about 45 pounds but had friends with more experience with flatheads than I said he looked bigger in the photos.  Regardless, it was one of the biggest fish I'd ever caught in my life and a true giant.  

After a few photos and more hooping and hollering, mostly by Ashley and Jake, I eased the fish back over the gunnel of the boat and held it in the water for a few minutes.  It got its bearings and swam from my hand back to the depths from which it came.

"If we don't catch another fish all day this is the best fishing trip of my life," Jake said laughing.  "And I didn't even catch it!"

But we did catch more fish and a boatload of them ranging in size from 6 inches up to an 8 1/2 pound channel catfish Jake caught.  It was truly a memorable morning but the only catch of the day that will be talked about forever is that gigantic flathead.  

    

TURKEY HUNT A MEMORABLE EXPERIENCE FOR YOUNGSTER WITH LEUKEMIA

I've always been a fan of getting kids outdoors and involved in hunting, fishing and all things wild.  I've done it as often as possible with my own kids over the years.  Now nearly grown, some of the most memorable times we've shared have been in a boat or blind.

During that time and still today I enjoy taking other kids out as well.  I've assisted with deer and turkey hunts for a couple decades now.  Many of our KDWPT staff in several divisions have gone above and beyond to plan, coordinate and pull-off some fantastic hunting opportunities for youngsters, many of which are a one-of-a-kind, incredible experience.

And despite no relation to these other youngsters some hunts have been equally as memorable as those with my own children for many reasons.  One in particular just happened a couple weeks ago on a youth turkey hunt near Hutchinson.

Elijah Hamby was a last minute edition to the turkey hunt conducted by KDWPT's Kyle McDonald and Steve Adams during the Kansas youth turkey season.  Adams met 12-year-old, Eli, and his family at the cancer center during recent visits for both families.  Adams' little girl, Blaisi, is battling cancer and Eli was recently diagnosed with leukemia.

"When I told Eli about the turkey hunt his eyes lit up," Adams told me.    

Eli hasn't had much reason to light up in the last year.  His grandpa, Ron, told me on the hunt that Eli is quarantined to his room much of the time.  Chemotherapy and a myriad of other painful treatments and procedures have left the youngster's immune system compromised.  A simple cold can send him to the hospital.  A sanitizing station sits outside his room for any visitors and most of those are limited to immediate family.  He has to take middle school classes online as a result.

Painful treatments have left Eli a bit weak and his voice mostly soft.  The slight recoil of a 20 gauge shotgun was brutally painful and he was a bit hesitant to shoot much at turkey targets.  But we loaded up a gun with lighter shells and I promised Eli in the excitement of that moment when he's staring down the barrel at a turkey he won't feel a thing.  Thankfully, I was right as he'd admit later.

We arrived at our blind location to the sound of banging 5-gallon buckets.  I thought to myself that's not a good sign as I knew Kyle and Steve had placed those in the pop-up blind for us to sit on.  My first thought was cattle and turns out I was right.  They'd trampled our blind and were knocking the buckets around as we approached.  Eli had been paired with me as this blind was close and would require no lengthy walk or effort to get there.  We hadn't counted on the 15-yard penalty on the cows for roughing the blind!

I quickly reassembled the blind the best I could and we crawled inside.  I started calling occasionally and Eli and I chatted a bit.  Some how we got on the topic of pets and he admitted he had a cat.

"Why?" I asked.  "Does it fetch ducks?"

"No," he laughed.

"That's one strike against you," I told him.

As I checked one of the Final Four scores on my phone Eli mentioned he was a KU fan.

"Why?" I asked.

Again, he laughed.

"That's two strikes against you," I laughed back.  "One more and you're going back to the truck."

Before Eli could get his third strike we got sidetracked by gobbling turkeys.  It was a beautiful evening and birds were getting vocal.  It wasn't long and we watched a hen peck her way around nearby.  And then we saw not one, but a half-dozen red heads come over the hill towards the hen.

"Here comes a bunch of jakes," I told Eli.  "We're going to get you ready and you're gonna shoot one of these."

I'm always amazed at the adrenaline rush hunters get, even ones that have never killed a turkey or deer.  Eli was no different and his breathing got heavy and labored.  I told him to relax and we'd let them separate to get a good shot at just one bird.

They did and long story short Eli gave it several tries but failed to connect.  As they wandered off I called and they all gobbled back in unison.  That seemed to amuse Eli as much as his recent close encounter.

Another close call later had similar results but I knew our chances were still good as we still had plenty of daylight left.

I got more birds to answer the calls and it wasn't long and we had some big toms headed our way.  But then all of a sudden the turkey flood gates opened and we were surrounded by a dozen hens and another bigger band of jovial jakes.

"We're going to get one of these," I told Eli.  "I'm going to help you aim this time."

Kneeled behind him I instructed Eli to get lined up on one but not shoot yet.  I wanted to make sure he was indeed lined up and he'd kill only one bird.  I whispered for him to lift his head up and I'd have him adjust one way or the other and put his head back down.  Each time the turkey moved after I knew he was lined up.  Finally, after several tries I told him to pull the trigger.  At just 12 yards or so the jake hit the dirt and the remaining birds scattered and gobbled as they retreated.

"I got him!" Eli squealed.

We sat in the blind a bit and watched and listened to more turkeys nearby.  Eli jabbered more in the 15 minutes after he shot his bird than he had in the hour prior.  It was like he'd got a second wind and his ailments and illness were no longer in the forefront of his memory.  He was an excited child who'd just taken his first turkey on a most memorable hunt.

Eli's labored walk to his down bird as I filmed the event on my phone reminded me of how cruel this world can be.  Nobody, but in particular a child, should have to endure the hideousness of cancer and what it does to a human body.  Eli's got two more years of treatments that will no doubt sap his body's strength and test his will.  

But Eli walked with a purpose to his prize and his smile said it all as he picked up his first turkey.  If only for a few brief hours I silently hoped that Eli had forgot about his illness and his rough road that lies ahead.  The outdoors is truly a therapeutic place and I'm glad Eli got to experience the splendor and beauty of a wonderful evening chasing turkeys.  And I felt fortunate, and humbled, to witness that moment in his young life and wish him nothing but the best in the future.



  



    

2015 WAS GOOD IN THE GREAT OUTDOORS!

As we roll into 2016 it's fun to look back at what happened in 2015 in my outdoor world.  It was all good in a lot of great ways and those memories will last a lifetime.  I can sit, sometimes for minutes, and just scroll through the gallery on my phone.  I can recall the time and place easily and nearly all of those photos bring a smile to my face.

 

Only one made me wince and that was a bleeding finger, cut by a rogue (or more accurately my own carelessness) broadhead as I messed with it one day in a treestand.  Even that had a happy ending as that same stand produced a nice buck for me just a few days later.  In addition, there were several other highlights in 2015 that come to mind. 

Father's Day found one of my twin boys, Cody, and my daughter, Ashley, and I fishing for channel catfish.  Fishing was excellent and their company was a better gift than any funky tie or smelly cologne.  Cody is just over a year away from attending college and Ashley graduated from college and hit the real world running in 2015.  As I shot a few photos I felt fortunate to spend time with my kids on a day dedicated to Dad's and I was indeed a proud one.  It was also a bit sad, too, as I knew these days would likely get fewer over time.

   

Another trip that stood out was a pheasant hunt near Dodge City just before Thanksgiving.  I grew up hunting upland birds most weekends but switched gears later in life to chasing waterfowl and bowhunting.  This hunt found me and several friends traipsing some of the most beautiful upland bird habitat in the state.  Shots were plentiful and the action steady with plenty of birds flushed and bagged.  It took me back to a time several decades ago when those same sights, sounds and smells were shared with other friends that I've lost touch with over time but still think about on occasion.

And the icing on the tasty 2015 cake likely took place in mid-December on a hunt where I was merely an observer.  Cody had been drawn for a special youth deer hunting opportunity and the day was indeed special and truly memorable.  The morning yielded a few sightings of several does and a distant buck.  The highlight of sunrise was watching a coyote mousing right in front of us for minutes.  I'm surprised he didn't hear us as we'd laugh out loud every time he jumped straight up in the air and came down with all four feet firmly planted, but never successful.  He was persistent.  After a quick lunch break we were back in the blind and the action started shortly thereafter.  Several does both near and far were already feeding.  A HUGE buck stepped into view and started nosing a doe in front of our blind only 110 yards away.  A few minutes later Cody's shot found it's mark and after a short track we found his deer.  It was indeed the buck of his lifetime and mine.

There were dozens of other trips hunting, fishing, camping and trapping with good friends and family in 2015.  I enjoyed them all and look forward to more just like it in 2016.  Here's hoping you make time for your own outdoor experiences this season and the next. 

    

 

EARTHQUAKES AND RATTLESNAKES!

Simply deer hunting is exciting enough.  The adrenaline rush when a big buck or doe is spotted can't be duplicated.  So there's plenty of excitement on a good hunt without adding any additional stimuli.  However, throw in a couple crazy happenings and a deer hunt can go from memorable to MEMORABLE in the blink of an eye.  That was exactly the case on a hunt I witnessed firsthand just a couple weekends ago. 

I was in Harper County working out of the Anthony Gun Club at the 16th Annual Harper County/David Berry Memorial Youth Deer Hunt as part of KDWPT's Pass It On Program.   The local sportsman's club and area businesses and sponsors have made this event a huge success.  So big and successful, in fact, the hunt and its organizers received the 2014 Conservation Organization of the Year Award from the Kansas Wildlife Federation. 

I was guiding 12-year-old Anthony resident Scott Owen.  The youngster was looking forward to the hunt and excited to get to the blind.  We had to be a bit careful as his right wrist was in a solid cast. 

"What happened?" I asked earlier. 

"I punched my brother in the back of the head," he said sheepishly.

"Bet you won't do that again, huh?" I said.

"Nope!" he replied. 

Our blind was a 12-foot box blind overlooking a wheat field in ideal deer habitat.  It's generally not a matter of if the deer show up, it's when.  We wouldn't wait long after climbing into the blind at 4:45 p.m.

It was 5 p.m. when Scott whispered there was a deer walking up behind us.  Fortunately, I'd opened that window for air circulation as it was hot, not really expecting much movement back that way.  But sure enough, two antlerless deer were walking virtually the same path we'd taken to get the blind.

Immediately, Scott's breathing and heart rate escalated as I tried to get him to slowly stand up and turn to see if he couldn't pull it off.  The lead doe knew something wasn't quite right and started to veer off stomping her foot.  I told Scott he'd have to hurry as the jig was almost up.  We got the .243 rifle out the window and Scott settled in.  The doe started walking and I grunted to get it to stop and it did.  I barely got the words out "Okay, take your time and shoot when you're ready and remember where to aim."

BOOM!

At the shot, the doe mule-kicked and took off  to the North and disappeared from sight 100 yards away or so.

"Did I get it?" Scott asked.

I told him the shot looked good and the deer's response was encouraging but we'd give it 30 minutes or so.  It was 5:01 p.m.

A few minutes later our tower blind began to shake for a couple seconds.

"You feel that?" Scott asked.

"Yeah, what the heck was it?" I asked

"Earthquake," Scott said.  "We have them all the time."

"Really?" I said. 

Sure enough, at 5:07 p.m. Saturday evening officials reported an earthquake of 3.7 on the Richter Scale in that area and others overnight. 

Knowing we'd need a little daylight to track, and thinking of some of the places I wouldn't want to be in an earthquake, we eased down the ladder about 5: 30 p.m. and took up the trail where I last saw the deer.

I had just found the tiniest speck of blood when Scott calmly says, "There's a rattlesnake."

"Really?" I asked fully expecting to turn around and see a gopher snake or some other non-venomous reptile.

Sure enough.  Coiled tightly in a small ball was a Massasauga rattlesnake about a foot long.  He was trying to rattle but didn't have enough rattles to make much of a sound.  Fortunately, Scott heard it.

"I almost stepped on it!" he said.  "But I heard it rattle and looked down!"

Scott fetched a long stick for me and I used it to move the snake into some thick grass and away from our tracking efforts.  Understandably, I was reluctant to get on my hands and knees to look for blood so I decided to fan out and look first as I was about 95 percent sure the doe was dead nearby.

We meandered around a bit and the Sandhill habitat was thick and wooly.  We would have to be within just a few feet to spot the dead deer.  On a last ditch loop before returning to the last blood I located Scott's deer about 25 yards beyond where we'd last seen it.

"All right!" the youngster exclaimed when he saw the big doe laying there.  "That's awesome!"

His shot was nearly perfect but the bullet didn't mushroom so the exit hole was no bigger than the entrance hole which explained the difficult blood trail.  Coupled with the rattlesnake still vividly etched in my memory I was glad to find it, shoot a few photos and get it gutted and loaded up.

The night was memorable for other youngsters on the hunt, too.  Nine of 15 kids ranging in age from 12-16 years old also killed deer that evening.  And a few of them felt the earthquake as well.  But fortunately we were the only ones with a rattlesnake encounter. 

Scott and I will both remember this hunt for a long time for more reasons than the deer itself and that's a good thing, despite the earthquake and rattlesnake. 

    

   

KIDS AND GUNS-A NEW .22

Oftentimes reading the words "kids" and "guns" in the same sentence in mainstream media is cause for concern, particularly these days.  It's sad, really, as firearms aren't bad.  They play an integral part in hunting's heritage and the outdoors.  Guns are necessary to take small and big game, waterfowl and upland birds and kids and adults have been doing it nearly accident-free for decades. 

You can bet any adult hunter remembers their first firearm and many of them likely still own it whether it's a beat-up, rusty old pump shotgun or something a little nicer.  Even if it's been "retired" it likely still has a place of honor in a gun cabinet with fond memories recalled every time it's handled.

My first gun was a Savage over-and-under with a .22 rifle barrel on top and a .410 shotgun barrel below.  It had a hammer and could only be cocked with my dad's permission.  That made shooting at escaping pheasants or quail nearly impossible so bagging the occasional rabbit, squirrel or hedgeball was the highlight of many early hunts. 

Up until this summer my twin boys and I shared a .22 rifle for squirrel hunting.  Or more accurately, I'd tag along and supervise their use of the firearm and they'd try their hand at shooting squirrels.  The boys turned 16 years old this spring and they were ready for their own firearm.  So I bought a Savage Mark II bolt action .22 for them to share (another pitfall of being a twin) when we hunted as both boys don't often go on the same hunt.  And frankly Cody's interest in hunting is higher than his brothers right now so in effect it became "Cody's gun."

Cody was excited about the new gun and helped sight it in.  A nice scope was included and the combination would no doubt be perfect for squirrel hunting.  The accu-trigger took a bit of getting used to in practice but it shot nice groups.  Cody couldn't wait to try it out on a recent, muggy morning.

We eased into the timbered creek bottom right after first shooting light and hit the squirrel call.  Immediately, we got a response from two different squirrels.  Unfortunately, Cody was screened from them and couldn't shoot.  I killed them both and we eased down the creek.

Cody would shoot the next five squirrels in nearly as many shots as the action was consistent over the next hour.  Even squirrels at quite a distance fell to his .22 and it was apparent we had it dialed in pretty good.  He remarked how much he liked "his" new gun with words like "sweet" and "awesome."  It's amazing what success does for confidence.    

Ol' dad finished up with his 5-squirrel limit shortly and we shot a few photos.  We cleaned all 10 squirrels at a low water crossing in a scenic Flint Hills stream and placed them in a cooler for the ride home. 

The next evening both boys and I dined on fried squirrel, fruit salad and a big ear of fresh sweet corn.  Everyone asks what squirrel tastes like and the easy answer is "chicken."  But even more accurately, young squirrel tastes like frog legs although everyone says these also taste like chicken.  It's a vicious circle, but good nonetheless.

Cody will continue to use this .22 on future squirrel hunts and it will likely become "officially" his at some point down the road.  Regardless, he'll remember this outing and the gun he used for years...just like every other hunter that's been down the same path in the great outdoors.

  

MAY, OH MY, 'EYES!

 

There are two months in the calendar that I wish lasted at least three times as long.  November is king in the outdoor world during the fall.  It's spring counterpart, May, is equally good and outdoor opportunities abound.  There's simply too many things to enjoy during these months and if each were 90 days long it would certainly provide more opportunity to enjoy them.   

May is wonderful for lots of reasons, but one of my favorites is walleye fishing.  And it doesn't get much better than right now.  Walleye are done spawning and move to shallow water to feed making them readily accessible and often predictable.  Many fish are caught in 4-18 feet of water and a variety of techniques produce well.  Some anglers like trolling with crankbaits while others like fishing a nightcrawler, either associated with a jig, spinner or Slow Death rig of some sort.  When it's really on, the nightcrawler is generally the common denominator for those fishing live bait.

 

The 2015 Kansas Fishing Forecast ranks the Top 3 reservoirs for catching walleye as Webster, Kirwin and Cedar Bluff.  Marion, El Dorado, Cheney, Glen Elder and Wilson reservoirs follow in descending order.  However, other reservoirs not near the top, and smaller Kansas waters, can often produce good catches of walleye so don't rule those out, either.

Kansas' state record walleye was actually caught last month, in 1996, from Wilson Reservoir.  It tipped the scales at 13 pounds, 3 ounces.  The world record was caught in 1982 from Arkansas' Greer's Ferry Lake and weighed 22 pounds, 11 ounces.


May is a great month to chase these tasty perch. So whether you hope to set the next state record, or just enjoy fishing for fun, now is the time to get your 'eye on and give it a try.  But you better hurry because there's only three more weeks left in May!  If you can't make it now, the good news is June isn't too bad, either!
     

EASTER EGG TURKEY HUNT

Hurry up, Dad, these things are heavy!

For many youngsters Easter is a time for hunting hidden Easter eggs filled with chocolate goodies.  My kids are old enough now where that's not all that appealing, although they're all about the chocolate gifts they still get from Mom as a substitute for the standard Eastern egg hunt.  So knowing Cody had that in that bag he was game-on for an Easter morning turkey hunt.

Cody's first outing a couple days prior was a bust.  I consider it a good day if we can at least hear turkeys on the roost, see a few and if we get to work a bird that's a bonus, even if we don't kill it.  We had none of that his first hunt but Sunday would make up for it.

We eased up to the blind and were barely inside when we heard the first gobble of the morning.  It would be followed by dozens and dozens more until it got light.  The gobblers sounded off, occasionally, once they hit the ground but it was apparent they had the real-deal girlfriends in their midst. 

Undaunted, Cody and I both kept calling.  It wasn't long and we got the attention of a raucous, rowdy hen, possibly the most audible one I've ever heard.  She yelped, non-stop and LOUD, from a couple hundred yards all the way into our blind location.  It was fun to watch and cool to listen to her before she flew across the creek. 

A short time later we heard something fly back across to our side of the creek.  I assumed it was her as she'd gone silent, but we heard another fly across followed by others.  I called softly and got a thunderous gobble just to our left.  I peaked out the window and saw four longbeards and two jakes in full-strut and a few hens just out of range.  Unfortunately, the hens were feeding away from us and the gobblers followed.

Wow, that was a poke!  Two, actually!

The two jakes were content to stay mostly in one spot wondering if they should come check out our lone hen decoy.  It didn't take any convincing for them to come do battle with five more jakes, none of which were colored up or strutting, that were headed to our decoy from the other direction.  Unfortunately, on their first pass they didn't venture by close enough for a shot.   

After the dust-up, the two jakes, still strutting, eased back towards their group and skirted our decoy.  I asked Cody if he wanted to shoot one and he said, "YES!"  He got lined up and he shot a bird in full strut and it dropped in its tracks.

 

The other one jumped in the air, ran a few yards and stopped and looked back.  I told Cody to shoot that one, too, if he wanted and the words barely left my lips and his 12 gauge barked again with the same result.

"Awesome!" he hollered.

This is better than an Easter egg hunt!

As I looked out of the blind I was a bit taken aback as to how far the birds actually were when he shot.  The first bird was 40 yards and the second one was 53 yards!  I've patterned that gun numerous times and it's a killer out to 50 yards for sure.  The results were perfect and I couldn't have asked for anything better.   

That turkey hunt will be Cody's last as an official "youth" as next year he'll be too old.  The youth season for turkeys and other species has created more wonderful memories than I ever could have imagined.  Each and every hunt was as magical as finding an Easter egg filled completely with M&M's!        

NIGHT AND DAY DIFFERENT TURKEY HUNT

Anyone that lives in Kansas knows the saying if you don't like the weather just wait 15 minutes and it will change.  That's particularly true at this time of year and the change is sometimes dramatic as evidenced by the recent bout of bad storms that hit south-central Kansas early last Friday morning.

My boys were off of school that day and Cody was game for an early morning turkey hunt as this is the last year he qualifies as a "youth."  However, I would start second-guessing our plans in the middle of the night when the storm came rolling through.  Wind gusts of 80-90 mph and hail the size of quarters found me nearly waking all of my family to head to the basement.  But a couple of them heard the racket (while two slept through the entire event) and we checked the radar and didn't see any warnings. 

The storm moved through fairly quickly.  The only damage I could see was about five sections of privacy fence leveled in my backyard and we lost power.  I woke up a few hours later and we had power back but the wind was still howling.  I woke Cody up and we headed out.  Much of my side of town was without power and we saw light and power poles snapped in two.  Trees and debris littered the roadsides.  I nearly turned around a few minutes outside of town.  I could barely keep my 3/4-ton truck on the road and gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands as the wind pummeled us.  I wondered aloud if the ground blind would even still be in the same county where it was put up 45 minutes to our east. 

Undaunted, we arrived to find the wind still howling, but actually not too bad in the blind's location and it was indeed still standing.  However, after three hours of calling, hearing nary a peep, we were about ready to leave when Cody spied a couple birds off in the distance.  Confirming them as hens we picked up and chalked one up to next time.

But by afternoon the Kansas weather had moderated and turned into a wonderful spring day.  I was scheduled to assist with our KDWPT youth turkey hunt in Hutchinson and the evening promised to be a good one. 

I was guiding an 11-year-old youngster named Jaggar.  He had participated in the KDWPT youth deer hunt in Harper County last fall and I was with him then when he killed a nice doe, his first deer ever.  This would be his first turkey hunt, too.

We arrived at our blind location to the sounds and sights of turkeys.  Jaggar's eyes were wide as we sneaked into position and got into our blind unseen.  A few calls and less than 5 minutes later we had turkeys headed our way. 

The first one was a bearded hen, followed by another hen, sans the "facial" hair.  I told Jaggar to try

and get on the bearded bird and when he did and was ready he fired.  The bird dropped and others just out of sight ran in front of us.  Several jakes stood around and Jaggar got lined up on one of those and tried his luck again.  A clean miss sent the flock scattering and putting.

It wasn't too long and more hens came by.  Jaggar kept asking if any of them had beards and I told him that wasn't too likely as his first bird, the bearded hen, was somewhat unique.  But a group of hens this time of year doesn't stay lonely long and a tom came over the hill from our left and sidled up to the quintet of hens. 

Jaggar got repositioned to shoot left and he would have to shoot through the blind's mesh.  Once he got in position and ready he shot.

"I got him!" Jaggar hollered.

The big bird flopped a couple times and was still.  We had been in the blind less than 90 minutes and Jaggar had a hunt many kids, or adults for that matter, could only dream of. 

Knowing we'd likely have other youngsters in the same blind the next morning we quietly snuck out and shot a few photos.  On the way back to meet the others from the hunt Jaggar borrowed my cell phone and couldn't wait to call his mother, grandmother and his neighbors that lived across the street to tell them of his good fortunes.  He even promised the latter he'd share the turkey meat with them since he had two birds. 

The two hunts I got to witness that day were night and day different.  It just goes to show you that you have to be in the woods for anything good to happen.  And if it doesn't go according to plan, it makes those times when it does all that much more memorable and that was certainly the case this day.       

 

HUNTER ED STILL TRAINING HUNTERS 4 DECADES LATER

I can remember taking the Kansas Hunter Education Course in 1974 when I was 9 years old.  It was like a rite of passage into the hunting world and I held on to my hunter education card and accompanying patch like it was gold.  While the sewn-on patch likely got tossed when I outgrew my first hunting vest, I still have the original card nearly 41 years later. 

During that time there have been few changes to the curriculum of the Kansas Hunter Education Program.  It still focuses on creating a safe, responsible, educated and ethical hunter and gives any student all the information they need to enjoy hunting and the outdoor world. 

To date, the Kansas Hunter Education Program has certified nearly 536,000 students since the

program began 42 years ago.  The success of the program isn't possible without the support of roughly 1,200 volunteer instructors who donate their time and share their passion for hunting.  Many have decades of experience teaching the course and all take pride in seeing students take the course and go on to enjoy  and participate in hunting, no matter the species pursued. 

There have been several changes related to the Kansas Hunter Education Program and the first one happened about a decade ago.  It allowed any youngster to go hunting, provided they were supervised by an adult, without having to complete the course.  And the minimum age to become certified as a student was 11 years old.

This option opened the door for kids to get started hunting at an earlier age and I took full advantage of it.  My twin boys were 7 years old the first time they turkey hunted and sat between my legs as we leaned against a tree with their gun resting on shooting sticks in front of us.  Over the course of the next 8 years they participated in deer and waterfowl hunting, too, and enjoyed it all and were successful some years, and missed opportunities in others. 

However, since they turn 16 years old today, they had to take the Kansas Hunter Education Course and they did this past weekend.  I chose the Internet-assisted course where they studied and tested online and then participated in a field day followed by the final test to complete the rest of the course and receive their certification.  The Internet option is also relatively new (rather than the standard 10 hours of classroom instruction) and a great way for busy families to complete the course.

 

The boys learned a lot and I was happy to sit through the class again (for the third time as I also went through it with my daughter when she was 9 years old).  I'm always amazed at the enthusiasm of the instructors and applaud their efforts.   

When we got home I gave each son a Kansas lifetime hunting license I'd purchased in 2005 (before they increased in price from $300 to $440) as an early birthday present for their 16th birthday.  They were thrilled and proud as they stowed this and their Kansas Hunter Education card in their wallets. 

Who knows, maybe they'll hold on to theirs for the next four decades and be able to tell their own kids, my grandkids, about the Kansas Hunter Education Program and its success.  Regardless, I'm proud to know they'll get to enjoy the great outdoors.  Here's hoping they enjoy it even half as much as I have since I was their age.
 

DAM BEAVERS!

Anyone that knows history is well aware of the value of beavers and the fur trade to settlement.  Historically, trapping and beaver hides were instrumental in the culture and bartering of early life on the Great Plains.  Today, although we don't use beaver pelts in trade, their presence is still much a part of rural and even urban Kansas and they are quite common in many locations. 

However, North America's largest rodent can cause substantial tree damage and their dams can flood agricultural and other prime land holdings making a giant, sometimes monetarily-significant, mess.  Like other furbearers, the control of their populations is necessary and beneficial in ordinary situations, but absolute where they're causing damage. 

So when a friend e-mailed me complaining of beaver problems I was eager to assist.  It seems beavers had built a couple dams and were backing water up where it didn't belong and worse yet, they were chewing down trees nightly.  While most of the seasons for other furbearers ended in mid-February, the beaver season runs through the end of March.  So I loaded up a few beaver traps last weekend to see if I couldn't help him out and get rid of a few beavers.

The tree damage was easily visible along the creek and the dams were substantial.  After a little

scouting I found their lodge and got busy setting a 330 body-gripping trap on a tall, H-stand to reach the bottom in one of two runs in 3 feet of water.  No sooner than I got the second one in place I saw the top of the other stand twitch like something hit it.  I had never caught a beaver that quick, nor seen one get caught, but assumed there would be much more commotion when it happened.  But there wasn't and the 35 pound beaver died quickly and humanely. 

I had to go back to my vehicle to get my setters/tool to reset the trap with the beaver in it.  In the meantime, I saw my friend driving by and asked him if he wanted to see how quickly I had worked on his beaver problem. 

"Did you catch one already?" he asked in disbelief.

"I did!" I replied.

He wanted to see it so he followed me down the creek bank.  The beaver's tail was floating at the surface and while my friend said, "That's awesome you already caught one!" I glanced over and saw the second trap stand was moved out of position a few inches from where I'd set it. 

"I might have another one," I said as I walked over to it. 

My suspicions were confirmed when I pulled that stand up and another 35 pound beaver was dead in that trap.  In a matter of minutes I'd caught more than 70 pounds of beaver and I was off to a good start in removing the animals causing the problems.  

The check the next morning would be successful as well.  I caught three more beavers and two of them were similarly sized to the ones the day before.  However, the last one was CONSIDERABLY larger than the others and later weighed a whopping 55 pounds.  In just two days I had five beavers weighing nearly 200 pounds.  Subsequently, three days of empty traps told me I might have solved his problem, at least for now.

 

I skinned all of the beavers and I'm in the process of fleshing, stretching and drying the pelts to send with the rest of my other furs to sell at auction in a couple weeks.  Trapping beavers is hard work, but rewarding in the fact I helped out a friend, while at the same time realizing a small monetary reward for my efforts, much like early settlers did way back when. 

                

IT'S ALWAYS FISHING "SEASON!"

With the recent, on-again, off-again bouts of good and bad weather, I've had numerous people I've met say, "I can't wait for fishing season."  I'm always amazed at that particular take on angling, but not real surprised.  After all, winter months are typically reserved for many hunting seasons and I love those, too. 

You have to be a little dedicated, or a little crazy, or some of both, to fish year-round, in Kansas.  But that's all I know and some of the best fishing trips of the year, especially for crappie, take place in December, January and February.

Granted, I'm not as die-hard as I once was as I used to fish in snow and sleet, provided the wind didn't howl.  Wind is the biggest limiting factor and too much is exactly that in the winter.  Now that I'm older and wiser (maybe tired and lazy), I don't fish in those conditions any more.  But in Kansas, even in the middle of winter, we have enough nice days to pick and choose and find at least a couple a month to hook up the boat and head to the lake.  Granted, we're often bundled up in full winter gear of coveralls, coats, stocking hats and gloves, but you have to when the temp's are still in the 20's and 30's.  I prefer 40's and 50's, but you have to work with what Mother Nature deals you.     

Ice is also a limiting factor.  While some anglers love ice fishing, I'm not a fan.  Actually, I'm not a fan of BAD ice fishing.  I love GOOD ice fishing, but when it's not it's far-fetched for me to believe something good is going to happen in that 8-inch column of water I'm covering.  That's why I'd rather be sitting on the front of my boat.  It's comfortable and way more mobile. 

That's exactly what a few friends and I decided to do recently just prior to this round of winter weather.  We loaded up a couple boats and headed out to a nearby reservoir shortly after lunch.  My buddies had been catching plenty of crappie and this would be my first trip out in a month or so.  I would soon be glad I made the trip.

We had to break rotten ice much of the way to our intended destination in the upper end.  Our plan was to fish river channel breaks and finding a brush pile on said location would be a bonus.  We hit a couple spots where they'd caught them previously and caught only a handful of smaller crappie with one decent-sized 11 incher.

It wasn't long and my buddies in the other boat managed to find some hungry fish.  They didn't mind sharing and we eased up and started catching crappie, too.  We were fishing 13-17 feet of water as we dropped 1/8-ounce jigs to the bottom and reeled up one crank.  The color of plastics didn't seem to matter as black and pink, blue and chartreuse and several other combinations produced fish.

 

The action for both boats was steady and success would come and go.  Moving a little up and down the break, and up and down the channel, we'd pick up more fish and then cycle back to previous locations when one spot slowed.  The wind was predicted to switch to the north and howl and we were hoping to boat just a few more before that happened.  At about 4:30 it switched and we tried one more spot before calling it a day just ahead of the next front that would effectively shut down fishing this way for at least a week.  The single digit nightly lows will likely lock the lake up to the point the ice will be too thick to break.

Each boat had dozens of crappie to clean and a mess for everyone to take plenty home.  None of the fish were huge and my boat had nothing over 12 1/2 inches.  Most crappie were 10-11 1/2 inches and in my book those are perfect eaters.  One small fillet, dipped in Andy's Yellow or Shore Lunch batter and deep-fried, is a bite-sized morsel fit for a King.  I'll have to savor the flavor of these last few fillets until I get another chance to go as it's always fishing season!