HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HUNTER!

Birthdays mean different things to different people.  As I get older, they don't have the same meaning as they used to, although I'm certainly glad to keep having them as the alternative isn't good.  Youngsters are always glad to celebrate a birthday as that often means presents, cake and ice cream, usually in that order.

While many birthday presents for youngsters these days often center around electronics or video games, there are still a few kids who cherish those gifts related to the outdoors.  I remember getting a few during my adolescence and they were some of the most memorable, both big and small.  I met a youngster recently, Hunter, who will likely have a similar memory after a winter crappie ice fishing trip on the docks at Pomona's Lighthouse Bay Marina. 

"I'm 12 but I'll be 13 in three days," Hunter said at the time.  "I got this fishing pole from my mom and her boyfriend and they gave it to me early so I could use it."   

And use it he did.  The youngster caught several nice crappie and took them to the adjacent dock to put in his other family member's bucket.

"I got another one!" he hollered as he walked. 

After a half-dozen fish, Hunter's family was quick to follow him back to his honey hole, or actually holes.

"I caught one in this hole, that hole and that one, too," he pointed.

Hunter's enthusiasm was contagious and entertaining. 

"Fish ON!" he'd holler as he set the hook. 

Adult anglers around him were smiling and laughing each time he caught a fish.  Hunter was eager to share his secrets with his family and other anglers.  And the youngster was willing to share the wealth, too.  As he took off his most recent fish, he turned back around to see another youngster, much older and larger, fishing the hole where he just caught the fish.  The older kid began to reel up and was about to give the hole back when Hunter said, "That's okay, you can fish there.  I'll just fish this one over here."

The fishing rod and reel he'd received as an early birthday present was being put to good use.  His mom and her boyfriend signed the cork handle with loving birthday wishes.  The youngster will likely remember his 13th birthday for many years.  He was obviously enjoying the moment and it reminded me of my youth, too.  I smiled just watching him.

Here's hoping, Hunter, that you catch many more fish with that birthday present.  Happy Birthday, Hunter!

NATURE'S GARBAGE DISPOSALS

CAN YOU FIND THREE SCAVENGERS?

The food chain is an interesting connection of all things natural.  Some animals eat plants and are in turn eaten by other animals that eat meat.  Generally, bigger animals eat smaller ones and the food web is often varied.  It's a unique relationship that's worked well for centuries, for the most part. 


But there's never been any doubt that many animals are opportunists, eating dead or decaying carcasses, and nothing in nature goes to waste.  After field dressing deer I've tossed the gut pile aside, only to return a day or two later and find it completely gone with nary a trace of anything left.  Mother Nature's animals are efficient beyond imagination.

SKUNKS RULE!

I've always wondered about what animals are capitalizing on these offerings.  Over the past few years I've tried to find out just who or what is responsible for slicking up similar offerings of nasty leftovers and remnant scraps.  In order to do that I've placed trail cameras, both those that shoot video and still photos, on various carcass piles. 

On my most recent experiment I had a dozen or so cleaned goose and duck carcasses and the rib cage and legs of a deer carcass.  I wired all of the waterfowl to a stake and did the same with the deer leftovers.  It didn't take long for the pile of leftovers to be reduced to a pile of nothing but a few feathers. 

WILE E.

While coyotes are obviously an efficient scavenger and commonly observed, I've been absolutely amazed at the skunk activity.  One photo shows five skunks contentedly chowing down on venison and fowl.  I shouldn't say contentedly as some of the videos show in detail how skunks don't play well with others, even with other scavengers that could and do eat them.  Several videos show skunks, tails high in the air, bluff-charging both bobcats and more than one coyote on occasion.  And these apex predators want nothing to do with the black and white attitude and turn tail and run.  A honey badger has nothing on a skunk. 



BEFORE

AFTER

There's only been one common denominator in all of these experiments.  Within a week or two, rarely more, the pile is reduced to absolutely nothing save a few traces of feathers or hair.  Mother Nature's garbage disposals are efficient.  It's kind of fun to watch, too, and I'd never really know how it worked without the cameras.  Nothing goes to waste and the food chain continues to function as intended.       

OUT WITH A BANG

The new year is here and the 2013 duck season is history.  It was a great one for sure as both water and ducks returned to the Sunflower State once again and all was good in the duck hunters' world.  And so it was last weekend on the final days of the Kansas duck season I found myself ringside once again to send the 2013 duck season out with a bang.

I joined several friends, Jim, Matt and Ty for a big river hunt.  The morning was a brisk 23 degrees with a relatively fresh coating of snow blanketing the countryside.  The river had just opened back up after a stint in the deep freeze.  Conditions looked favorable for a wonderful morning with bluebird skies and a decent breeze.

But someone forgot to inform the ducks of our plans that morning.  Save a loan honker scratched from a group of geese flying the river at daybreak our pickings were relatively slim for the first two hours.  We saw a couple small groups of ducks but they were off in the distance and apparently had definite plans.

We had just got done discussing the "good ol' days" when huge flocks of greenheads, sometimes numbering in the hundreds would descend from the heavens and land in our spread.  It had been quite some time since we've seen that but our luck was about to change when Jim spotted a flock of mallards and they looked interested.  Soon, several smaller flocks became one and it numbered nearly 100 birds. 

Plenty of calling and several passes later some finally got close enough to go.  Guns blazed and ducks started falling.  Five greenheads floated in front of us as Trav, Jim's yellow Lab, hustled to get them slicked up.  Although we should have killed more from the flock we were in awe of the spectacle they just provided.  The mere site of those birds cupped and committed is still vividly etched in my mind.   

A short time later we had a flock of big Canada geese that acted interested in the full body goose decoys we had sitting nearby on the sandbar.  Jim and Matt started pleading with them to join us and the sounds of their calls convinced them to venture too close on one pass and we killed three nice honkers from the bunch.

And we weren't done with the ducks, either.  We were blessed with a repeat performance from another nice flock of mallards.  Although not quite as large, the results were the same and five mallards splashed down belly up.  We added another single a short time later and ended the morning with 11mallards and four big Canada geese. 

The morning shoot wasn't hot and heavy by any means.  Those two flocks of ducks really saved the day.  But the experiences of what few birds we worked will be enough to tide us over until our duck segment opens back up for a week at the end of this month.  We'll be back after them hoping more bluebird skies are filled with big greenheads and they're locked up.  Here's hoping the 2014 duck season starts the way the 2013 one ended.  

WINNER-WINNER, CHICKEN DINNER!

The prairie chicken is an iconic symbol of the Great Plains’ prairies.  To me, it’s the paddlefish of the upland bird world as it represents something historical, unique and marvelous.  It’s the only game bird with feathered feet and a prized trophy among upland bird hunters. 

Kansas has two species of prairie chickens.  The lesser prairie chicken is found in the shortgrass prairie of southwest Kansas and the greater prairie chicken is found in the tallgrass prairie of the central part of the state.  Their range is somewhat specific and good prairie chicken populations often remain year after year in the same pastures and fields.  Overall numbers have declined in recent years, due in large part to changes in land use with intensive grazing practices and increased burning frequency.   

I grew up chasing prairie chickens in northeast Kansas.  I had permission from a few dairy farmers with corn fields bordering big, open pastures.  A buddy or two and I would position ourselves at likely ambush spots around the fields and shoot at flocks of chickens coming to the field or leaving after feeding.  The rest of the day would be spent chasing pheasants and quail and limits of all three were had on occasion.  Those hunts are still vividly etched in my memory and some of the best ones ever.

I haven’t prairie chicken hunted much in the last couple decades.  But a recent opportunity a few weeks ago had me anxious to head afield.  The Outdoor Writers of Kansas had a fall meeting near Tipton and Keith Houghton arranged a chicken hunt for nearly a dozen-and-a-half members one evening.  Keith and his wife, Deb, own Ringneck Ranch, a first-class controlled shooting area that caters to hunters from all corners of the map.  Keith had been watching a huge, harvested cornfield bordering big pastures and he “guaranteed” we’d see a prairie chicken.

A fellow coworker, Nadia Marji, and I took up our vigil on opposite sides of a big round bale.  Nadia was on her first prairie chicken hunt and anxious to see her first prairie chicken.  We weren’t disappointed.  Keith had strategically placed us all along a fence row late in the afternoon with less than 2 hours of daylight remaining.  The night was brisk, with little wind and my field-side seat  provided a beautiful setting to enjoy a Kansas sunset.  It wasn’t long and we saw the first flock of greater prairie chickens fly from one end of the field to the other.  Their constant chatter kept us entertained and on alert as at any time they could get up to leave and we wanted to be ready.

Keith’s plan worked like a charm.  About 30 minutes prior to the end of legal shooting time Keith and several others would walk towards the middle of the field and push the chickens up and out.  Several huge flocks made their escape towards waiting guns.  Prairie chickens are deceptively fast, with slow wing beats and often prove tough targets.

One flock that passed just outside my seated position had a straggler that was on the edge of what I perceived as my effective shotgun range.  I decided to try it and folded it cleanly, somewhat to my surprise, with one shot.  Nadia was nearly more excited than I was to get to see one of these unique birds up close and personal. 

We had time for a few photos before another group of chickens headed our way.  Unfortunately, Nadia’s gun jammed after one shot but I was able to fold another chicken and rounded out a two-bird limit.  Several other hunters had the same fortunes and we ended up shooting nine prairie chickens among the group.  All told, we probably saw at least 150 chickens. 

There are few states that offer “the big three” when it comes to upland game birds and the Sunflower State has bragging rights in that regard.   We’ve got one of the best prairie chicken populations in the Midwest.  My two prairie chickens were the icing on the cake capping a beautiful evening.  They were also a pleasant reminder about the good ol’ days growing up in Kansas and the opportunity to hunt a unique inhabitant of the Great Plains.

DREAM BUCK

Deer hunting is an activity I've enjoyed for decades.  And in recent years my twin 14-year-old boys, Brandon and Cody, and even my 21-year-old daughter, Ashley, have taken an interest and killed deer.  These hunts have always been about their experience as I've never carried a weapon and simply been there for expertise, advice and guidance.  I've even been an alarm clock as evidenced on the most recent outing with Cody a few weeks ago.

Teenagers are tough to roust out of bed.  Heck, the older I get the more I like the comfortable confines of a toasty-warm bed at 5 a.m. in the morning, too.  Although it's easy to dream of big deer, it's difficult to throw the backstraps on the grill from a dream buck.  So the long and short of it is you've got to be there to win.  Cody knows this but it doesn't make it any easier to wake up early and head out into the cold but that's what we did.

It was a beautiful, clear morning with little wind.  Cody had his crossbow all set-up and ready to go as it rested on shooting sticks.  We both yawned a few times sitting comfortably in chairs in our ground blind as it broke daylight.  It wasn't long and Cody started to nod off, finally resting his head on the stock of his crossbow. 

I was just about to catch a few ZZZ's myself when a nice 8-point buck appeared at about sunrise.  My heart instantly raced, even despite the fact I wasn't shooting.  I whispered to Cody to wake up and not move as there was a buck just 20 yards away.  Later he said he thought I was messing with him as I've cried wolf before just to get his goat.  I would have loved to see Cody's eyes when he popped them open to see a nice buck standing there and realize he wasn't dreaming and I wasn't joking.

The buck was quartered away and I instructed Cody on where to aim based on the angle.  My adrenaline was flowing and I tried to remain calm for Cody's sake, although he admitted later he could hear me breathing hard.  I told him to take a few deep breaths, concentrate and shoot when he was ready.       

The shot in my mind was a little low and back, but the angle should have been good.

"Did I get him?" Cody asked in between breaths. 

"You hit him, but the shot wasn't perfect," I told him.

We waited in the blind for another hour and had an encounter with a giant doe we've seen before.  All of the trail camera pictures of her have her looking directly at the blind.  She's cagey and at only 7 yards away she had us pegged and boogied before Cody could get a shot at her, too. 

Recovering Cody's buck took a lot of patience, persistence and luck, but we were able to find it.  Cody's first buck was a nice 2 1/2-year-old, 8 pointer we later learned we had on our trail camera a few times as well. 

It may not have been the buck Cody was dreaming about but it was a nice one and he was happy.  I was, too.  Spending time in the great outdoors with my kids, whether I'm watching them sleep or not, is enjoyable.  We'll remember that hunt forever and Cody now knows that ol' Dad doesn't cry wolf ALL the time.  

IT FEELS LIKE FALL...AND DEER

 

Fall is a magical time in the great outdoors.  Leaves change colors and drop to the ground, waterfowl and shorebirds migrate thousands of miles and whitetail bucks take advantage of that one time of year when does actually acknowledge their presence to ensure future generations. If you’re an avid outdoorsman or woman, it’s a wonderful scene to witness the transition and circle of life.

 

I was out a couple weeks ago for only the second time sitting in my treestand.  I had sat one time in the stand I fished out of the creek (see my last Blog entry) but was interrupted by critters I’d rather see on a bun than below my stand.  A herd of calves surrounded me at prime time and I dejectedly climbed down and went home as my experiences have proven deer and these other ungulates don’t mix. 

So I was anxious to head to another stand where I’d killed a nice buck last year.  It’s right in a “Y” where two draws come together with plenty of deer sign.  I crawled up into it and hung my Mathews bow on the Realtree EZ Hanger and nestled in for the afternoon.  The weather was gorgeous and I was texting, trying to help my daughter away at college with a car problem, and watching for deer at the same time.  I texted a buddy who was about a mile away in another stand and said,  “I love this time of year.  It smells and feels like fall!”

Many of the leaves had fallen after several frosts.  The decaying vegetation had a distinct odor that isn’t necessarily bad, but indicative of the season.  It reminds me of why I like to be in the woods in November.  Wind was non-existent (yeah, a real shocker for Kansas, huh?) and the sun was shining bright.  I put the phone away and absorbed as much as several of my senses could tolerate. 

It wasn’t long and I heard something behind me and a small buck crossed the creek and continued on his way.  I enjoy seeing deer, even a dink like this one with a spike on one side and two points on the other.  He acted as if he knew he should be looking for love, but didn’t quite know how he was supposed to go about it. 

About an hour later at 4:45 p.m. I decided to rattle and the small buck came walking back, this time in front of my stand just at the field’s edge.  Another sound behind me caught my attention and a nice buck was crossing the creek and coming past my stand on my right.  I couldn’t grab my bow.  The dinky buck was right in front of me and any movement would betray my presence.  Fortunately, the youngster knew he should vacate the premises and wandered off.  Unfortunately, the bigger buck was already past me and out of bow range.

I pulled my grunt tube from beneath my jacket and got his attention.  He flipped ends and started walking right back by me out in front.  When he walked behind a tree I drew my bow and as he cleared the tree at 22 yards I grunted with my mouth to stop him.  The arrow with a new G5 T3 broadhead zipped through him and although it wasn’t a perfect shot I hoped it would quickly prove fatal.  Erring on the side of caution, I waited a couple hours to take up the track.

With flashlights in tow my buddy and I got on the track and located my buck within 15 minutes.  He likely expired before I stopped shaking from the adrenaline rush and buck fever.  I’m always relieved to get my hands on a deer and this one was no different.  We slapped high 5’s as congratulations were in order.  As we looked around my buddy pointed out a big rub, another sure sign of fall, just a few feet away and wondered aloud if that was my buck’s.   

Had I intended to write a script for a nice fall afternoon sitting in a tree this experience would be tough to top.  I’d take another one just like it next season.  The hefty 8-pointer wasn’t my biggest buck ever, but the older I get the less I worry about what a deer’s rack scores.  It was good to be outside and I was proud to put my tag on him knowing I’d just enjoyed another truly memorable day in Kansas’ great outdoors.

I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!

Time in a treestand is a therapeutic place in the fall for many Kansas bowhunters. Watching the woods wake-up or drift off to darkness is good for the soul. It's a time of transition in the outdoor world and the thought of that buck-of-a-lifetime cruising by makes it all the more exciting. 

And so it was last week, behind more than I normally am, that I decided to check a couple treestands for upcoming hunts. I used to hunt many times in October and then be tired or burned out by the time the rut kicked in. With fewer eggs these days, I've generally put most of them in the basket of the first few weeks of November. So getting out mid-October wasn't too bad, but still behind schedule.

A buddy and I crossed a creek that was dry last year, save for a few holes here and there. My treestand was on the top edge of the bank and looking down behind it I was 30 feet above the gravel bar. The scene bothered me as I'm not a big fan of heights. Little did I know Mother Nature would solve THAT particular problem for me.

We came up the bank and my buddy says, "Where's your treestand?"

I said, "To heck with the treestand, where's the TREE?"

Nothing looked out of place and there was no sign of the tree or my stand immediately below in the creek. 

"It's GONE!" I hollered.

"No way!" my buddy said. 

The tree was a huge oak tree that towered at least 70-80 feet in the air and two grown men couldn't reach around it's base. 

"That was a brand new stand and it probably looks like a cheap mess of bent-up scrap metal wherever it ended up," I said.  "There goes $150!"

Intent on unraveling the mystery, my buddy started walking the high bank of the creek.  Moments later he hollered.

"I think I found your stand," he said.  "And I think it's okay."

I made my way downstream at least 75 yards and rounded the corner.  There, right in the middle of the creek was my tree, and treestand that looked virtually unscathed.  The ratchet strap holding the top and ladder brace support were still attached.  My Realtree EZ Hanger bowholder and bow haul rope were still in place exactly as they were the last time I crawled into it last fall.   

"NO WAY!" I said surprised it wasn't a twisted mess and totaled.

Upon closer inspection, the stand was exactly as I'd left it.  The huge oak must have fallen over backwards in the torrential rains we had in late August and then turned, root-wad first, and floated downstream to its final resting place.  All the while my stand stayed on the top side of the huge trunk.

"That's UNBELIEVABLE!" my buddy said numerous times as we both had a good laugh.

Doing my best impression of a squirrel, I jumped from limb to limb to get to my stand.  Just for fun I crawled into it for a photo op which was easier than getting my big butt out of it.  My buddy laughed while trying to get the "miracle" documented on my cell phone camera and I cussed at him to hurry up.

I released the ratchet straps and got the stand loose from the tree.  I tied a rope to it and threw it to my buddy and scampered back to the gravel bar and pulled it ashore.  Checking it over carefully we found no real signs of damage.  Virtually NONE!

The stand was in a good area.  I killed a nice, big doe out of it last fall the first time I sat in it.  We found another tree nearby and put it back up, this time a little further from the creek bank and potential future wrath of Mother Nature's torrents. 

"What are the odds that thing wouldn't be just torn up and bent all to pieces?" my buddy asked. 

"Slim and none!" I said. 

The odds were such I stopped on the way back to town and bought $5 worth of lottery tickets thinking it really might be my lucky day.  I must have used up all my luck as I'm still at work this week!  But I've got a treestand that could tell a heckuva story if it could talk and I don't have to buy another one!