Cold Water Crankin

With frost on the gunnel and a bone chilling breeze, we had decided to give the lake a try for some ample toothed fish. That being pickerel and pike. The weather had given us a chance to catch a mild day in February. Last April we were able to capitalize on these species of fish with a good catch of a dozen or so and each of us catching a hefty size fish in the mix. Although the other anglers on the lake we anxious to bag large mouths, we were perfectly content with our toothy friends. The adventure started on point that comes out toward the center of the lake. It has a shallow section comprised of rocky ledges that step down deeper like a pair of stairs.

This was the first freshwater fishing trip for me in years, so catching a tree or two from overcasting may have occurred. We worked the shoreline with our crank baits and eventually got a few bites. We decided to make another pass but a bit further away from the shoreline. By doing so, our crank baits would come across the first rock ledge and then come right over the deeper ledge step. Bingo bango. We fished this for the better part of an hour pulling our pickerel right and left. Other boats would cruise by saying we only caught a few pikes, like it was a bad thing. We couldn't disagree more, the fish were following our baits clear up to the boat and striking. The splashes were hitting us in the face even though the water felt like ice.

When felt as though we had fished the spot out, we moved on to some deeper coves on the far side of the lake. Changing up to some deeper diving cranks and putting on some brighter colors. Again it wasn't long that we pulled in a few nice pikes. This was a treat for me, being that I never caught pike or pickerel before in my life. They would put up a great fight and struck our lures like freight trains.

We decided to try one more spot before returning to shore to boast our fun. It was a shallow shoreline covered with cat tails and broken off stumps. We switched back to lip less crank baits and gave it our best. My buddy was able to pull out a pike that what was a giant to us. It was awesome, it was an anglers dream to have such a day filled with strikes, bites, and pikes. Our trip today though was nothing of the sort. We beat shorelines with our baits, the rock ledges, and even our honey holes. The water temps were just too cold still to activate the fish. It still beats any day at work, even with some frozen snot on your face. Below are our catches from last April.

Big Brown Down

Well shots were fired and fur fell to the ground. It was like watching those hunting shows that you think are staged. "Its the last day, and the last hour of our trip, and wouldn't you know it, the elk stepped out and presented a shot". Yeah it was kind of like that but more surreal. Now came time to do some real work, recover my harvest which was across a valley. Seems simple right,.... nah Jack. The elk I shot weight 400-500 pounds, its not just as simple as "Hey Willie, go get your truck". This would truly define the hunt aspect of harvesting big game animals.

I started my trek down the mountain, as we were at 9,000+ feet in elevation, and then climb back up the other side to find the elk. This was easier said than done, just thinking about it now makes me wish I had hit the treadmill harder. Once I made it to the bottom of the valley the aspen forest masked the location of the downed elk. With a general location of the animal, the trek uphill began. Trudging through branches and ducking under downed limbs was normal. There were no clean vertical pathways as the elk used horizontal paths on the mountain side to travel. Once enough elevation had been gained, the game trails could be followed, but with the heavy cover it made finding the elk difficult even when only feet separated us. Finally I caught a big noseful of the downed animal, just like mature bucks, this elk stunk. I turned into the wind and followed it to the prize.

My eyes couldn't take in the view all at once. It was like looking at a horse laid on its side. The last animal I had harvested was a sika deer, which in comparison to an elk is about 1/10 the size. With my excitement flowing through my body, I took a seat on a nearby log and just starred in amazement. A spur of a moment trip with a friend that I never met, took shape into a completed bucket list item. My partner eventually made it up the hill and found me hanging out on the log. "It's time to get to work", he said. After a few photo opportunities of course.

I dove into my field pack and pulled out an arrangement of Gerber knives. We had to maneuver the elk into position and cut some branches out of the way for a makeshift butcher shop. Believe me, take the time to clear your area, that one tree branch will get cursed out the entire time for being the way and could lead to you sliding that knife into your hand. It wasn't long before the body cavity was opened and the elk lost about 100+ pounds, it was like an in field tummy tuck. Then working from the back forward, one person held the leg while the other skinned it back, deboned the leg at the knuckle, and separated it from the body. Each leg section was put into field dressing bags to keep it clear of debris. This is also a good time for some black pepper for preservation of the meat. Remember once the animal is done, time is critical. The colder it is, the slower the clock but dealing with a frozen animal of this size would seem impossible.

Our temperature situation was about 40 degrees, not too cold but a long enough window for use to field dress and travel back to the truck. We continued our assault with several knives and bagged and tagged the elk. Since this was a cow there was no need cape out the head. The hide could also be saved but during this trip it wasn't of interest. Again proper care has to be taken in order to preserve it. With all the meat and four appendages bagged we loaded up for a trip down the valley and all the way up the other side. My partner who was notably older than myself would be a stationed halfway up the other side and I would go from there to downed elk and back. This process was repeated over a three hour period until all the meat made it to the truck. Since the appendages and field dressing bags were so large, we choose to use my water proof dufflebag to store the meat. Once back at camp we could put some ice right into the dufflebag.

So it felt like Karate Kid, up the mountain, down the mountain, repeat. Except every 50 feet, catch your breath and curse for not being in better shape. Then repeat. Dressing in layers though is key, all the physical strain is going to make your body generate heat. Since the trek up and down was along the same path, it allowed me to shed clothing along the way to picked up on the last trip out. It also gave you trail markers or to highlight trip hazard to stay away from. Of course when it starts to snow, this means nothing. The temperature dropped quickly and near white conditions started. Luckily we were nearly done.

This entire process took about 5 hours. Two minutes to pull the trigger and 5 hours to field dress, field butcher, and trek the meat out of the valley. That 9000+ feet elevation isn't too forgiving either. I was in a little better acclimatization being in Denver for over a week prior to the hunt. Although once you add a physical load, say hauling 80 pounds of meat out up a mountain side, it's a new ball game Jack. This hunt tested our physical abilities the most and I urge anyone doing a similar hunt to prepare for it. In the end, it makes the harvest a lot sweeter, even if you have to stop every 50 feet to catch your breath. This concludes my first elk hunt, below are a few treats for your viewing pleasure.

 

 

 

A Quiet Western Front

Welcome back to the second installment of my first hunting trip west. The excitement to shoot my first elk was overwhelming. I had packed, prepared my equipment, and even tried to condition my body for the challenges of the hunt. There I sat, the sun was cresting its light upon the eastern skyline. A light breeze crossed my face as I started to glass the slope over the valley. My hunting partner was positioned to my right about 200 yards away. It wasn't long before I realized the light brown bodies moving through the aspens were elk. Having never seen an elk in person added to the thrill. Was it going to be the first morning of the hunt to get a shot at my first elk?

Then the elk started to move quicker than expected. They had been moving from right to left which meant the shooting distance was decreasing. It wouldn't take long that they would be within 300 yards. While glassing from across the valley, the elk's body language changed abruptly. The herd of 8-10 cows balled together and with a few head shakes they quickly headed over the ridge disappearing instantly. For a first hand experience it was a great encounter.We would spend the rest of the day exploring the ridge tops and glassing the valleys from afar.

Day two started much the same. Elk were spotted in the same spot and we in position for another encounter. Well what quickly felt like everything falling into place, fell apart like a sandcastle in a rainstorm. The range of these elk was just over 500 yards from where I was setup. My hunting partner though, was in the perfect spot. I radioed over and described the location of the elk. After several attempts, the message just wasn't being received or at least my hunting partner didn't have eagle eyes like myself. The elk had finally broken into the open at the top of the ridge, a cool 600 yards from me alone. With a hail Mary shot my partner took a chance. There was no reaction to an impact and certainly no hair went flying. We watched the 8 head of elk trot over the slope side and out of site.

It would later be determined that the wrong reticle was used to gauge the elk's distance in my partner's scope. No worries, it was day 2 and we have plenty of land to cover through the week. We rode through the landscape and made our way back to camp. While glassing at several it wasn't long before a huge sandwich was feeding my hunger. It was at this time that I was able to sight in my rifle. While several attempts were made to get this completed at home, it just never worked out. A stick and piece of cardboard later and my make shift target was up. It didn't take long before my shots were more than satisfactory on target. My hunting partner was gracious enough to lend me a rifle for the first morning sit. I wasn't entirely comfortable with shooting a rifle for the first time at an animal. If the shot wasn't on target it could lead to a non-fatal shot which could permanently injury it.

The third morning I was completely prepared. The Kimber 8400 30-06 was shouldered and ready for action. I selected the Winchester 168 gr. ballistic tip bullets with black oxide coating. This selection would prove to be very effective and cost worthy. While the view was spectacular no elk would be seen on day two. The day was spent glassing the landscape and interacting with other hunters to gain intel. Several hunters were on the prowl for mule deer. We were happy to share locations of bucks we had seen in our travels and aided two sets of hunters to their harvest. Since we had seen the same group of elk for two days, it made sense to start there again the next morning.

Before we could start day 4, my head began to pound. Apparently starring through binoculars all day can really mess with your head. It hit me so hard that I ended up tossing my cookies on the wood pile outside the camper and skipped dinner for an early bedtime. My hunting partner shuck me at 4am for wake up and ask if I was alright. I could have felt better and jumped out of bed to provide my daily breakfast dish (eggs in basket) for the morning ride out. He was amazed that my health had bounced back so fast, it had to because this was our last day.

We decided to sit next to each other so that we could maximize our chances in viewing the heavy aspen forest. With tripods, binocs, and little hope we settled in behind the sage landscape from our side of the valley. The decline in hope was evident on my hunting partner's face as every moment ticked by. It was in the back of my mind as well but he optimist that I am kept a good poker face showing. Then my eagle eyes inherited by my grandfather came through. Two lone elk moving slowly in the aspen thicket were shining like a silver dollar in a storm drain. Of course it took a few minutes for my buddy to see the elk I spotted. Since we choose to sit down low on the slope, the shooting distance was about 250 yards.

The shooting sequence felt like an eternity. Waiting for the broadside of either of the cows was comparable to sitting through the SATs. The gun was snuggled nicely in the tripod, my breathing was calm as could be in the given situation, and the scope's cross hairs were tracking the body movements of the elk. Finally a small clearing was chosen in which one the elk stood still in. With a quick GO message to my partner the trigger was squeezed. With a bit of distance between us in the elk the shot was able to seen when impacted on the elk. The body language screamed as direct hit and the heel kicked taking a few more steps forward. As it did, another opening in the aspens allowed a quick follow up shot like a rebounding puck in front of an empty hockey net. I took it. The elk dropped in it's tracks.

We did it! A self guided hunt in the Colorado mountains for elk. Truly a high end goal for me in my hunting career completed. The excitement inside me could help but vibrate out of body, a few fist pumps in the air and huge man hug to my hunting partner and friend. The next five hours would be spent hauling the meat out of the valley and that story worth reading as I get to lay hands on my big brown prize.

Here are some of the views from the where the shot was taken:

West We Go

My trip began not at the airport, nor the long cold drive through the canyon....where got a flat tire at 3am, but at the 3 feet long tread mill in my home office. A hunting trip out west would be my most adventurous feat yet. I knew that elevation was going to kick my behind anyway, but if I could give my muscles a quick overhaul that it would be a little easier during the climbs up and down the valleys. After a few workouts on the treadmill and a 30 lb phony backpack....I felt more confident but surely not in shape.

The opportunity to hunt western Colorado came from a colleague of mine. Conversations of ordering numerous supplies with him grew tiring and one day I mentioned..."Oh I am going hunting this weekend". From there on out, we can spend only seconds talking about business before we hardly get a word out about how our hunting ventures went. It wasn't long thereafter when the words muttered out...."you should come out here and hunt"... It felt like seconds after that I knew I was going. I am not really sure how being gitty like a school feels but yeah I was comparable to that.

Now Pennsylvania has always been so simplistic to obtain a hunting license. You go to Walmart or a local gun shop...say "I need a license" and twenty minutes later you have tags on your back. I found myself zombie faced and staring at the regulations for CO on the Internet. Aside from a DNA sample, background check and Christmas Story decoder ring I would also have to jump through hoops to obtain an Elk tag. Ok, well its not that complicated but I did need some assistance along the way. We figured out the area we wanted to hunt (similar to WMUs in PA), and the date range of our hunting adventure. We planned on just doing cow elk so we could get an over the counter tag....no lottery thank god.

I was sitting at my desk when my friend called me in August..."hey I am standing in line at the DOW (Dept of Wildlife)....did you get your tag yet?" Me of course "oh crap". How could I forget? Then it clicked...not my brain but my mouse in my hand. "Yea Jeff I am online right now buying my tag". It was that easy. Colorado keeps an up-to-date spreadsheet with the animals, WMUs, and available tags left. A couple more clicks later and I had a receipt of my elk tag. It was suppose to be that easy....my tag didn't show up until days before my departure. Something about the company who had one job to do and send out tags to those kind folks that bought dropped the ball. No worries the plan came together.

I lined up the trip to arrive a few days earlier in Colorado to assist with attitude adjustment. If you have the chance to do so...I highly recommend it. Those couple of days couldn't have felt longer knowing I would soon embark on my elk hunting venture. Another level of excitement was quickly building too, my colleague Jeff in which I concocted this crazy idea with...we had never met in person. Let alone spending a week in the wilderness together, alright we were staying in a pretty sweet camper so it wasn't like 'Deliverence".

The taxi ride was short to his house and before I knew it we were shaking hands and sharing a beer in his kitchen. Wait it was a soda, because we were leaving once my crap was loaded into the truck. The drive was bittersweet. I had spent the evening at a business dinner where some grand idea was to eat at some crazy derkastan restaurant. The co-worker next me agreed to find the most normal thing on the menu and hope we could hold it down. Our host at the dinner loved to hear himself talk and as we wait for him to finally sign the check we could leave. Needless to say, the gas I passed on the trip west gagged me and Jeff in the truck.

Remember that flat tire I mentioned earlier, you know at 3am, yeah it was also on fire. What a way to start a trip, shaking bottles of water to put out a tire fire. A very used and borrowed utility trailer shared its problems with us on this trip, that wouldn't be the only flat tire. A few hours later we woke up from the Walmart parking in Rifle, CO. I was freezing cold because the heat stopped working and decided to college shop for breakfast in Walmart. Yes, I paid for my stuff, college shop means you find the first edible thing to eat you see when you are typically drunk. Walmarts in walking distance of college campuses...solid business plan.

A fresh spare tire and a load of groceries for the week and we were set out on our last leg of the trip. It took us a while to find a suitable campsite for the fifth wheel and before I knew it we were setup. With a few hours to spare, we figured lets take a ride and scout some areas. Of course the game warden stopped by to check out licenses and it provided the opportunity to discuss any successes she had heard about. It seemed most folks were filling tags in the area. It was a good interaction with Janny law and fueled out hopes in tagging out as well. The landscapes of our campsite alone were incredible as you can see from the pictures I shared below. But our hunting views would prove to be even better, in my next blog.

 

 

Mini-Brown Down

The day grew light, wind was in my face, the forest floor laid quiet with faint sika stag bugles in the distance. Josh and I had entered the forest at o'dark thirty and crunched our way across the woods. The trail was lit like a major highway with the abundance of trail tacks from other hunters. The boat ride was smooth and brisk. I can say that the additional lights installed on the boat provided a sense of ease while traveling the marsh creek in the dark. Even with our hunting gear, the boat leveled out and made for a 2 mile ride to the forest edge, located in the middle of the marsh,

Last year's season was lit with moonlight overhead like someone upstairs leaving the nightlight on. This year was different, as the moon didn't provide that opportunity. Two fog lights and a handheld spot light later, we arrived safely without hitting those darn sandbars. This was only the second chance for me to utilize my new climbing tree stand. Surprising it went well, once you get your technique worked out. Before I knew it the forest began waking up, with birds chirping and squirrels rustling under the leaves in search of food.

The initial hike and climb up the tree had got my blood pumping and worked up a bit of heat. By utilizing my layers and a few unzips I was able to cool off effectively. Okay, its game time, face paint check, slim jim for breakfast check, and a bottle of coke to keep awake for the next few hours, double check! I faced the trail we walked in head on, the marsh to my right, and some where further in the forest Josh to my backside.

This section of forest allowed clear view of multiple shooting lanes and at great distance to detect movement. It wasn't long though, A spiked stag had almost followed our footsteps toward my stand. I couldn't believe it was going to come together so fast on the first day of the hunt. Pulling up my rangefinder, I waited for the stag to stop and provide a shooting stance. Just prior to arriving to my stand location, he turned to my left and stopped. Range finder read 31 yards and my crossbow said shoot.

The bolt made such a hollow sound when it struck his mid section. The shot was solid and the bolt passed through laying behind his trail away from the crime scene. Call CSI because that little booger is going to be piled up somewhere. Excitement began to fill my body and with a quick press of my SPOT gps, messages were sent out to my wife and friends to let them know a deer was down. About 20 minutes went by as sitting in the stand felt like an hour,

Enough was enough, the climbing stand shimmied its way down to the ground and the search began. Where to start, well being I didn't see the deer fall down in my view then I turned to the place of impact. My crossbow bolt was sticking out the ground. I picked it up and inspected it closely. No blood lay on the bolt surface but more of a greasy film. Well maybe the bolt passed through so fast, blood wasn't able to be generated?

Well I started the general trail toward the direction of where the animal exited my view. Before doing that, I left arrow at the point of impact to reference it if needed. It only took about 15 yards and the blood trail began. Good size blobs were being dropped and easy to follow. With my head down I followed it quickly when to my surprise the sika was sitting by a tree watching me follow him. I could see the wound and he had only gone about 80 yards from the point of impact. I loaded another bolt and put a clean shot on his front shoulder. This arrow hit home in the honey-hole and again the sika took off.

It wasn't another 30 yards as he turned right toward the marsh and laid down under a tree. I knew the shot was in the vitals and turned away to let the animal expire in peace. This was the moment that truly emulated that I had harvest my first sika stag. They have been referenced as the marsh ghost and eluded hunters for years. Well sign me up with Jennifer Love Hewitt as I took a ghost out of the world.

Until next time, hunt hard and dominate the woods!

Little Red October

This morning felt more like a typical fall hunting season, dew on the windows, seeing your breath in the air, and that absence of sound before the forest wakes up. I left at o'dark thirty from the house, with the full moon being, I figured I could catch the deer while they were still moving. As I drove the windy road to the local hunting spot, I saw a pair of doe sitting at the edge of a traffic intersection. So close to the road that when the light changed green, the deer changed to green as well.

I stopped at the little church just up the road from my spot. This gives me a chance to make my final preparations before stepping into the woods. It provides the opportunity to make noise there and not near my hunting spot. The full moon was shining so bright, I didn't even need my headlights on. I slipped out of the car, tossed by back pack on and grabbed my bow. The deer path is like a little super highway, just follow the path until my exit past the fallen tree and turn right to ground blind. The entry door is left open so quietly get in and settle down.

The forest floor was lit almost like the aisles of a movie theater. The trees were dropping leaves and kept my ears in tune for animal movement. A couple of sounds though echoed that of deer movement. With the grunt call in hand, I made a few light and short calls. These were just enough to say, "I am here, is that you Bob?" Well the deer didn't answer back, instead a nice eight point stepped right past the ground blind. This took my normal hunting pattern and turned it upside down.

The usual entry into the woods goes well until I step on the only loud cracking twig. Then a deer snort here and there and they vanish like dust in the wind. Today, I took my time, slowly walking down deer central station and even posed for a picture at the trail camera. Halfway down the path and a few short blows on the grunt call to mask my foot steps to that of a meandering deer. Before I knew it that hour long sit in dark was over.

So back to the close encounter with the 8th kind, the buck was cruising up the trail so fast that it startled me. I quickly pulled my bow up and began to point. The bow arm hit my tripod and the deer turned 180 and trotted a few steps before coming to a stop. While repositioning the bow to the other window of my ground blind, I slowly took the safety off, laid my eye through the scope, and pulled the trigger. The deer took another couple of steps and stopped like nothing happened. The arrow sounded like it landed about 30 yards away, how could this be. When I peered down the scope prior to shooting it was literally filled with deer body.

This lead to a long sit in the chair wondering about the shot. The shear physics of the miss were mind boggling. The forest grew lighter, blacks and grays now showing up as colors. There is was, the reason the arrow acted out of sort. The mosquito netting through the window had caught the broad head. I knew it was time to check the area for blood but knowing that none would be found. Well at least I can talk about the encounter and take the lesson learned with me. I will take a mosquito bite any day if mean harvesting a big buck.

Until we meet again, little Red October walks to see another day.

 

Santa is Coming to the Woods

Yes, its that time a of year. Stores across the nation are putting up Halloween decorations in front of the thanksgiving day specials with just enough space in the back for the Christmas trees to be on display. Crazy right?... Well that's not what I am talking about, let me stop sandbagging...its hunting season. It turns grown man into little kids, asking their wives, girlfriends, or domestic partners to go sit in the woods for day. It makes you feel like Santa is coming, and when your parents would hold it over your head if you were bad. I remember my parents making the fake phone calls to Santa to correct my behavior.

As the hours get closer to opening day, hunters like myself start reviewing our wish list like the letters we used to craft up for Santa. Our trigger fingers are so anxious to get a shot, so long as the antlers are big enough. In Pennsylvania my experience growing up, the deer would be bolting across the field and the lead would be chasing his tail and would never quite connect. I watch these hunting shows now a days and large monster bucks just grazing around hunter in the tree. It never seemed to be that slow, it was one shoot or share your siting with the hunting party back at the lodge.

So let's review my Santa wish list this year. The most notable buck is the young 8 pointer from last year, with his towering wide rack and perfect frame would be my first choice. We played cat and mouse all last year but by the end of the season, it seemed like I was the mouse. I would walk out the woods past my trail camera and 15 minutes later he followed my foot steps. Another mainframe 8 pointer has shown up in the past few weeks which could be a good up and comer. The wide 6 would be a fine choice, which has the huge spread and is most likely a younger generation of the buck I shot last year. From there on down, a mix of small 5 points and basket rack deer round out the minor league. Those smaller deer would be good management harvests to remove unwanted genetics and to fill my stocking (freezer).

There is always the off chance during the peak of rut, that a deer you never saw before, steps out and blows your mind. My western PA hunting location is like that. With lots of land ~600 acres (that's a lot for PA) it provides that off chance for a dream buck to pop up in front of you. Its just the "wonder factor" sometimes that hunters wait for as we huddle in our tree stands for hours on end. My wonder factor is set on that huge present that mom and dad (I mean Santa) stuck behind the Christmas tree for you to open last. Would it be a new bike, an air hockey table, or that buck of a life time? In my case it's that young 8 pointer to finally allow me to see him in person.