Hunting Articles by Blood Brothers Outdoors

Saturday, July 9, 2005

	Danny hunted hard for a week with only one sighting, but you can't shoot one hanging around the living room staring at the TV wishing you were hunting.

Danny Infalt Jr. drew his 1st bear tag at age 16. We were hunting near the small northern Wisconsin town of Drummond. Junior had high hopes of scoring after seeing the slob bear I arrowed in Drummond the year before. Junior chose to hunt with my Mossberg shotgun instead of bow, this being his 1st bear hunt.

We hunted hard for an entire week with only one sighting the 1st evening, of a small blackie that was passed on. We had only set aside one week of vacation for bear hunting, not anticipating it being this difficult to shoot a bear with a gun. Both of us were feeling little down in spirits. Danny didn't want to give up. We decided we would come back up the next Saturday and hunt one more evening in an area a good friend and local bear expert, Brad Kuhnert, had suggested. It was the edge of a large swamp where local farmers were experiencing extreme crop damage from multiple bears exiting this swamp at night in search of farm crops.

Friday night I got a quick nap after work, then we were on the road most of the night. We passed the time talking about bear hunting. At one point, I told Jr, if you shoot a bear and its not dead... KEEP SHOOTING!! I told him he might not enjoy tracking a wounded bear nearly as much as tracking a wounded deer. Not that either is fun to track, its just wounded bears tend to get attitude problems.

We arrived at the swamp Saturday morning and set up a bait site. We 1st placed to stands side by side then put a bait about 20 yards away. We put a dozen pastries in a circle around the bait then sprayed vanilla extract up into the air to attract bears from down wind.

We then took a ride to Ashland and ate some lunch. When we returned, we heard something run off, and were surprised to find all the pastries gone and the logs over the bait shifted. We quickly, but quietly slipped up into the old Lone Wolf hang-ups and began the waiting game.

	I drew the short straw and got the nod to go in and pull him out.

This was a long shot. We were hoping to bait a stand and shoot the bear all in one day. Definitely not the best strategy, but the only option left, and besides, you can't shoot one hanging around the living room staring at the TV wishing you were hunting.

We could hear the bear pacing back and forth in the heavy brush downwind trying to smell us. He would not show himself though. Then when we were just about to give up on the bear season, I looked up and saw the bear rise up on two feet to peer over some brush and look at the bait site. I whispered to Danny to get ready! We were almost out of light and the camera would no longer pick up enough light to film.

The bear casually circled the bait taking him right under our stands. He started his slow approach towards the bait giving us a good quartering angle. Jr. raised the gun and squeezed the trigger. KA-BOOM. The bear did a complete flip and was flailing around on the ground. Jr. pumped another solid copper sabot into the chamber and took aim a second time. I told Danny "Don't shoot, he is down."

Suddenly the bruin pops up onto all fours and takes off into the swamp. "YOU TOLD ME HE WAS DOWN, DON'T SHOOT!!! WHAT HAPPENED TO SHOOT TILL HE QUITS MOVING"

I could sense a desperation in Jr's voice, this was his 1st bear, and he thought his senile old man had ruined his opportunity. "Relax" I said, he did not go far. We got down and looked at the blood trail. It looked pretty good, plenty of lung blood. I said lets go eat supper and give the bear a little time, then we will come back and find him.

We needed to hit the road the next morning, so we went to a restaurant and had a quick meal. When we got back, it was black out. You could not see anything without a light. A thought crossed my mind about two things I forgot to do. Bring a compass, and tell someone where we would be hunting.

	We sure got some funny looks at registration when they noticed two plastic slug casings stuck into the bears hide along with some singed hair.

Danny reached into the truck and got the shotgun out. I told him to put it back it was just one more thing to carry out of the woods while dragging the bear. Well, Danny did not get the Indian nick name of "Fears Coyotes" ( We will cover that in a future article) for no reason, and he quickly stated there was no way we were tracking a wounded bear without a gun, or I was going in alone. OK, scardy pants, bring your stupid gun, I told him. We picked up the trail, and soon I realized we were tracking a bit to far for the double lung shot I had thought the boy had made. The blood was heavy though, so we pushed on. After a while we followed the trail up a mound of dirt and found a hole on the top leading down into a cavern.

The blood trail went right into the hole, but we could not see down far enough to see if the bear was down there. One question. Why do I always get the short straw? Anyway, I crawled down there and found a little opening with a bloody bed in the middle of it, but no bear. I looked around and found a small opening leading out of the cavern with some blood smeared on the sides. We had a problem now. That great blood trail had gone away. By bedding down for a while, he had clotted up, and slowed the bleeding. Now the only blood we were finding was where the bear had rubbed his wound against the underbrush. It was not easy, but we were able to stay on his trail for quite awhile. Then, we get to an open area, where the trees have matured and blocked the sunlight from growing under brush. There was no trail to follow, we looked and looked but could no longer pick up any sign. I shined the flashlight around and noticed one tree that was a little raised up higher in the center of the open woods. I thought maybe we could see something from that tree. Yep, long shot, but, I was doing pretty good on the longshots up till now.

We get to the tree and I immediately smell a familiar odor. For those of you who have taken bear, you know what I mean. Bear have a distinct odor, what I was smelling was that odor... Up close! I started getting a weird feeling like I was being watched or something. Jr. said, Dad, you smell that? The light started flashing all over the place... But we couldn't see anything. I even looked in the tree above us. Nothing.

	i quickly explained to Danny that the only thing he saved was the bear from getting one serious ass-kicking.

I was just starting to write it off as some weird swamp gas or something, when I looked down by my feet, which were entangled in a mess of the tree's nasty exposed roots, when I noticed one of the roots had a smear of blood on it. I bent over and touched it, making sure it was blood, and was quite surprised to find it very fresh and still wet, even the portion that was rubbed. I new the bear was close. I tried to look for another spot of blood, twisting around like a circus contortionist to look behind me while my rubber boots were somewhat stuck in the tree roots, and noticed a bushel basket sized hole in the ground leading into the roots.

Just as my flashlight hit the opening, I saw two green eyes shining back. In a flash the bear charged out of the hole which was only a footstep away. He was coming right at me!!! I tried to turn and run out of the way, but my feet got caught in the roots and down I went. My flash light sailed out of my hands, momentarily blinded, I could not see a thing. As I hit the ground, I spun around to face the bear and went for my knife. I felt the bear hit my feet coming right over the top of me, when suddenly and unexpectedly, the night exploaded with a loud KA-BOOM. As the flash of light from the shotgun blast lit up the night, I could see the bear at my feet coming at me, a sight I will never forget! One more KA-BOOM and it was over. The boys back up flashlight lit up the woods, the bear had retreated back down the hole.

The whole episode lasted only a few seconds, We stood there for a second trying to come back to reality.

Once I shook off the attack, I approached the hole, shining the light inside (This time Jr. was right there beside me with the shotgun) No bear in sight. We looked around and found another hole. We could not see the bear! Someone was going to have to climb down there and see if he was still alive. You guessed it... I drew the short straw! Well, since I had to go down there, I decided to wait till morning!! Well, sure enough he was dead in the morning.

We sure got some funny looks at registration when they noticed two plastic slug casings stuck into the bears hide along with some singed hair. I just said two words "Don't ask." Then on the way home Dan Jr., starts up, about how he "Saved his old mans life" and a bunch of crazy stuff about being a super hero. I quickly quieted the boy down, by explaining the only thing he saved, was that bear from getting "one serious ass kicking".

# posted by Jarrod Erdody @ 3:13 PM

Wednesday, July 6, 2005

Every time Carol Infalt's phone rings, she's not sure if it's going to be condolences for her deceased skunk or a joke about her husband's formerly private parts.

She's been getting a lot of both since Ozzie the pet skunk paid the ultimate price for biting Dan Infalt's penis.

I think it's a Freudian typo, but in an e-mail to my newspaper Carol said, "This is when the whole disaster starts."

While the embarrassing news crackled over the emergency scanner, Dan was rushed to Oconomowoc Memorial Hospital last week.

At that same moment, Department of Natural Resources warden David Walz was heading for the Infalts' Jefferson County home to take Ozzie into custody. The animal quickly was euthanized so it could be tested for rabies, which has stirred up the skunk-loving community. In happier times, Carol Infalt holds her pet skunk, Ozzie. The skunk was euthanized so it could be tested for rabies after biting her husband. The test was negative.

Meanwhile, Carol received a call at work from the hospital and was told it concerned her husband. She assumed "car accident."

"They told me where he got bit. I had to come and pick him up," she said.

She's not trying to add insult to unspeakable injury, but she blames her husband and not Ozzie for this one.

Rough-housing with an animal equipped with fangs is a bad idea. She'd warned Dan and their three kids about that countless times since they bought Ozzie as a baby for $100 last year from a game farm in Iowa.

"He was playing rough with him on his lap, and Ozzie bit down on my husband's penis," right through his sweat pants, she said.

Several stitches later, Dan's is fine except for the realization that he'll forever be known as the guy with a skunk on his junk.

"He always wanted to be famous. Maybe now he will be. He was hoping to do it more through hunting," Carol said.

Ozzie was just like a dismember of the family. The de-scented, chocolate-brown skunk slept under Carol and Dan's bed, and his favorite meal was a hard-boiled egg smothered in cheese. Carol had hoped he would live out his life of 10 or 15 years and then she would have him stuffed and mounted at home.

It was quite a scene at their 7-acre homestead in a rural area near Rome when warden Walz showed up along with deputies and a humane officer. Carol's macaw and cockatoo were screaming, and the family's pot-bellied pig was raising a ruckus. Walz found Ozzie hiding under a bed.

Walz contacted a veterinarian, and the Wisconsin laboratory that does rabies testing and was told the law says quarantine is not an option for a wild animal, even a pet one.

A specimen needed to be submitted for testing immediately. Unfortunately for Ozzie, that specimen was his brain rather than saliva or a little blood.

First of all, this was not a wild or vicious animal, but a pet bred in captivity and neutered, Carol argues. She kept reminding me that the breeder has been "rabies-free since 1932."

"I'm 100 percent sure my skunk did not have rabies," she said.

She's right. The tests results, released Friday, were negative.

Skunk owners from around the country have rallied around the Infalts and peppered Walz - and now me - with e-mail.

"He should not have been put down. They did not even give Carol a chance to say goodbye," wrote a woman from South Carolina.

The good news, if there is any, is that at least Carol didn't have to pay to have her beloved skunk killed and tested. The state and county picked up those expenses.

Carol said she's not itching to sue anybody. She just wants it known that even though bad things sometimes happen to good husbands, pet skunks aren't so bad.

# posted by Jarrod Erdody @ 3:14 PM

Sunday, July 3, 2005

	"Just as I was thinking about cutting the distance to 40 yards, he looked at me and must have realized I did not belong there. Suddenly he bolted right at me!"

I raced into the parking lot, late for work again. It was 9:30 AM, I was supposed to start at 7AM. I had been coming in late for work all week, and leaving early. The big boss man just could not understand that the rut was on, and I had more important things to do than "Work." He was pretty mad, and this time he drew the line, INFALT, You better make sure your butt is here on time tomorrow! He screamed. I could not help but smile... He forgot to say anything about leaving early.

The afternoon was getting pretty long and Big Boss Man was keeping an eye on me, I was beginning to think, there was no chance for an escape. However just after 2:00 PM he was notified of a phone call and headed to his office to answer it. The monkey whispered into my ear, its now or never, make your escape. I gave the brown-nosing nark boy who worked next to me 2 quarters and said get us each a coffee, its on me! That 2 quarter trick worked great!! but I can't take all the credit, it was the Monkey's idea.

I made a break for the door, pulled the monkey off my back, and was in the truck flying down the road to hunting heaven in 30 seconds flat. I would have hell to pay tomorrow, but me and the monkey would deal with it in the morning. For now, all I could think about is where exactly to hang my stand. I was pretty sure I knew where the King of all bucks was bedding in a sanctuary on the adjoining property. I would position myself close to the property line and hopefully whack this dude a good one when he crossed over onto legal ground.

I was hunting a suburban area near the city of Milwaukee that was starting to get built up into a rich neighborhood. These rich people would walk all over the place with no regards for property lines and call 911 when they see a hunter on the property they are trespassing on. That bothered me a little, but it was not my land, and the farmer did not want to make waves with the new neighbors who were already looking down there nose's at him.

	"His rack was the freakiest of all...it went over backwards and curled around like a ram horns!"

I was in my tree ready to rock by 3:00 and the deer were already moving 1st I saw some does and a small buck come out of the sanctuary filtering by for about the 1st hour, then I hear some crashing and a bunch of deer come crashing out of the bedding area and run full out right past me and across all the fields, across a major road and out of site. You guessed it! 5 minutes later out come a couple of these new neighbors who just kicked up those deer. I just sat in the tree till they walked past and got down, another day wasted, I thought.

There was still a 1/2 hour left to hunt, but what's the use? I got down packed the old lone wolf stand on my back, and headed for the truck. I was about 100 yards from the truck crossing an old cow pasture that was starting to grow in. I looked to my right and noticed a deer working a scrape. It did not appear to have antlers and I could not see another deer in sight. The deer was about 50 yards away and it was just starting to get dusky, and I light fog was coming up from the low spots. I was sure this was a doe, but it looked weird, small and short, but with a big neck. Regardless, this was a chance for me to whack a doe without ruining a good buck hunting spot.

Just as I was thinking about cutting the distance to 40 yards, he looked at me and must have realized I did not belong there. Suddenly he bolted right at me. I pulled the bow back, hoping it would stop or slow down and give me a clean shot. At 10 yards, I realized he was going to run right into me. I aimed along side his head and shot right into his chest at point blank range. He careened into my right leg knocking me over, then passed by and kept going till he just fell over. The arrow had pierced his heart. When I got to the buck, I could not believe my eyes. It was a mature buck, but a Midget freak of a mature buck!!! His head and neck were big in comparison to the rest of his body. His rack was the freakiest of all...it went over backwards and curled around like a ram horns!

At 1st I was a little peeved that I had to burn a buck tag on this freak, but, it is actually one of my favorite memories now. This happened 10 to 15 years ago. I get asked a lot if I would mount him. Lee is going to try to do something with a mount, but there is one problem, they just don't make Midget FREAK deer forms for taxidermists to use.

# posted by Jarrod Erdody @ 3:15 PM

Saturday, July 2, 2005

	"There are no magic gizmo's, no pixie dust, no easy way to consistently produce huge bucks. You just have to do the work. You have to do the scouting."

It was a full two hours before dark, when I heard the 1st deer coming through the cattails. Slurp, Slurp, his feet made the unmistakable rhythmic, sound only feet getting pulled out of muck can make. It kept getting closer, till finally a 140 class ten pointer emerged into a creek that separated me from the bedding area. The buck crossed the creek right where I expected, the turned and headed right at me. I was a mere 6 feet of the ground in a natural blind formed near the union of several huge limbs in a gigantic willow tree that sat alone in an otherwise treeless environment, I got nervous, as I looked directly into the eyes of the beast. It felt like he was starring me down even though I new he did not know I was there. Finally at 7 yards from the tree he turned with the trail and quartered away He stopped at 10 yards to work over a primary scrape offering me a perfect shot. As he walked away, I questioned my decision to let him go.

Just a few days earlier I had seen a much larger buck cross the creek on the same trail, and work this same scrape, as a matter of fact I had seen him several times since the summer. I could not put my tag on a lesser buck, until I gave this buck a worthwhile effort. I could still see the ten pointer working over some unlucky dogwood bushes in the distance, when a ripple in the creek caught my eye. The buck had slipped in while all my attention was focused on the 10 pointer. I felt foolish for momentarily loosing my concentration enough to lose the ability to hear this one coming. It only took a glance to recognize the buck that had filled my thoughts and dreams since the 1st day I seen him. His massive 9 point rack was dwarfed by the biggest body I had ever seen. He crossed the creek and turned facing me, my nerves and emotions were going nuts. If it was hard to look the ten pointer in the eyes, this was nearly impossible. I kept focused as the slob buck hit spot 7 yards away where the trail finally turned away from me. He stopped facing me head on, put his head down, smelled the ground, then raised his head starring right at me. I wondered if he was hearing my heavy heart beat, but after a short look he just flicked his tail and followed the trail, When he started working over the same licking branch the earlier ten point had worked, I eased my bow back. The arrow was perfect. The buck jumped, looked around then just fell over with a loud thud, and a little kicking.

	"it should be said that I believe a hunter seeking a mature whitetail should spend far more time scouting than hunting."

The 162" score did not do justice for this monarch. His main beams were nearly 30 inches long, and carried there mass all the way to the blunt tips. His tines had circumferences as big around as most bucks bases. You can't just throw a score onto a buck like that. When Lee Gatzke and I, finally got the monster out of the swamp and back to camp, we were amazed when it bottomed out my 300 pound weight scale after field dressing. This buck had to be near 400 pounds alive. I have crossed paths with a few unlucky bucks that scored higher, but this would be my best buck, the one that meant the most.

The moral of this story is not just to brag about my favorite buck, Instead, I would like to share the scouting that was involved in getting this buck. First of all, it should be said that I believe a hunter seeking a mature whitetail should spend far more time scouting than hunting.

Scouting for me, never really starts or stops, its kind of always going on. Its funny how your ears tune into anything hunting related or having to do with the where abouts of the next monarch. Any way, after hearing about some great bucks some people had seen in a certain area, and seeing some huge sheds another guy had found, I decided to check out this new property. It started at home, looking over plat books to determine land borders and owners, and viewing aerial photo's to find starter points. I started driving around this particular swamp, looking at the trails and tracks in the snow, and also looking at how the local hunters accessed there hunting spots. I walked the land completely, starting in January and completing in march. I looked for the food sources, buck bedding areas, doe bedding areas, travel funnels, rubs, significant tracks, etc. I learned how the bucks traveled this land. However, even more importantly, I learned how other hunters hunted the land, I found the trees they hunted out of, the permanent stands, there parking spots and travel routes to and from there stands . This was then mapped out, and when I compared the travel and bedding of the bucks to the travel hunting of the hunters, I was then able to find overlooked areas where big bucks could find some peace on this property. As usual, one of the best spots was right next to the road only a few hundred yards from the main parking spot. The bucks were bedding in cattails mixed with small trees and dogwood bushes on the other side of a creek within a stones throw from the road. All the hunters walked down the path a way then some turned off and set up, some went to the middle of the swamp and set up. But nobody, walked along the road and set up near the parking lot. It was one of the few spots these bucks had not felt human invasion. The best part was that if I parked my truck just right, I could see into the staging area, and view the bucks as they staged after leaving there bedding area just before dark. Of course this had to be done covertly. I would make believe I was reading the paper and never wear hunting cloths or have hunting stickers on my truck as I did not want to tip off other hunters to where the bucks are. Occasionally all summer I would glass the bucks seeing all the bucks that came out of the bedding area and how they moved around the staging area. At the same time I was watching other bucks in other areas as back ups. I needed a good wind in order to hunt this spot, and once the season came, it was a waiting and watching game until everything was perfect. By watching deer like this, I had learned that a good wind is not necessarily a wind blowing away from the bedding area. This is because the deer would naturally come out much later, or use a totally different exit when the wind was not in there favor, but with the proper cross wind, that was close to being in there favor, I could slip in and get the job done. Moral of the story. 300 hours scouting 1 hour hunting. There are no magic gizmo's, no pixie dust, no easy way to consistently produce huge bucks. You just have to do the work. You have to do the scouting.

Labels: 400 pound buck, deer story, slob, whitetail buck, whitetail slob

# posted by Jarrod Erdody @ 3:15 PM