|
 Subscribe to our Articles
Subscribe to our mailing
list and we will notify you of any hunts or leases that we obtain.
|
|
Thursday, February 9, 2006
The Last Hunt: by John Williams Show/Hide This Article
My Father was an absolute fanatic about deer hunting. It raced through his blood and defined his life. Mom said that he only talked about deer hunting 2 times a year, six months before deer hunting and six months after deer hunting. My Father taught us how to hunt when we were young, and to this day, my brother and I still enjoy it.
He was dying of cancer. It was eating him up inside, like rot in an oak. Soon Dad would meet God. His spirit never faltered and when our despair made conversation difficult, we could always talk about his favorite subject, deer.
When the season came around, I took my Father hunting with me. He only weighed 93 pounds and he was very weak. I took him to a lonely tree stump, which was my best hunting stand. It was hard to carry my Dad who was once so strong, in my arms. I fought my tears.
As sick as he was, I could feel his excitement. I told him that I would check back every two hours or so, and he replied that I need not worry. I said "Good Luck" and walked off.
Dad had quietly stopped taking his pain medication two days before opening, so that he would be sober when he had a rifle in his hands. Sitting on the stump, a wave of pain shot through him, squeezing him tight, like a vise. During one of these moments a deer walked in front of him.
Except for the steam rising from its wet nostrils, the buck was a statue. Like a ghost, it stood without a sound, stock still, looking at everything in the clearing with alert eyes. His head was crowned with amber antlers. The morning sun, which sometimes paints everything red, gave the buck a coat of rich gold. The magic moment faded. The deer began to nose the ground looking for acorns.
Dad slowly let out his breath and raised his rifle a bit at a time. Gradually, gun and hunter lined up on the shoulder of the deer. The pain of the moment before was forgotten, but his body did not move as smoothly as in years past and every motion was willed. His finger clicked off the safety and began to gently pull on the trigger. The rifle exploded with the sound of thunder, slamming into his cancer-wasted shoulder, and pushed him back. It hurt. The buck collapsed under the impact of the bullet, and after a minute it was still.
That hunt was the one bright spot of a hard year, and we would talk about it often. The next year my Dad did not go deer hunting. My brother and I did not think we were going either. His time was short. The whole family had been expecting this for a long time, and we were all down.
Dad insisted that we go deer hunting opening morning. "I will know when you both get one." He told us. We went because we loved him, and we showed that love by obeying his wishes.
My brother and I hunted close to home. The sky was iron gray and windless in the swamp. I hunted a well-traveled cane break crossing. A six pointer came down lane following 3 does. I made a clean kill and within the moment, I heard my brother shoot from the hill where he was hunting and I felt a chill. We had both taken our bucks at 7:36. I called home after we registered the deer. Mom said that Dad had died at 7:36.
This true story is dedicated to a man in Watertown, Wisconsin, who loved his Father.
# posted by Jarrod Erdody @ 3:01 PM
The Bathtub Bear: by Dan Infalt Show/Hide This Article
I got a little excited when a good friend, Dave, showed me a picture of a monster bear that was coming into a friend's brother's backyard deer feeder near Wausau, Wisconsin. The feeder was an antique bathtub filled with corn. The bear in the picture had two legs on each side of the feeder, it looked like a big black bus parked over the top of the tub. The next picture was of a big old bear tooth. Dave explained the $400 camera was ruined, the bath tub bear had chewed the lens right off of the camera. The only thing salvaged was the film.
Then Dave says nobody in his group drew a tag to hunt this beast and he is living on the public property surrounding the cabin where he was filmed. By now, my mind is going a million miles a minute trying to think of some clever way to trick Dave into letting me hunt this incredible bruin. Suddenly Dave breaks the momentary silence by saying, Don't you have a kill permit for this year? Why don't you come up here with your bow and whack that beast? It took me a few seconds to regain my speech, then I just kept mumbling.
The very next weekend found me heading for Wausau with a truck load of bear goodies. When I got there I met Dave's brother, Bob, who took me to the feeder where the bath tub bear was hanging out. There were monster paw prints all over the tub and ground. I followed a beaten path through the woods till it entered a swamp about a 1/4 mile from the cabin where I thought the bear was probably bedding. I found a good area where several different trees could be bowhunted out of with consideration for the daily wind directions, and set up a bait.
The bait was very close to the trail that the beast was traveling on, I had a very good feeling about this spot, but I set up a second spot in a different area just in case. Bob made me a happy hunter when he offered to bait for me every other day.
I traveled back the next weekend to check on things and was pleased to find out the monster bear was hitting the bait daily leaving his huge tracks in the mud. It looked like he had the bait to himself. I have noticed that when big bear bed close to baits they keep other bears from hitting that bait, they kinda, take it over. Bob had seen another bear near his friends cabin with a white "V" on its chest. He was sure it was coming in to the back up bait. I told him, its the bath tub bruin, or nothing.
I got up really early opening morning and made the trip up to Wausau by 10 AM. I met Dave and his brother at the cabin. Bob said, I got some bad news. Your bait hasn't been hit all week, and a large group of bear hunters set up there campsite 100 yards from your bait. I went out there and looked the situation over. Yep. the bait had not been touched. I could hear the campsite 100 yards away. I went to check on my secondary bait, suddenly the white "V" bear sounded like a keeper. However, bad news turned worse. There were two hunters set up near my 2nd bait. One hunter covering each trail to and from my bait. I am sure these guys didn't know my bait was there, they just saw all the bear sign and set up.
I thought about how I was thinking nothing could ruin this hunt, heck I was even looking at taxidermy catalogs trying to pick out a form. I felt like a fool. I walked back to the cabin hanging my head, like a dog that had been kicked. My two buddies were half asleep, tired from there night shift jobs. It was 12:00 midday, I sat there for a while, but couldn't stand being in the cabin. I said go ahead and get some sleep, I am going to go sit in the bath tub bear stand for the rest of the day.
I crawled up into my Lone Wolf hang-on and got comfortable. I could see the hunters in the campsite 100 yards away. They were playing loud music and partying. I was just starting to wonder what else could go wrong when the 1st few rain drops hit me. I stared up at the heavens and cursed my foolishness, how could I not realize this was going to happen? Its public land. I am hunting 100 yards from a dirt road, what did I expect.
I glanced back down towards the earth below and was greeted with an unbelievable site; It was the bath tub bruin! He was walking straight at me at 1:00 in the afternoon. I slowly moved for my bow that was resting in the bow holder on my stand platform. By the time I slipped the bow out and slid to my feet the monster had walked right trough my bait site and just kept heading up the trail, straight towards the corn feeder. I suddenly realized, He was still using this trail, he was just preferring to eat the corn over my hard candy and fruit. I quickly drew the bow and made the shot in one fluid motion, just before he disappeared into the thick canopy. In a moment the bear was gone.
I sat down, trembling, did it really happen? Did I get him? It was like someone started turning the volume back up. I came back to reality and could hear the nearby party and music, then suddenly there was an erie death cry from where the bear ran.
The beast was mine, and I knew it.
I took my tree stand down after sitting and just taking it in for a while. Packed up my stuff and headed back to the cabin. I walked in an hour before dark surprising the two sleeping buddies of mine. Then Bob starts to lecture me about hunting till dark...Bob didn't know me really well.
"You have to sit in that stand till there ain't no shooting light left" he growled at me.
I went along with the flow and said, "But its raining!"
"What? You can't take a little rain" Bob screeched.
Then Dave smiled and said, "How big?" ...Dave knew me well.
I smiled back and said, "It's the bath tub bear. He is at least 300 pounds."
When we got to the bear, none of us could believe the size of it. We could barley move it. Later at the check-in station, the slob bear weighed in at 500 pounds. I got a life size mount of him and a lifetime of memories. The skull measured 20 5/16".
 The bathtub bear weighed 500lbs and had a 20 5/16" skullLabels: bathtub bear, big black bear, Dan Infalt, wisconsin
# posted by Jarrod Erdody @ 3:01 PM
The Backyard Buck: by Dan Infalt Show/Hide This Article
 Some of my fondest memories come from my childhood. When I was 8 years old, I wanted to go deer hunting with my older brother, Bob in the worst way. He was my idol. Every Thanksgiving week he would travel to Black River Falls and come back with a little buck that seemed like a huge trophy to a young boy. He would tell me stories for hours about everything that happened.
Bob once again headed away to a place I only knew as “Up North.” I really wanted to go bad, but Dad said I was too young and needed to have patience until I was old enough.
Dad was a smart man. The north woods was no place for a child who was addicted to adventure. However Dad felt sorry for the boy in the driveway kicking stones. After the hunters left, he bought me a little gift... a small, red, Fred Bear fiberglass toy bow with a couple of wooden arrows with field tips. He said, "Why don't you practice hunting with this 'til your old enough to go with Bob?" All I could think was Bob will sure be impressed when he comes home and sees the big trophy buck I am going to shoot with my new bow!
I practiced shooting every tin can I could find, imagining the cans being big bucks or charging bears. Then I started stalking the woodlots and fields around my Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin house looking for real bucks and bears. I saw a couple deer but was frustrated when every stalk was busted and the deer would just run off.
Suddenly I was faced with the last day of the nine day deer season. Dad told me Bob had called to say he got a buck and was on his way home. I had to give it one last try. I took my toy bow out for the last hunt. This time I took my dog, Beuford, along. He would help me find a buck.
I crawled through some brush into an opening in a thick overgrown field. As I stood, I was face to face with a buck staring back from about 10 feet away! Beuford circled the buck and went at it from behind while I just stood in shock staring at the buck who was staring at me. As the dog came up on the bucks rear, the animal lunged forward and ran right over the top of me. One of his antlers caught my jacket ripping it as I slammed to the ground. As he jumped over me a hoof rammed into my guts leaving a large muddy track. By the time I got back to my feet, the mighty buck was gone, never to be seen again. That's when the tears started.
My neighbor, Mrs. Martin, came to my rescue after witnessing the event from her porch. She could not cross a river that separated us, so she called my Dad who came running out to make sure I was not hurt.
"Are you OK?" he hollered.
I said "Yes" in between my moaning cry's.
He said, "Then why you cryin?"
I said, "Cuz I didn't get the buck!"
I was waiting at the door when Bob got home. "Look at the track on my jacket, Bob!" I was now part of the club...I had my own hunting story! The next week the story appeared in the Milwaukee Journal and word of "the boy who got run over by a buck" story started to spread.
That was over 30 years ago, and I am still getting even with the bucks!
# posted by Jarrod Erdody @ 3:00 PM
The Mobile Hunter: by Dan Infalt Show/Hide This Article
The number of hunters who set up a tree stand in a location or two and then keep hunting that location repeatedly throughout the deer season is very surprising to me. One of the main reasons I harvest my fair share of adult whitetails is my ability to be a mobile hunter.
A whitetail deer can smell human scent 3 days or more after a hunter passes through an area. One of the reasons hunters do not adapt is because young deer such as that 1.5 year old buck that the majority of hunters are shooting, sometimes still lack the fear of such scent. These hunters shoot that small buck and convince themselves that is a good buck for the area.
The advantages of being mobile go beyond ground scent control. At most of my predetermined ambush sites I have several trees picked out and I decide which one to setup in based on several factors:
- I always set up on the downwind side of the trail.
- I can move my stand over to a new tree if the fresh deer sign has shifted
- I can try to keep the sun at my back so its in the deer’s eyes not mine
- I can quickly move to a new location if my spot is ruined by someone taking a walk, or if I see deer movement in the distance.
One of my most productive techniques is to scout in the winter and spring months and find big buck bedding areas. I will closely examine the beds in these areas and study how the bucks enter and exit these areas. A lot of hunters assume the large mature bucks are all nocturnal and only move at night. This is not true. They move quite a bit during daylight, but that daylight movement is usually limited to the bedding and staging areas. A staging area will be located very close to the bedding area, usually within 100 yards, sometimes much closer. I like to look for several trees within these staging areas where I can hunt from. I look for trees that could be hunted from based on wind direction, and other factors mentioned earlier. I also keep in mind my approach to these spots.
You never want your scent blowing into the bedding area, and you want to try to find a way to access your stand without crossing the deer trails and leaving deer educating scent. All this work, and I will only hunt this spot once or twice a season. However, I will find many similar spots and plot them on a map or in a notebook with notes.
 A 2005 bow kill shot while hunting a staging area
Occasionally I will just grab my stand and go. I will walk along the transition zone (The area where two types of cover mesh, usually close to the bedding area) and find hot sign and setup. That works especially well when hunting food sources such as looking for that one hot white oak that all the deer are going to for the best acorns, and trying to get there first before all the nuts that fell during the day are all gone.
I use a small, lightweight climbing stand when possible, but most of the trees in transition zones do not accept climbing stands. They seem more suited for open hardwoods. My stand of choice is Lone Wolf, both the Alpha Hang-On with 4 climbing sticks and the Lone Wolf Hand Climber.
 The Lone Wolf Alpha Hang-On Treestand
These stands are high quality and made in southeast Wisconsin. The sticks attach right to the back of the stand with a couple bungee cords. I also bungee on a small pack with my hunting essentials and my jacket if the weather is colder. They are a critical part of my success in quietly sneaking in and setting up on these bedding/staging areas and allowing me to be a mobile hunter.
# posted by Jarrod Erdody @ 2:59 PM
The 8 o'clock Buck: by Dan Infalt Show/Hide This Article
There was this old man I used to work with named Bill. He lived most of his life in the Wisconsin North woods. He was a joy to work with cause he was an old trapper and hunter who had hundreds of stories to tell. I could trust him with my hunting secrets and he would keep his mouth quiet. I was having a bad year and kept telling Bill how I wasn't seeing the big bucks I had scouted earlier in the year.
Bill drove past one of the main farms I hunt every day on his way to work, and started telling me of a large 10 pointer he was seeing every morning in an open area on the back of the farm. He said the buck was crossing the road from south to north and every morning at 8AM there he would be, on one side or the other heading onto "my" farm.
It sounded good, in theory, however, I figured he was seeing a smaller buck than he described. There were no trees to setup in where he was seeing this buck anyway. So I just kept hunting the other side of that farm and was seeing nothing but small bucks. I had it in the back of my mind to go over there and check out Bill's suggestion that I whack the eight o'clock buck, but just never made it over there with chasing other leads.
Pretty soon early bow season was just about over and gun season was about to start. I told Bill how frustrated I was about not getting onto any nice bucks, and he laid into me. "You're frustrated!" screamed Bill. "I have been telling you to go hunt that dang 10 point all season and you just sit on the other side of the woods! He was out there again this morning and the morning before!!" I gave a sorry excuse about there being no trees over there and he just looked at me over his glasses and said, "You want me to go kill um for ya?"
That evening I went over to where the old man had claimed the big buck was crossing the road. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. There where huge tracks everywhere going back and forth. I looked at the landscape and found a spot where there was a dip in the grassy terrain where I could dig a hole in the ground and shoot down the dip without being detected.
Now that bow season was over, I let that spot cool down and went to some great opening weekend haunts. Nothing but little bucks were seen and pretty soon the 9 day gun season was coming to a close.
I stopped by the shop even though I was on vacation and asked Bill if he still had been seeing the eight o'clock buck. "Yep", he said, "every morning."
The last morning of the gun season found me in the hole waiting for my buck. Just as the sun was starting to crest the horizon, here he came. I could hardly believe my eyes. The huge buck's 8-point rack was over 2 feet wide. He had short tines and looked to be so old his antlers were going downhill. As he passed by within easy bow range, I shot him cleanly with my 12 gauge.
Monday morning I went into the shop and proudly get Bill. I handed him a 12 pack of beer and said come out and see what I got. Bill comes out side and says, "Nice buck."
So I say, "Well don't you recognize him?"
Bill says, "Nope that isn't the buck I have been seeing! The eight o clock buck is a ten pointer not an 8 point, and he is high and tight, this one's low and wide. Besides, I saw the eight o'clock buck crossing the road 20 minutes ago on my way here!"
 I was stunned when Bill explained to me this was NOT the 8:00 buck!
This news floored me. Could there be two bucks going though that crossing? I had shot the wide eight pointer at 1st light, over an hour earlier than Bill was seeing the eight o'clock buck cross. The buck ran out into the field and died where I just picked it up with the truck, so I didn't scent up the area.
The next day when Bill came in and announced he had seen him again, that was the last I could take! Opening morning of late bow season found me once again in the hole. At sun up a few does and a small buck came by, but no sign of the 10 pointer. One hour after daylight, here he came, on the exact trail the wide buck had used. As he passed by at 10 yards I zipped an arrow through his lungs. I looked at my watch, 8:00 AM!!
This time Bill came out of the shop and said, "THAT'S THE BUCK!!!! You owe me another 12 pack!"
 My 8:00 Buck!
# posted by Jarrod Erdody @ 2:59 PM
|
|
