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Monday, April 10, 2006
Third Time's a Charm Show/Hide This Article
It was Michigan's third turkey season of 2005, a late, guaranteed tag season spanning the month of May and giving hunters plenty of time in the woods. My buddy, Dan DesRosiers, a.k.a. Dome, and I had planned on rotating cameraman/hunter until we both filled up, but since I shot my tom with my bow on the 2nd evening out, Dome had basically the entire month to get his bird with me as his cameraman. The first three weeks of May produced numerous close calls on good toms, but nothing worked out with the archery equipment. Dome's wife was questioning this turkey hotspot of ours, and he was feeling the pressure of bringing home the other white meat. It was time to switch to the shotgun.
On the final weekend in May, I made plans to have a bonfire party at my house, knowing that with the wives all together to visit, us guys could slip out for another hunt.
I greeted Dome in my camo, halfway up my long driveway as he and Kristi pulled in. There were two big toms in my field out back and I didn't want them to spook.
"Get dressed, we're going after a bird." I explained. Dan gave a wink, and didn't hesitate.
So with the hens, I mean wives, cackling in the house, Dome and I were off to the woods. Our strategy was to cut south, run to the back of my property to the west, and cut the toms off as they headed to roost where they usually did.
 Dome had this first tom dead to rights...
A half-hour later, the toms were playing to the script perfectly. I stood about 10 feet behind Dome as he was drawing a bead on the lead tom. They were about 40 yards out, easy range for my turkey cannon, I thought. Suddenly, the battery light starts flashing on my camera! So when Dan whispered. "You on em?" I quickly responded with "Yeah, kill it!"
WHU-BOOOOOOMMMM!!!
The tom took flight. Dome took to his feet and flailed another shot. But it was no use. The bird got away.
"What happened??" Dome asked puzzled.
"You tell me!!" I kind of chuckled.
We assessed the situation and determined Dome had sent the majority of his load into the blue spruce branch that had been blocking his barrel!
 ...but a spruce branch in front of the barrel got in the way.
"Man, that sucks" Dome pouted. "That was my best chance and now season's about over. Looks like try again next year."
"Nah, keep the faith." I reassured him. We'll hit it in the morning hard and get onto more birds. They haven't been spooked in our other spots.
So we relived those events and many others in front of the bonfire that night. At 2:30am we decided we might want to get some sleep since we were going hunting at 4!!
We were both zombies in the morning, and Dome was a little irritated that I wouldn't let him carry his shiny tin coffee mug across the open field to our morning setup. I assured him we'd both be plenty awake soon as the toms start gobbling.
And boy did they. As dawn was cracking, we had 5 toms gobbling steady within about 100 yards of us. We hunt a highly pressured area of southern Michigan so there would be no calling this morning. I was pretty sure where they would go off the roost, and that's what we were banking on.
One hour later we had a huge tom out in front of us strutting at 80 yards. He had not come by in range, and Dome's trigger finger was itching. I zoomed in good and was getting great footage, when suddenly Dome whispers, "Here they come!"
 Dome took aim on his second tom...
I looked left and saw 5 jakes followed by 2 strutting toms coming out to greet the big boy already out there. I swung the camera over to the trailing tom, gave Dome the fire-when-ready queu, and waited for the cannon to sound.
WHU-BOOOOMMMM!!!
Away the birds all flew! Dome jumped to his feet and emptied his last 2 in a fleeting attempt to successfully end his season. No luck. Once again, the toms escaped. Turkeys 2, Dome zero.
 ...but the turkeys went up 2-0 as the shot was too far.
"Man, that's for sure going to be my last good chance!" Dome whimpered. Dome had excitedly fired when they were still out at about 65 yards... good for them, bad for us.
"Relax, think of the stories we get to tell!" I replied. "There are birds all over out here. Let's go find another one!" I reassured a doubting Dome.
Later that morning after checking some other fields for toms, we planned one final check of a known turkey hangout. Sure enough, there were 2 big toms out there about 400 yards away, on a bee-line for the corner of a woodlot I knew well.
"I think I know where they're heading." I explained to Dome. "We're going to have to run, but I think we can cut them off!" Could this be Dome's third solid chance in less than a day?
 Our third chance would require a long run to get ahead of the birds.
With heavy legs, and heaving chests, we made it into position, eagerly anticipating the toms to be coming up over the hill at any moment.
Twenty minutes later, no birds. Doubt was creeping in. Suddenly a double-gobble confirmed they were still out there, but it appeared they shifted their line of travel. We would need to crawl up the fenceline and get closer. Luckily we had a good breeze to hide our noise and the late May foliage was easy to hide in.
Forty yards up the fenceline, we peeked out and saw them about 80 yards away. Turkeys seem to know when you have a shotgun and when you have a bow... they're always "just out of range!"
As we sat there strategizing about what to do next, a huge lone tom made an appearance from the complete opposite direction. He had no doubt heard those toms gobbling and was coming in for a closer look.
As a wise old tom will do, the bird got to within about 100 yards from the other two toms, staying just over the hill from them. "They even hang up on each other!" I thought.
The big tom wasn't coming any closer. In fact, he went over to the shadowed part of the fenceline and laid down! Had we stayed put in our original spot, Dome would already be cutting his tag!
Now the plan was for Dome to sneak back down the fenceline into range, while I stayed put with the camera on it. My heart was in my throat over the next several minutes as I eagerly anticipated another gunshot ringing out.
 The big tom bedded down. One final stalk was in order.
Ten minutes passed, and finally the bird rose to its feet again and began feeding away from us. I could no longer see Dome and was wondering what the heck was happening!
WHU-BOOOMMMMM!!!!!!
The sudden blast about gave me a heart attack, but it was music to my ears. The big tom was flopping.
 Dome's hard-earned, third chance Michigan gobbler
Dome had snuck to one spot and wasn't confident it was close enough, so to be sure, he snuck closer. The shot ended up being 40 yards. Dome's turkey weighed 20 pounds and had a thick, 10 inch beard with 1 inch spurs. Dome had made good on his third chance with a hard-earned Michigan gobbler.
# posted by Jarrod Erdody @ 2:53 PM
The Big Bad Piggy: by Dan Infalt Show/Hide This Article
 I was working at the Wisconsin deer show in madison with my good friend Andrae D'Acquisto selling his Lone Wolf Treestands. The show had gotten a little slow towards the end of the day. There was a little old man in a booth across from me selling wild boar hunts. This old dude was having a bad weekend selling and thought he should get one more deal done before packing up, so he starts staring at me until I made eye contact. Then he shouts across the isle, "Boy, you looking for a REAL adventure? ...An adventure with medieval beasts that can snap your legs with one mighty bite!!!???"
"Listen old man," I shouted back. "I have a pet potbellied pig. He bit me once...left a pretty good bruise, but it was far from tearing my leg off!"
You damn kids think you know everything!" he yelled as he got up out of his chair and hobbled over with his cane. "These ain't no pet potbellies boy!! These is pure 100% Russian hell! These guys would eat a wimp like you and laugh while doing it!"
"If they came after me, one swift kick to the head would teach them who's boss!" I responded. "Besides, if I came with you I would spend the whole day saving YOU!"
After an hour of arguing, I finally caved. The old man was packing a bunch of my money in his pocket as a down payment. I wasn't quite sure if I had just booked a hunt, or got tricked into proving my manhood.
Finally the time had arrived to go chase down a piggy. As I got out of the truck I was greeted by the old guy, Jiim, who shouted, "I thought for sure your chicken-butt wouldn't show!"
I just smiled and said, "Let's see these big bad piggies."
Jim goes over to the back of his pickup truck and pulls out a big 'ol 44 magnum revolver and straps it around his waist. Then he opens the case to a large caliber, military style rifle and he quickly snaps in a 30 round clip. "Where is your rifle boy?" Jim shouts.
"Rifle?" I said. "I brought my bow!!"
"You stupid punk..." Jim growls. "Yur gonna get yourself killed and eaten!"
We had a hard time finding a boar to go after once we were in the 400 acre enclosure. They were hiding pretty good, and it didn't help that I constantly had to wait for the old man to catch up. Finally I spotted a group of piggies and slipped close while Jim waited to catch his breath by a near tree. I got to about 25 yards when one of the oinkers spotted me and they started getting nervous. I quickly drew my bow and sent an arrow into one of the boars. They all ran off after the shot.
"I thought you said these guys would attack me?" I said, chuckling at Jim. "They all just ran. There goes your tip!" I laughed.
We began tracking the boar, and I soon found him lying on a hillside. I could see his chest still moving and knew he would need a follow up shot. I told Jim to stay back while I stalked up close to finish the job. I put all my concentration on the downed boar, carefully placing every footstep. Suddenly, my concentration is broken as Jim shouts "Look out!"
I look to my right and there is a huge boar coming right at me running full tilt. I spun around and started running towards Jim who shouted "run behind the tree". With the big pig right on my heels I ran around the tree next to the old man, right into a large fallen limb lying on the other side of the tree. I spun around to face my attacker. Jim was standing there like a cowboy in a gun fight, staring down the porker. His hand flew down and grabbed his hand cannon out of its holster like Clint Eastwood. As the piggy rounded the corner the cannon sounded. The boar locked up and stopped cold as his head snapped backwards. I saw hair fly off of the pigs head from a spot right between his eyes, as if it were in slow motion! The boar just stood there momentarily as a large bump began to rise out of the red hairless spot on his forehead. The silence was broken as a load audible "click" meant another round had just been chambered. The old boar must have known that sound... he shook himself off, turned around and hurried off. I looked at Jim, and for the first time since I met him he was smiling.
"I can't believe that 44 Mag. didn't kill that beast!!!" I exclaimed.
Jim holstered his gun and said, "WAX BULLETS BOY! Them piggies are expensive!!!"
When we got to my boar, it was already dead. The hunt was over. Jim had earned his tip.
These days, Jim is longer with us. He is probably in piggy heaven right now chasing boars all over the hills with his wax bullets.
# posted by Jarrod Erdody @ 2:52 PM
Friday, April 7, 2006
The Legend of Preacher's Point: by Dan Infalt Show/Hide This Article
A deep voice over the phone asked if I had placed an ad in the Florida newspaper looking for bow hunting clients for my guiding service. I said, "Yes Sir, I placed that ad."
The voice then asked every conceivable question about hunting Wisconsin's whitetails. At the end of the conversation he asked the usual question, "How much is this going to cost me?" I told him my fee was $400 for a 3 day weekend. The man then explained that he was a Preacher of a small congregation and that he could not afford much and asked if I could give one of God's friends a break?
There was a short silence, while I quickly thought it over. Hmmm, I thought, heck, this was my chance to get right with God! I get this preacher a good buck for the wall and that's my ticket to heaven. Sure, how about I knock $100 off the price?
"Sounds good Son," the voice said. "Is your 1st week available?"
I said, "Well that's my best week, and I am giving you a $100 break."
He said, "God would admire your generosity."
I swallowed hard and said, "Ok, I guess."
The Preacher said, "Thank you Son." Once again he hinted at getting in good with God. No, he didn't say it, but I could hear it in his voice. He then asked if he could stay with me for a week rather than the 3 days I had offered. He said he was only allowed 1 vacation a year, and he wanted to make sure he was successful bringing home meat and a trophy for his family. He said he would also have a feast for the poor families in his community. "Dan, you do want to help the poor families, don't you?"
"Yea, I guess so," I said.
"Good!" preacher replied. "Pick me up at the Milwaukee airport September 17th! Bye!"
He hung up before I could tell him pick-ups were extra. Oh well, this would surely make up for all the bad things I had done and all the church I had missed to sneak out hunting. Yep, I was going straight to heaven for this one!
Months later, a fat, old guy in overalls took me by surprise at the airport. He said, "You must be Dan! I'm G.W., the preacher."
On the drive back to Rome, Wisconsin, he started telling me all of his hunting stories. He talked of big mulies in the mountains, black bears in Ontario , and then he told of his last hunt for a Canadian Grizzly. I started to wonder if he went on that hunt for $300? He said, he had always been successful on every hunt he had been on. He said, the year prior to the hunt with me he took the biggest grizzly bear ever shot in that province. The outfitter was so impressed, he named the point where the bear was taken "Preachers point".
"Dan, My goal here this week is to make a 'Preachers point' right here in Wisconsin!"
I secretly wondered how an overweight preacher could be such a great hunter. I figured it must be his connection with God.
In the middle of the conversation the preacher just slumped over and fell against the door of the truck. I quickly pulled to the side of the expressway, thinking, "Oh my God, I killed the Preacher!!!! I am going to hell for sure!!!"
I ran around to the passenger side and opened the door to check his vitals. He had a pulse. I could see his chest rising and knew he was breathing. I used my thumbs to lift his eyelids up and check to see if his eyes were dilated.
He suddenly jumped up and shouted, "HEY! What the heck are you doing? Can't a guy even get a little rest with out being attacked by a crazy hunting guide?"
I apologized and said he would have been thankful if he were really dying. I wondered if maybe God could forgive that one. Heck, he must have a little bit of a sense of humor!
We finally got home and walked into the house as my wife was swearing at her pet potbellied pig that had wandered into the house. The words she used were unrepeatable, I said, "Honey!!! I'm home with the PREACHER!" (The preacher who was glaring at me over his glasses) I apologized, and explained that the pig must of really gotten her mad.
The preacher sat down at the kitchen table where we served him a roast coon dinner. During the middle of his meal he slumped over the table and started to make gagging noises. My wife said, "Quick, do something he must be choking!!!"
At first I didn't know what to do. I told my wife, "Last time I saved his life he yelled at me! And YOU cut the meat chunks too big!"
She said, "You can't just let him die!"
I ran around to the back of his chair and started the Heimlich maneuver. I could barely get my arms around him and had to get on my knees. I did 4 quick thrusts, nothing changed, he was now making loud gasping noises, I pulled him to the floor and did belly thrusts till he jumped back to life shouting, "What the HELL are you doing?? I was just sleeping!!"
"Oh my God, I made the preacher say Hell! My soul is doomed!!" I thought.
"Preacher, we thought you were choking on the coon!"
The WHAT???" He yelled. "You're feeding me COON????"
After he realized he would need me to guide him to his next trophy, and at the least, for a ride back to the airport, he calmed down and told me he has narcolepsy, a sleeping disorder characterized by brief, uncontrollable bouts of deep sleep! I apologized for trying to save his life again, and then we all went to bed.
The next morning I had a heck of a time waking up the old man, but finally he rose. He said he needed his rest and we would hunt in the evening. He finally got back up around 2PM giving us just enough time to get out to one of my favorite spots.
I took him to a spot where a point of timber coming off of a swamp island into the cattails made a perfect travel corridor. I told the preacher, "Every year the first guy to hunt this point gets a crack at a good buck. Maybe, just maybe, this can be the next Preacher's Point!!" I was thinking I wasn't even going to have to wait in line at the pearly gates. The Angels will certainly let the preacher's guide come right in after seeing this huge buck he shot from this spot!
I set up his stand and made sure he was belted in good in case he fell asleep. Then I quietly slipped out of the marsh.
When I got back, the preacher had a big smile on his face and said, "That buck came in just like you said! But I tried moving while he was looking at me and he bolted back into the swamp. I am looking forward to trying another one of these great spots tomorrow evening!" I started to wonder if my preacher was even capable of killing a deer.
The next few sits were uneventful and didn't produce any shooters. So I went out scouting in the morning while the preacher slept in. I found some really good deer sign coming out of a bedding area. Big rubs and scrapes showed the area definitely held a shooter. I took the preacher out there and explained the situation. He was excited and said if he got another chance he would make good on it. I helped him set up a stand quietly, then I quietly snuck back out.
Just before dark I slipped back in and sat down on a hillside a couple hundred yards from the preacher and looked with my binoculars to see if he had gotten anything. As I was looking I saw movement in the bedding area. A very large buck was heading right towards the Preacher.
Soon the buck was right under the preacher and was heading past. I waited for the shot, thinking any second now. But the shot never came. The buck just walked right by and headed up the hill towards me. I was not expecting the buck to come my way. He was supposed to get shot. Once he got downwind of my hiding spot he got alert and bolted back down the same trail he came out on, taking him right past the preacher as he ran back into the bedding area. I walked down to the preacher knowing the evening's chance was blown.
The preacher looked down and said "You just kicked a big buck past me!"
I said, "You didn't see him walk past you towards me?"
He said no, and confessed he may have been sleeping.
We only had one day left to make a Preacher's Point and give me a guaranteed spot in heaven. Of course, the old man wouldn't get up in the morning, so that left just evening hunts.
I started to take him to a remote woodlot way back in the marsh hoping for one last chance. About halfway back, the preacher stops walking and gets a funny look on his face. I new that look. I had seen it before. This was not a heart attack. Nope, the old man wasn't choking. I looked at him and said you gotta poop? He just nodded in agreement and asked, "Got any toilet paper?"
I explained that I did not carry it with me, but that I used it for tracking and had a roll in the truck. I told him to clench his butt cheeks as tight as he could and I would make a run for the truck. I ran as fast as I could and made it back in record time. He was still standing in the same position, but had a little more desperation in his face and a little more brown in his eyes. I handed him the paper and he hobbled off into the trees.
Suddenly the woods erupted with the sound of the preacher relieving himself, a sound burnt unpleasantly into my memory ever since. After quite some time, the preacher emerged and announced his hunt was over.
I put my hand on the preacher's shoulder and searched my sole for a way to describe the ordeal in an understanding way. Finally, I said, "I proclaim this spot from this moment on, "PREACHER'S POINT!"
# posted by Jarrod Erdody @ 2:56 PM
What a Guy Won't Do... Show/Hide This Article
It was the third week of October. The leaves were in full fall color, and I thought it would be a great time to bring my pregnant wife up to Buffalo County Wisconsin for a taste of what I experience on my many weekends away each fall.
My friend, Lee, has a couple of his own farms in the area, so our plan was to meet up each evening and compare notes. Saturday night, Lee arrives to chit-chat about the action thus far....he leaves his dog, Haley, in the truck while we commence to talk hunting for an hour or so.....
Strategies set, Lee departs camp and heads back to his place...or so I THINK!
"Knock Knock" ...goes the door....
"Lemme Guess....Chevy won't start!????" I chuckle...
"I don't know how this happened, but my keys are locked in the truck!" Lee whimpers.
I'm thinking, "Man, this Lee will do ANYTHING to get to stay and hunt my spots!!"
Lee feeds me some line blaming his DOG for pressing the button on his keyless remote, but I'm onto him. He'd just seen the footage of a 155" 10 point my wife videoed that evening and he was wantin in on the action!
"Man, I've GOT to get into that truck so he can get home to his own land!"
An hour into the "break-into-the-truck game" we were still scratching our heads. Apparently Chevy's designers focus more on keeping the coat-hanger trick from working than on making an engine that runs!!
Finally, we're able to pry open the extended cab window about an inch....progress! Now we've got to find something to string into the cab and either hit the unlock button or fish out the keys.
We head for the farmers tool shed....I need to McGuyver a tool for getting me those keys and getting Lee home!! ....there on the wall....BAILING WIRE!!!
So I proceed to straighten out about an 8 foot piece of wire and fashion a hook at the end. We quickly assess that the "hit-the-unlock-button" trick isn't going to work....BUT...the little loop on the keychain in the console is sticking up just a tad!
Now here's where my walleye jigging experience comes in....I deftly approach the loop with the dangling, wobbly bailing wire, knowing that if I knock it the wrong way it may fall and ruin my chance of me hunting by myself in the morning! Steady....steady....steady....GOT IT!!!! I carefully twist the wire just a bit to catch the keys and begin to lift them up and slowly back then out towards our little window opening.
Lee, seeing his chances for staying dwindling, decides holding the flashlight is no longer important and rushes to "help" me pull the wire out. "He wants to shake my catch!" I'm thinking...
Lee tells me to bend the wire up to release it from being "caught" on the seat. But I'm onto him. I can see that would only dump them down onto it and screw my chance to get him home again. So I go the opposite way with it....
The keys rise up over the seat. My heart starts to pound as the dangling keys make their way closer and closer to the window. Lee makes one final attempt to grab the wire and knock them off but it's too late! I back them out the window and fling them to the ground! Whew!! The things a man will go through to hunt another man's spot!! Lee grumbles some misdirected words at the dog like she was the cause of all this, as he drives away in the darkness of Buffalo County. I may not have shot a buck on this weekend, but at least I caught those keys!!
# posted by Jarrod Erdody @ 2:55 PM
Fat Boy's Turkey: by Dan Infalt Show/Hide This Article
I was shaken awake by my frantic wife who whispered desperately, "Someone's in the house". A glance at the clock told me it was 2AM. I saw a faint light flash on then off down the hall from the kitchen. From deep sleep to wide awake, I quietly loaded my shotgun. As I eased to through the door into the hallway, I could hear someone going through the drawers and cabinets. I snuck very quietly down the hall, gun raised to my shoulder, finger on the safety. As I entered the kitchen I saw a huge man in dark clothes going through my cupboard facing the other direction. I turned the light switch on with my elbow not wanting to take my hands off of the gun. I yelled FREEZE. The man turned to face me. There was a sandwich in one hand and a soda in the other. It was Fat Boy, a hunting associate who I was supposed to take turkey hunting in the morning.
"What the hell are you doing in my house?" I yelled at him.
"We're going turkey hunting remember?" he muttered.
"What happened to leaving at 4AM? And why are you eating all my food?" I questioned.
I unloaded the old shotgun so it would be harder for my wife to carry out the threats she was screaming from the top of her lungs. Then I plugged a turkey hunting video into the VCR and jumped into the shower. Fat Boy had never gone turkey hunting before and the video was meant to show him what to expect.
When I came out of the shower he was finishing up my leftovers and drinking my last soda. He said, the guy on the video keeps jumping out of the blind every time he arrows a turkey and chasing it down, then he brakes its neck. "Why is he doing that?" he asked. I explained that this guy was bow hunting and sometimes turkeys will fly away before dying and that makes it difficult to recover them.
We jumped in the truck and started heading for my uncle Bill's cabin in Montello, Wisconsin where we would be hunting. About 1 hour into the 2 hour drive Fat Boy looks over and says, "What kind of gun did you bring for me to use?"
After a good lecture about not assuming I am providing a gun during his turkey hunting lesson, we turned the truck around and lost two hours of driving time. Good thing he showed up two hours early.
We got to Montello just as the rain began to pour. Not expecting rain, I brought a box call that couldn't get wet. I put it in a plastic bag and we headed to turkey heaven. Pretty soon thunder and lightning joined the torrential downpour and the wind began to increase. But we were here now. We would hunt anyway.
We setup in the branches of a blown down tree on the edge of a freshly plowed field. Calling in this wind and rain would be useless so we just waited for it to end. We were completely soaked after a few hours, but finally the weather began to let up. It was still nasty, but a turkey might be able to hear a call now.
I started with a few clucks and a gobble, then made some hen yelps. No answer, I quickly put the call away not wanting it to get any wetter. Then I look up and two turkeys are coming out of the timber about 150 yards away heading right for us. I quietly told Fat Boy about the turkeys. Suddenly his gun rises to his shoulder and he takes careful aim.
"Are they gobblers" he mutters. I explained they were way out of range and to be patient. Finally the birds got into easy range, both were very nice longbeards. The one on the left was a little bit bigger.
I said, "Ok, Fat Boy, take the one on the left…."
BAMMO!!!!!
The one on the right goes down. ( Your other left, Fat Boy ) The bird was flopping in the field doing its death throws, I turned to give Fat Boy a high five, but he was jumping out of the blind all wide eyed running straight at the flopping bird. When he ran into the freshly plowed field he was sinking 12 inches into the mud with each stride. As he reached the flopping bird a mighty kick sent the already dead bird sailing into the sky. I realized then and there that he thought he had to chase and kill the turkey like the bowhunter in the video we watched!!
As the bird sailed into the sky, Fat Boy's momentum caught up with him and his feet went out from under him. In a splattering splash of the stickiest mud I have ever seen, Fat Boys 300+ pounds smashed into the muck. He scrambled to his feet yelling something about the bird being a mounter and ran after it diving on the dead birds carcass. He was strangling the dead bird and wrestling with it as its wings beat from the nerves, convincing him it was attempting to get away.
"Fat Boy, that bird is already dead!" I yelled. But it was no use. His ears were filled with mud.
Finally he emerged from the field with his prize "Mounter" bird that only had 3 tail feathers left and other than a mud-caked beard, it looked like a big bald ball of mud. I fell over laughing.
After regaining my composure I explained to the big ball of mud with two eyes, what he had done wrong. As we walked back to camp, he begged me not to tell Uncle Bill. I told him I would keep his secret.
I barley got through the cabin door when I started telling Uncle Bill about Fat Boy's turkey hunt.
Old Bill laughed so hard I thought we would surely have to call the paramedics to restart his heart.
It got even better listening to Fat Boy try to explain why his bird had no feathers to the Game Warden at registration.
# posted by Jarrod Erdody @ 2:54 PM
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