Mickey Donahoo, my softball buddy, and I have a mutual friend who is recovering from surgery that resulted in a terrible, staph infection and he requested that Mickey shoot him a doe. We were at batting practice this past Tuesday and I mentioned to Mickey that he should come over on Saturday afternoon and comply with the request.

Mickey arrived at 3:00 PM and we drove out, then walked to a tree stand on the backside of my ranch. Within one hour he nailed a real nice doe. Nailed it to say the least, at sixty-five yards, he placed one shot from his rifle, right between the deer’s eyes!

Getting into a nearby ground blind. I was waiting to hear Mickey’s shot. My wait was a short one. Hearing his shot, I went back to the house, got the tractor, then went back out and picked up the deer and Mickey. The deer had fallen right in its tracks, right beside the feeder, so Spike, the wonder dog, wasn’t needed to track it down.

However Spike did take charge and guard it once we brought it back to the house.

After I had moved to Atlanta, a neighbor, John Walton and I had joined a hunting club that featured parcels of land all over the state. Some of it offered good quail hunting however, our results were only fair at best, but we did get to see a lot of the state.

On this particular hunt, we reserved for Friday and Saturday, probably the best spot we had found, a several hundred, acre track of harvested soy bean fields bordered by some nice wooded cover. Brad was a sophomore in high school and his JV football season had ended, so I got him out of school and we headed south of Atlanta for some quailing.

We arrived near Thomasville around noon, found our hunting area and made camp. We were staying “out” Friday night, which should be fun since the weather featured warm days and cool nights. We didn’t even think about the warm afternoons bringing out the rattlers.

Rooster, my Brittany Spaniel, Brad and I took off to one side of the large bean field and James and Crystal, his German Shorthair, went the other way. Shortly I heard, pop, pop, James had already found a small covey as Brad and I proceed along the edge of the field, not finding any birds.

We got to the corner of the field and Rooster locked down hard on a point. Quickly approaching, whirrrrr, the covey broke wild before we could get off a shot. We marked the spot where the covey flew into the woods and all three of us, Rooster, Brad and I, hurried after the birds. We passed through where the covey had flushed and, whirr, a late riser, bam, and he fell to my twenty gauge, pump.

Rooster and Brad continued chasing the covey and seeing my bird on the ground, I ran over to pick him up. Retrieving the bird, I headed back toward Brad, who was masked by the thick brush and not seeing him, I hurried in his general direction.

Rooster was barking and Brad was yelling to me, “Dad, Dad, up here quick.” Running to the sound of his voice and coming out of the woods, I saw Brad a-straddle of a barbwire fence. Rooster was still barking, snarling and running around the fence post that suspended Brad as he yelled to me, “Dad, there’s a big rattler right under me,”

Hurrying faster I saw that he had laid his gun down on the ground prior to climbing the fence and the rattlers had “treed” him. He was right, it was a big one, coiled and rattling, and at that moment, more interested in the dog. Rooster knew about snakes having hunted with me for three years in Arizona and, bam, one shot did the snake in!

Rooster was still barking as Brad climbed down from his perch. We stretched the snake out and it was a good five feet long and bigger around than my forearm! My aim was true and the shot shredded the snake’s head, leaving the skin undamaged. Brad said, “That snake could’ve bit me or Rooster. Let’s eat him Dad.” We both thought of an old Indian saying, “Eat your enemies and gain some strength from them.” Why not?

We cut off the rattles and saved them, whew, it smelled like uria, and the fertilizer plants in Pasadena, Texas. We skinned the rattler and rolled up the skin for now and it really stunk! We gutted it and except for the smell we had a hunk of pretty, white meat. Taking a canteen I washed off the meat, eliminating some of the smell. Later, I learned that snakes don’t have kidneys and liquid waste is secreted out of their body’s through the skin.

We chose this time to go back to camp and prepare the snake for supper, fried rattler! We cut the snake into one and one-half inch pieces, rolled them in corn meal, wrapped the five pounds of meat in foil, popped it in the cooler and waited for Walton to get back. We saved the quail for back home, being confident we would get more the next day.

We had heard John shoot several times and he and Crystal returned with three quail. He said, “You all came in early. What’s up?” We told him about our snake encounter and told him that we were having rattle snake for supper. He blanched! Not hesitating, we showed him the large quantity of white meat and began to fry the snake and fries. After supper, John said, “That rattle snake wasn’t bad.” He was right. All white meat, sweet and tender, not bad at all!

We not only ate the snake, but the rattles now grace a special display in my great room, and, we made one hat band and one belt from the skin.

Deciding to pass on the Veterans Day festivities, I got up early on Wednesday the eleventh and was getting ready to go to Georgetown and play softball when I walked to the picture window in our kitchen and looked out over the cut, hay field.

To my surprise, in the before sun up, haze, there walking down the fence row, obviously looking for a doe, was a nice eight point buck! He was a young one, three and a half years old with horns well outside his ears and a tall rack. Not much mass, but a real pretty animal!

The deer continued on his way and against the heavy brush two hundred yards across the field, I saw movement and a closer look with the binocs, proved it to be a big, buck, much larger than the “fence walker”. The big boy sensed I was looking at him and broke into a trot, never giving me a look at the size of his rack, only it looked to be half again as tall and much heavier that the first one.

Both my camera and rifle were in our old, ranch house. Such is life! Someone said, “The best blind is your back porch!”

Getting home Wednesday afternoon in time for the PM hunt, with a pulled ham string, thanks to softball, I hurried out to an unused blind on the backside of my property that overlooked a well used deer trail. Taking along a freezer pack, I sat that under my pulled “hammy” for the two hours of my hunt.

Just before dusk, along came a most unusual deer, only six points, but with tall horns that were at least six inches outside his ear. Needing to be in Killeen at 8:30 PM to pick Layla up at the airport, she was returning from a softball executives meeting, I passed on the buck and couldn’t even get my camera up for a “shot”.

All I got was a cold leg!

Randy shot his first deer when he was twelve years old. In 1978, in a drawing held by the Georgia Game and Fish Department, he and I were chosen by the state to participate in a special youth hunt on Georgia’s, Sapelo Island.

After the drawing, we hied ourselves off to Oshman’s, Dunwoody store and including two boxes of ammunition, I bought him a Remington, Mohawk 660 rifle in .243 caliber, with a 3X9, Weaver Scope, all for under $250.00. The next afternoon we sighted the rifle and scope in on the range at the River Bend Gun Club and it shot right on the money.

On Sapelo Island, one shot, bagged the nice, spike, shown below.

Twenty-five years later, Randy’s oldest Son, Austin, at the time age eight, shot this spike, with one shot, on his first hunt using his Dad’s rifle. The deer was shot out of The Scaffold Blind on our ranch.

This year, taking advantage of our State’s Special Youth Hunt, Randy and his middle Son, Sean, were in Maw-Maw’s Blind on the ranch and he shot this spike. One shot was all it took!

The same Remington, 660, with the same 3X9 Weaver scope, over a thirty-one year period, bagged all three deer, all with one shot! This little rifle is amazing, no recoil, deadly accurate and has dispatched over thirty deer!

I’m sure that in five or six more years, Randy’s youngest Son, Jeremy, will duplicate this feat and with another one shot kill!

Because Layla told me Friday night that I should try her blind, Maw-Maw’s Blind, for my brief opening morning hunt, like a good husband, I did what I was told. After an hour and only seeing a yearling, deer, I called it quits. Then I was off to watch Grandkids and their athletic adventures.

Getting back in time for the afternoon hunt, I didn’t see any horns, but I got some nice, “shots” of deer gathered around the feeder close to a tree stand. Seeing probably a dozen does and yearlings this just whetted my appetite.
   

Sunday morning Sara, Brad’s Daughter, and her boyfriend, J.T. came over from Copperas Cove and went to Church with me. After a good lunch at Peabody’s, a local caf©, recognized around our fine State for their cakes, pies and good food, we went back to the ranch and spent the afternoon shooting, so no hunting Sunday.

This morning Layla will fly out of Killeen to attend a softball executives meeting, so no hunting then. However, this afternoon I’ll be back in the tree stand and maybe I’ll get a real shot!

Yesterday morning, when I got up and looked out of our kitchen window, not over a hundred yards away, two bucks had been fighting right out in the field behind our house! The loser walked, dejectedly away, with head down, across the field. To claim the prize, the winner ran up to the fence, but a bigger buck was already courting the doe that had caused the earlier skirmish. The two ran away into the thick stuff and the “winner” resumed his search for a hot, doe.

Of course, my camera was in my office in the old ranch, house!

I’ve heard that the best blind is on your porch, maybe not this morning, because I”m in the “Corner Blind”, at least until 9:00 AM, then I’m off to San Marcos to see a Grandson play football and then back to Killeen (if the game, postponed from Thursday, will be played at all) to watch a Granddaughter, who is a cheerleader.

Maybe I’ll get back in time for the afternoon hunt?

Some, of the many, pictures that folks send to me are really neat! Unusual things from the outdoors, fine trophies and some spectacular game cam “shots”. Today’s post has them all.

Warren Blesh at RRR Ranch sent me this one of a young lady with a trophy buck she shot last Saturday during our State’s youth hunt. She and her Dad had visited Warren to harvest one of his many does, but this fine specimen walked out of the brush and hung around too long and finally Warren told her, “Merry Christmas, take him!”

Dayton House, a Church friend, sent this picture of a hog killed on October 28, 2009 in Mobile County, Alabama. The hog was six foot, eleven inches long, forty-four inches high at the shoulder and had almost four, inch lower, tusks! One of the largest free roaming hogs yet shot!

Everett Simms, one of my softball buddies, sent me this sequence of pictures taken on his low fence, ranch in Jackson County, Texas. The ranch is outside of Port Lavaca, an area not known for monster deer. He’s growing some good ones on his ranch!

This first picture is of “the” ten pointer taken in July with the deer still in velvet.

This picture shows “the” ten pointer with a buddy, a very nice eight.

Everett told me that he’d send me the picture of “the” ten when they shot him!

The weekend before the opening of firearms deer season, our fine, State holds a two, day youth hunt. This past Saturday, my Son, Randy and Grandson, Sean, age 9, took advantage of this special hunt to bag Sean’s first deer. This past week Randy picked up a Youth Hunting License for $7.00 that includes fishing and Sean was ready to go.

Last year Sean tried his hand at shooting Randy’s .243 but the gun was just too big and he wasn’t ready. It was a different story this year. He had made his mind up that he would master the .243 and get his deer. His efforts on the practice range showed that he was ready. Friday night, as he was going to bed, he drew this picture of his aim point on the deer.

At 6:45 Saturday morning, the coolest of the year at thirty-nine degrees, Sean and his Dad climbed into Maw-Maw’s blind and got ready.

They saw a lot of skittish deer, but none came into the feeder and as the morning passed, Sean’s eyelids got heavy and he went to sleep.

Sure enough, with Sean being asleep, here came a spike into the feeder. Randy shook Sean awake and his eyes popped at the deer calmly picking up the kernels of corn. Sean steadied himself and aligned the .243 just behind the spike’s front shoulder, and bam! The deer shuddered at the impact but jumped out of the feeder, ran a few yards then dropped!

Sean’s first deer! No cut off shirttail for Sean, just the bloody fingerprint on his forehead, (a family tradition) denoting a successful, first kill!

During his future hunts Sean will get bigger animals, but he will always remember this first one.

Nothings better than a Son getting his deer on his first hunt!

The quail season in Georgia opened the Saturday before the opening of deer season and John Walton, a hunting buddy, Mark Greenberg, a church friend and also a hunting buddy, and I had arranged a hunt south of Jonesboro. Supposedly this was a good place.
In their kennels Rooster, my Brittany Spaniel, and Crystal, John’s German Shorthair were bouncing up and down with excitement as we let them out and began our hunt. We started patrolling around the edge of a large, cut, soy bean, field.

Not a hundred yards into our hunt Crystal froze and Rooster “backed” her point. We spread out and walked in on the birds and “whirrrr”, a big covey of twelve or fifteen came rocketing out of the brush along the edge of the field. This was classic! Our guns exploded simultaneously and several birds fell. Both dogs began to “hunt dead” and we collected four quail. To us it looked like it would be a good day!

We continued around the field and within three hundred yards, both dogs come down on point and we collected two more. So far our hunt and the selection of this place was definitely looking good as we cut through some swampy woods on our way to another bean field.

Ahead in some honeysuckle I saw Rooster on point and picking up the pace toward him I shouted, “Point up here,” as John came up on my right and Mark on my left. Crystal, honoring Rooster’s point froze next to John’s right leg. Right behind Rooster, I stepped past him into the honeysuckle expecting the customary “whirrrr”, and, of all things, up jumped a buck!

All at once, literally all “hell” broke loose. Crystal rushed in between John and the deer; the buck lunged at me and I unloaded three number eights at a three, foot distance, straight at the deer’s head, in the excitement obviously missing! Rooster charged the deer and the deer hooked Crystal and threw her to the side; James yelled “Crystal,” and as he moved to his right to reach for dog, the deer hooked him with his horns and ripped his left pants leg.

Then, the deer turned toward Mark and tried to hook him. Quickly searching through my pockets, I found the two double ought bucks I always carried and finally fumbled them into my twenty gauge pump as the deer, head down, lunged at Mark. Mark, all five foot seven of him, calmly “high ported” his Browning Superposed, right into the buck’s horns and the deer began shaking him like a rag doll.

While the deer’s attention was focused on Mark, John drug Crystal away. Rooster was now posted strategically behind me as I finally got my shotgun loaded and up to my shoulder. The buck was still shaking Mark like a rag doll and my two double oughts at three feet dropped the deer in its tracks.

Whew! This battle lasted for less than thirty seconds. The longest thirty seconds imaginable. As we loaded up Crystal and hurried to the nearest Vet’s office, we took stock of our situation. Except for John’s torn pants, no hunters hurt; one dog down and seriously injured, Mark “all shook up”, one dead deer, and deer season was still one week off. In fifteen minutes we pulled up to a Vet’s office in Jonesboro and ten minutes later we found out Crystal was dead. John was crushed!

Returning to the scene of the battle and looking closely at the deer, we saw that it was a nice, seven pointer, probably close to a sixteen inch inside spread, that, at least three days before, had been shot by a poacher in the left hindquarter. The wound was festering and gangrene, or the deer equivalent, had set in and the buck must have been in great pain. Checking out the area, we found a large quantity of corn spread around the honeysuckle patch. At least two game laws had been broken. One, shooting deer in Georgia over bait was illegal and, two, the deer had been shot at least ten days before deer season opened.

We found the local Game Warden and told him what had happened, but don’t know if any action was taken or if the perpetrator was apprehended. Three weeks later we returned for another hunt at this spot and discovered that someone had come in and cut the deer’s horns off.

As a sidelight, some may not know what “high porting” is. It’s a term applied to hand to hand combat training with a rifle, expensive shotgun in this case, where the weapons weight is evenly balanced in both hands at shoulder height and used to block and parry an opponents thrusts with a bayonet or butt stock. Mark, a Viet Nam veteran, former Air Force Officer and Navigator in a B-52, had used the technique perfectly!

October 15, the opening day of quail season, I stopped by Brad’s school, Cocopah Middle/Elementary School in Scottsdale, and told the Principal that Brad had a doctors appointment that afternoon and he wouldn’t be back. It was an easy OK for the principal, one less kid to worry about. At the time, Cocopah, besides being an open school and unbelievably noisy, was the largest school of its type in the U.S., with over 3,000 students.

Brad’s appointment was really a quail hunt on the southern slopes of Sombrero Peak, two hours northeast of our home. Jake Schroder and Candy and Ned, his Brittanies, accompanied us. The week before, during one of our quests for Indian artifacts, we had scouted this place and knew that it was loaded with birds!

It was hot, well over a hundred, as we parked our 4WD truck, unloaded Candy, Ned and Rooster, my Brittany, on a road that overlooked a mile long sloping hill that ran toward the upper part of Tonto Basin. Within a hundred yards the dogs were down on a hard point. The three of us walked in, up came the Gambels and our guns erupted, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam and five birds fell.

We held our ground as the dogs ran down the cripples and then moved ahead for the next covey. This scenario was repeated six times and before sundown we had three limits of Gambel Quail. The coveys were huge, fifty to a hundred birds each, and even after chasing the singles and taking out forty-five birds, there were still over four hundred left! The dogs and all three of us were worn out, but what a great hunt!

On the way home, Brad told me, “Dad, this was a lot more ‘funner’ than school!”