North Carolina Sportsman: How to Measure / Score a Typical Whitetail Deer

Trophy vs Experience

Is it the experience, or the trophy? 

This weekend I spent the better part of the days waiting on huge antlers to cross the curtain at the Dixie Deer Classic in Raleigh.  Saturday kicked in with, now this is hear-say, a record attendance for one day.  Friday and Sunday were not bad, but Saturday forced show goers to walk shoulder to shoulder at times.

While the number of heads to be scored seemed slower than past years, the quality was certainly there.  A scorer at a trophy show such as the Dixie Deer Classic is given some basic training, and usually paired with another experienced scorer during his first event.  Typical racks rarely present a problem.  Cut and dry measurements are taken in which the main issues are usually mistakes in adding fractions or judgments on whether something is a point or not and whether the measurement on the ruler should be rounded up or down an 8^th of an inch.

Steven Patterson, Bill Howard, Cole Carr, and Amanda Carr
scoring at the Dixie Deer Classic in Raleigh, NC.
Photo by Ryan Miller

For non-typical racks, things can be a little trickier.  Often, the ones with a lot of ‘junk’ are left to the brave souls willing to attempt what amounts to a tedious, and time consuming ordeal.  Properly trained scorers usually make the right calls on these interesting and challenging antlers.  Then, there are some that require judgment calls that can affect the overall scores greatly.  Without getting to deep in the science, maybe even art, of scoring tough antlers, scorers take it very seriously and often recruit help from other trained scorers for their opinions as well.  Boone & Crockett and Pope & Young trained scorers take on the difficult, and potential record book mounts with passion that is often equal to the same passion the hunter exudes on his trophy quest.  Accuracy is first and foremost the top priority in order to properly honor the game animal.

Now to answer the question from the beginning of this column.  Sunday, a hunter was dissatisfied with the score received on his deer.  In order to assure proper measurements were taken, not only did another scorer volunteer to re-score the trophy, but a panel of scorers worked together on the deer.  The deer was mounted in a beautiful half body pose.  The rack, still in velvet as the deer was taken early in the season, had what appeared to be a split in the main beam of the right antler.  This is where the judgment call came into play.  If one part of the split was taken as the main beam over the other, it could sway the official score by a rather large sum.  My opinion was also the opinion of other more experienced scorers, and resulted in a lower score.  The hunter was visibly disappointed.

But my response was it was a beautiful deer, an outstanding example of taxidermy, and a trophy that could and should be valued for a lifetime.  Couple that with the actual experience of not only seeing such a wonderful animal in the wild, but successful in the harvesting of that animal, and there should be no disappointment what so ever.  If we only hunt for the trophy, the experience means less.  However, if we hunt for the experience, then the trophy means much more.

Dixie Deer Classic 2012

The trophy hunt shows are in full swing throughout the nation.  North Carolina is no exception.  March 2 through March 4 brings one of the largest shows in the Southeast to Raleigh.  Each year the Wake County Wildlife club puts together outfitters, guides, and venders from throughout the United States to show off their businesses, share their expertise, and set many of us dreaming of future hunting trips.

It is not very often one can talk to one person about hunting whitetail, move several feet down the line and learn about hunting grizzlies in Alaska, then take a few more steps and speak to someone about the costs and necessities of an African expedition.

If you happen to be one of the people looking at finding an outfitter to schedule the dream hunt you have anticipated for many years, there is much information you need to discover beforehand.  Let’s assume you already know the game you are after.  You have also already done your homework, and know where you want to hunt and know the amount of money you are willing to spend.  Now what?

First, know what type of hunt you are doing.  The outfitter or guide should be able to tell you how the hunt is expected to be performed.  If you are accustomed to hunting whitetail deer in North Carolina from a tree stand, you are going to be in shock when you hike into the back country of the Midwest for what could be dozens of miles in search of a muley in a spot and stalk hunt.

When researching one of my past hunts, I was told that it is a VERY rough hunt.  We would be hunting by horseback through some of the roughest terrain we could imagine.  Even with the warning, to experience it is a different matter.  Climbing up mountains on a horseback where you practically are leaning forward past the horse’s neck and shoulder while it lunges up the side of the earth, well that is something that is hard to train for.  I was told that ATV’s would not be able to make it a few yards on the terrain.  The guide was correct.

You need to know the climate and expected weather during the time of the hunt.  The same hunt mentioned above consisted of 20 degree mornings and mid 70 degree afternoons.

Second, you need to know what type of lodging and meals YOU expect.  Most outfitters will offer lodging and meals.  However, you cannot expect the South African resort with pool tables, large mahogany dinner tables, maid services and personal chefs from every outfitter.  Speaking with one outfitter several years ago, he explained how expectations with research can get one into trouble.  He was hosting several waterfowl hunters on a duck and goose hunt in the pothole region of North Dakota.  The hunters were wealthy friends who made annual expeditions to different places throughout the world.  Even though the birds were everywhere and the hunting was tremendous, the hunters were disappointed in the small house the outfitter had as a lodge.  They expected a spa, wet bar, and more.  Their trip was as much about the non-hunting as it was the hunting.  You definitely do not want to anticipate something grand and end up sleeping in a drop camp.

Third, you must know of any additional costs.  You checked several guides and outfitters on the internet and found out the dream elk hunt you have wanted to go on runs an average of $1750 for a 5 day hunt.  So, being prepared, you allocated $2000, thinking the extra $250 for incidental expenses would suffice.  On the third day, a massive 7x7 elk steps out a mere 40 yards away.  You take the shot. Success!  After the celebratory hugs and excitement, the guide mentions the elk will make record book.  Even better!  Then the guide asks if you have your checkbook with you…you know, to cover the ‘trophy’ fee.  That’s the way to take the wind out of a sail!

It can go the opposite way as well.  You are in Ohio.  Whitetail heaven!  You have seen several deer that would compare to the ones you have chased at home like a moose to a Billy goat.  You see one come out from your left.  You wait, trying to count the points through the tree limbs.  As the buck steps into the clearing, broadside, you can tell it is a high rack, with at least 5 points on the side closest to you.  Boom!  It is a beautiful specimen of a whitetail.  Problem is the antlers are nearly straight up, not reaching the ‘outside the ear’ requirement.  Now you have another type of fee, not meeting the minimum requirements set by the outfitter or landowner.

There are but a few examples of what you need to find out from your outfitter to make that dream hunt a true dream and not a nightmare.  In all three cases, the outfitter has not misled or scammed anyone.  It just happened that we did not find out enough about the type of hunt they offer.

And if you get a chance to go the Dixie Deer Classic in Raleigh this weekend, I will be there, behind the curtain, measuring all those huge deer racks.  Unfortunately, none of them will be one that I was fortunate enough to encounter in the field.  For now, they will just help fuel my dreams.

What is the Best Gun for Hunting?

One evening during one of the breaks of a hunter education class I was teaching, a kid and his grandfather came up to me.  “I want to deer hunt.  What kind of gun do I need?”

Without hesitation I responded, “Your Granddad’s.”  While it seemed I was just coming back with a quick response to garner a smile, I was truly being sincere.  While hunting consists of shooting at animals as part of the process, the real joy is the connections the hunter makes.  Experiencing the hunt and bringing the most joy from the experience comes from the meld between you and God, nature, family, our forefathers, and memories.

Stories I share of my grandfather and father are not just vehicles to carry on who they are and what they did, they become part of who I am as well.  When I share these stories with my kids, it also becomes a part of who they will become.

When black bear hunting, I cannot help but think of President Teddy Roosevelt and his passion for the great bruin or Daniel Boone and his storied encounter with the beast in the Great Smokies. 

Want to read about Teddy Roosevelt's bear hunt? Click HERE.

The buffalo hunt my father and I went on included a hike to a tall mount that stood out amongst all others on the horizon.  When we reached the top, not only did we have a fantastic view of the Dakota pothole region, but there, right at the flattened peak, was a circle of stones.  Around the circle were other smaller circles of smaller stones.  When we returned to the hunting guide and inquired about the area, he told us that was an ancient ceremonial ground for the Indians who lived in the area.  I could envision the tribes hunting the herded bison just as my dad and I were.

Read about Bill Howard's Most Memorable Hunt-the Great Bison HERE.

Sitting in cover on the edge of the field, anticipating the coming of a strutting gobbler with fanned tail is enough to set any hunter in flurried heartbeats of anticipation.  The thought of Benjamin Franklin’s pursuit to make the wild turkey our national symbol for its courage and meaning to our land brings a sense of historic proportions to the hunt.  The turkey provided nourishment to the pilgrims on their original plight into the new world.  Even the Thanksgiving story of pilgrims and Native Americans centers itself around the bird.

To think while sitting in a tree waiting on the whitetail to sneak his way into shooting distance was likely precluded by a Cherokee, Catawba, or Tuscarora several hundred years prior in the same location can be both overwhelming and comforting.

So, as I watch and remember my son shooting the old Ithaca shotgun, I realize that the bridge from my son, to me, to my father and to my grandfather has been completed.  I also know that one side of that bridge is a long road of that has been paved over time with blood, sweat, pain, tears, joy, and accomplishment while on the other side is a road yet to be cleared but already well planned.

So when you ask “what is the best gun?”, know in advance the best gun is one that is well used and experienced. 

Bill Howard writes a weekly outdoors column for the Wilson Times and Yancey County News and the bowhunting blog site GiveEmTheShaft.com. He is a Hunter Education and International Bowhunter Education instructor, lifetime member of the North Carolina Bowhunters Association, Bowhunter Certification Referral Service Chairman, member and official measurer of Pope and Young, and a regular contributor to North Carolina Bowhunter Magazine.

The Stalk Into Spirit Land - The Last Antelope

This is a guest story by Ric Hunter. Ric is currently working on the novel FIREHAMMER,  a story of an American fighter pilot settling an old score at the end of the Vietnam War.

Van slammed on the brakes.  We skidded to a stop on the brush-covered Wyoming ranch road.  The musty aroma of sage steaming under the Tahoe's exhaust filled my nose and the trailing dust clouded the air as it drifted by.

"Look at all those 'goats' out there!" Van pointed to a herd of pronghorn antelope three-quarters of a mile ahead of us.  He had those Chuck Yeager eyes and always seemed to spot game before I did.

This was our fifteenth season on the LAK Ranch in the Black Hills near Newcastle.  At one time this was ancient tribal holy land.  Some say the spirits of Crazy Horse and the Oglala Souix have made this home.  Today was going to be like no other for us on this ranch. . .

Raising the compact binoculars strung from my neck, I studied the largest herd we'd seen this year.  "Whew," I said in a half whistle, scanning several hundred yards of antelope through the windshield.  "There must be 40 to 50 there, maybe more bedded down in the sage."

           

"Any bucks?" Van said, groping for his binoculars which had flown from the seat--to the dash--to the floor during the sudden stop.

"I see several.  They don't act like they're spooked.  Maybe this is the one herd that hasn't been shot up yet this year." 

"Think you can slip in for a closer look?" 

 We had glassed this area from a bluff the day before, and watched a coyote trying to catch prairie dogs. 

"If I take that arroyo we spotted yesterday, maybe I can get close enough.  I'll give it a try,"  I said, pointing to our right. 

Easing out of the door, I quietly loaded the Sako 25-06 with five rounds of 115-grain Federal Premiums.  I had drawn the antelope license in Wyoming's state hunting lottery.  Van had drawn for deer.  It would have to be my stalk.  Trotting in a low half-crouch through the sagebrush, I ducked into the arroyo.  Its banks were deep enough to conceal me for the first hundred yards or so, but shallowed as I eased toward the antelope, placing each step precisely. 

                                                                       

Pronghorns favor the prairie. They're tricky to hunt and a challenge to drop at their full speed, which tops 50 miles per hour.  North America's fastest land mammal, they can see you blink at a mile.  One misstep and I knew the best herd of the year would be history. 

The approach was near perfect with the wind in my face.  For several hundred yards I kept low, sometimes crawling to stay concealed when the arroyo shallowed.  Sweat soaked my back from the excitement of the hunt and the rare 80-degree temperature of an October afternoon in 1997.

Where the arroyo flattened into sage-covered prairie, six fence posts stood like weathered sentries along a bank.  Partially obscured by a large sagebrush, I crept toward them.  There wasn't much to hide behind in this vastness.  An old post would have to do.

           

Had I spooked them?  Would they be there?  I slowly unfolded from kneeling to a crouch, then half-stood behind the post.

           

The herd was scattered in a wide semi-circle.  There were at least 50 animals, and I was right in their middle.  My smile faded when a yearling doe locked eyes with me at 40 yards.  Had she seen me move?  I froze, trying to become one with the fence post for the next 20 minutes.  Motionless, I kept my eyes glued to the yearling's.  It was a stare-down.  If I moved a muscle, she would bolt.  And if she bolted, the  herd would follow.  Not good.  A standing shot from a good stalk is always the best option.  A running shot might result in a miss, or worse, a wound. 

           

I remained a mannequin.  The wind was still with me.  I had to outlast them.  A bead of sweat trickled into my left eye, and I strained to stifle the blink.  My rigid body ached as minutes passed.  Finally the yearling began to wander, then lowered her head to graze.  But now two does about a hundred yards away spied me. They bleated and stomped their feet, twitching their tails nervously.  Another eternity passed before they dropped their guard and wandered away.

           

Slowly, I eased the binoculars up and panned the area.  There were several fine bucks, but one was magnificent.  He stood out like the top line on an eye test chart.  I was locked on the lord of the herd; probably the lord of Weston County.  Quartering me at 250 yards, he was the only antelope not grazing.  His horns stretched high and wide, easily double the length of his ears and spread in a classic "V."  My little binoculars couldn't bring the detail I wanted at that range.  I had to get closer. 

           

Waiting for the buck to resume feeding, I scanned the herd one more time, looking for any that might be bedded down.  What the . . . Oh, this is great!  I saw a coyote slipping through the sagebrush, probably headed to the prairie dog town 200 yards away.  His path would bisect the herd! 

           

The coyote slunk along, fooling nobody.  He might as well ride a Harley through there!  Sure enough, a doe saw him and bolted, then the entire herd accelerated to highway speed, darting from my left to right.  The buck was in the middle of the charging herd, his head and high-masted horns bouncing well above the others as they arced right at 250 yards.  I shouldered the 25-06, the reticles of my scope tracking the fleeing herd.  There was no clear shot at the buck.  All I could see was a beautiful head and horns thrusting as he raced amidst a tan and white blur.

             

My only chance was to backtrack down the arroyo.  If the herd continued in the same direction, I could climb out at a point a half mile away with several small, sage-covered hills between me and my trophy.  It was a gamble, but worth a try since they had spooked on the coyote and not me.  I ran back down the arroyo, now and then raising up to glance at the herd.  Some antelope had slowed to a walk.  I paralleled their course toward the small hills that would, I hoped, put me on one side and them on the other.

           

The dome-shaped hills finally came between us.  I straightened up and walked rapidly through knee-high sage.  If I could climb one of the mounds and ease over the top, I might have a chance at the buck.  The hill was 200 feet high, steep and rocky.  Nearing the crest, I dropped and crawled on hands and knees to check for antelope on the other side.  Nothing.  I continued crawling toward a large, creosoted power line pole 40 yards to my right.       

           

Using the pole for cover, I eased to a stand.  Slowly, antelope became visible at the base of the hill below me.  First horns, then an entire dark-faced buck and some does were staring in my direction through prairie grass.  How did they know I was there?  It had to be Antelope magic. I lifted the binoculars in slow motion, the power pole breaking my silhouette.         

           

There he was, ears fully erect, the big, dark eyes fixed on my position only a hundred yards away.  He was in his prime with thick, black horns curving to ivory tips and long prongs that bent inward.  Adrenaline rushed. My pulse raced.  It was the best buck I'd seen in 15 seasons of hunting this fleet-footed "Prince of the Plains."

           

As I lowered my binoculars and slowly brought up the 25-06, a nearby doe alerted and ran toward the buck. That's all it took.  Instantly, the entire herd was off again as I thumbed the safety and struggled to find him in my scope.               

           

Dammit! He's surrounded by does again!  It's going to be a running shot or nothing.

           

Bounding toward a stand of ponderosa pine, the prairie dwellers turned along the tree line and swung to my right. 

                                                                       

Soon they were at 250 yards and still running.  Suddenly, the buck was clear of the does and I found him again in the reticles.  Moving the aim point just in front of his shoulder, I squeezed off a shot.  The round kicked up the dirt well behind him!  The range was greater than I thought.  My shot put the herd in high gear, and they were devouring yards of prairie with every stride.  I felt the solid click of the Sako action as I chambered another round.  There was only one more chance to shoot as they kicked up dust headed toward a small hill.

           

The range grew to 300 yards as they scrambled up the sagebrush rise.  Dropping to one knee and wrapping my left arm around the sling to steady the rifle, I zeroed in on the buck.  This time a voice whispered in the depths of my  mind, "Pull more lead, son."  Understanding, I brought the reticles from behind, through, and then a full length in front of the charging buck.  I exhaled with a soft hiss before holding my breath for the long shot.  With my barrel still moving, I squeezed off a round.  The report of my 25-06 broke the prairie stillness and a salty smell of cordite hung in the air.  The Nozler partition bullet brought the buck down cleanly at 308 yards.  The rest of the herd disappeared over the hill, save three does that stopped to stare at the big buck where he lay.  Curiously. . .it was as if they were paying their last respects. . . .

                                                                                               

Excitement gone, age old silence returned to my little section of the plains.  Clean Wyoming air laced with the aroma of sagebrush soon replaced the cordite.  High noon came as I arose from my kneeling position. 

           

As I wound my way through the sage and shallow washes toward where the buck fell, adrenaline fade was replaced by the bitter-sweet feeling of taking a grand animal.  Some call it “hunter’s remorse.” It had been fair-chase, a lot of work and 15 years of chasing this speed demon on the plains. Would this be my last? I began to think about all the years my father and I had hunted the 85,000 acre LAK ranch since 1982.  Native Americans considered the Black Hills sacred, and it was easy for us to see why.  Towering granite walls jut from rich green forests of ponderosa pine.  Interludes of grassy meadows and sage-covered prairie offer spectacular vistas.  Spirits surely must rest there. 

           

Dad's last trip was in 1993.  He died in 1995 at the age of 73.  A career military officer, he served 30 years in the Air Force during three wars.  He was dedicated to his country, to his family....and to hunting. 

Thinking about the shot on the antelope, I remembered the single-shot .22 Dad gave me for my sixth birthday.  An NRA instructor, he patiently worked on my marksmanship and had me winning medals in junior NRA before I was seven.  Later, he coached me on the skeet range until I broke fifty straight; he would stay at my shoulder, following my swing and looking down the barrel.  For the first thousand rounds, it seemed, he would say,  "Pull more lead, son," every time I missed.  He was right, and I finally learned to pull enough lead--most of the time.  At age 71, he gave me one of his last shooting lessons on the LAK Ranch by downing a running mule deer buck at 280 yards.  "A wing shot on a 300-pound mulie" was how he described it.  A clean, one-shot kill. What every real hunter wants.



Ric Hunter and his prize antelope.



Now approaching the downed antelope, I could see how big and beautiful he was.  He lay in a bed of bluish-gray sage, tan and white fur contrasting with his black face.  Atop his head were the finest set of pronghorns I'd ever seen.  They would measure 15 inches long, with prongs more than five inches.  He would be just shy of Boone & Crockett, but somehow that didn't matter.

           

A dej`a vu sensation came over me as I stood over this champion and gazed about.  In the excitement of the shots, I had not fully realized my location.  Then it hit me.  This wonderful animal had fallen only yards from where my father had taken his last antelope in 1993.  Scanning the rolling prairie from atop my perch on this hill, I felt the irony beginning to sink in.  My face flushed, my chest heaved, and the dam broke.  As I looked down at the antelope buck once again, tears pocked the prairie dust at my feet. 

Van, hearing the shots, had climbed the hill.  As he made the summit, he looked at the buck, then to me.  Grasping the significance, his eyes quickly filled. 

           

"Your Dad would have liked this," he said. 

"Yeah, that kind of says it all."

The two-hour stalk had been exhilarating.  I had closed to within a hundred yards on this buck; he had made it to 300 yards when I heard my father's words one more time.  Now he lay only yards from Dad's last pronghorn.  The signs were there, and they were powerful.  This would be my last antelope.

           

 As I write this story in the Minneapolis-St.Paul airport headed home, I realize that taking this champion was a synthesis of two very basic, many times difficult elements; stalking and shooting.  I had learned to stalk pronghorns pretty much on my own, but the shooting skill had come from my father.  We were a team on many hunting and fishing trips to Wyoming, and we were a team once again.

           

Van was right. Dad would have liked that. That day, I connected with the Oglala Souix, this truly was spirit land.

Story by Ric Hunter

If you enjoyed this story, try:
           Bill Howard's Outdoors Memorable Hunt

           Bill Howard's Outdoors Dream Hunt-Alligator!


Bill Howard writes a weekly outdoors column for the Wilson Times and Yancey County News and the bowhunting blog site GiveEmTheShaft.com. He is a Hunter Education and International Bowhunter Education instructor, lifetime member of the North Carolina Bowhunters Association, Bowhunter Certification Referral Service Chairman, member and official measurer of Pope and Young, and a regular contributor to North Carolina Bowhunter Magazine.

Continuing the Heritage-More Obstacles

Note: Please feel free to share this post with anyone that enjoys hunting, fishing, or the outdoors.

Last year, North Carolina registered 505,530 licensed hunters.  This was the most since 1994 and continues a trend in which each year since 2002 the number of licensed hunters has increased.  While it is encouraging to see our numbers go up, they still fall behind in the overall picture as far as percentage compared to population growth.

Getting our youth, as well as adults, in the outdoors to participate in activities such as hunting and fishing is imperative to keep the heritage alive.  As mentioned in the past, there are far more distractions and other activities for the population these days than in the past.  Television with hundreds of channels, game consoles and systems, and computers all compete to keep our youth occupied. 

Please read the previous post Heritage of the Outdoors.

Other factors challenging the outdoor heritage are environmental groups distaste for hunting and fishing.  I use environmental groups loosely.  Let me explain a little before continuing with the point.  Hunters and fishermen/women provide funds for wildlife conservation, gamelands, studies, even preservation areas, amongst other programs through purchases of licenses, stamps, excise taxes through the Pittman-Robertson act, memberships and donations through conservations groups such as Ducks Unlimited, Delta Waterfowl, Quail Unlimited, Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation, Boone and Crockett, Pope and Young, and many more than can be listed.  In other words, outdoorsmen and women provide the majority of funds to protect both wildlife and land.  They are the true environmentalists.  Meanwhile, other groups seeking to stop hunting and fishing, claim to be environmental organizations.

Back to the point.  As recently as August 2010, the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) was petitioned to ban all lead products used for hunting and fishing under the Toxic Substance Control Act (TSCA).  The EPA responded they did not have authority under the TSCA to activate such a ban. Currently there is a bill asking for the EPA to be granted that authority.  Kind of a back door approach to allow the EPA to be given power to ban ammunition without having it go through Congress.

Referenced in many of these reports are the effects of lead shot on mourning dove populations.  Lead was banned for waterfowl back in 1991 due to effects on the duck, geese, and swan populations.  Researching studies on dove myself, there are studies saying dove populations have been effected by anywhere from .2% to as high as 6.4%.  I believe the difference in percentages may be based on locality.

It is estimated there are between 1.2 and 1.6 million dove hunters in the United States accounting for 19-21 million birds harvested each season.  The ammunition of choice is lead shot which accounts for 75% of shotgun shells sold each year.  Here is where the assault on potential new hunters, as well as existing hunters comes in.  A box of 25 shells of 7 ½ lead shot, the typical purchase for dove ammunition, costs roughly $6.  On opening day of dove season, a hunter, especially a new hunter, can easily shoot 100 shells equating to roughly $24 worth of ammunition.  The primary alternative to lead is steel shot.  In comparison, a box of 25 shells of steel shot costs roughly $25.  This equates to $100 worth of ammunition.  This does not include any shells used for practicing by shooting skeet or clay pigeons.  The large increase in costs would severely deter new hunters.

Shotshells would not be the only ammunition regulated either.  Most hunting cartridges consist of a lead projectile.  A young hunter’s first rifle is often a .22 caliber.  Ammunition is cheap, so the youth can become familiar with the operation of the rifle by shooting many times.  A box of 100 .22 cartridges runs approximately $7.50.  Changing the composition of the bullet could increase the cost by 4 times that amount.  Again, the increase would likely eliminate many new hunter's first excursion, or at least repeated excursions into the outdoors.

What we must do is look at this issue as a whole.  If we go to an overall ban on lead, the numbers of hunters will surely decrease, causing us to lose massive amounts of funding through license sales and excise taxes (Pittman-Robertson Act).  These funds will either no longer provide the conservation efforts needed for our environment or they will have to be supplemented from other avenues in government (overall taxes).  Also, with a decrease in hunters, less game will be taken.  A raise in limits on game would not provide enough control, as the ammunition would still be too costly to take only a limited numbers of game animals.

Wildlife biologists are charged with the task of determining the mortality rates of the different game animals, and if lead is effecting populations such as dove to a detrimental level, then limits should be adjusted downward.  However, it was not long ago dove limits were increased from 12 to 15 birds per day, indication the population has grown rather than decreased.

Perhaps the answer is not to ban all lead ammunition and fishing equipment.  If there are areas in particular that are affected in an adverse way, the local/state governments can and should regulate accordingly.  But to ban all, may have an effect that is much more detrimental than the effect of lead.

Bill Howard writes a weekly outdoors column for the Wilson Times and Yancey County News and the bowhunting blog site GiveEmTheShaft.com. He is a Hunter Education and International Bowhunter Education instructor, lifetime member of the North Carolina Bowhunters Association, Bowhunter Certification Referral Service Chairman, member and official measurer of Pope and Young, and a regular contributor to North Carolina Bowhunter Magazine.