Video: Archery Spine Shot on a Deer

Video of a deer hunt this weekend in which the result was a spine shot with the bow. The deer expired in 30 seconds after impact (edited on video to prevent graphic nature).

 

 

 

Summer Sausage

August 1^st marked the opening of night hunting for feral hogs in North Carolina.  Many in North Carolina have never run across a feral hog.  Hogs are smart compared to other animals, they are observant, and when cornered, they fight.

Just a few years ago I was trying to set up a dog hunt for wild boar in the mountains near the Tennessee state line.  After talking to several hunting clubs, guides, and groups, most said they would not go after hogs on purpose.  Finally, one person who lived in Tennessee but had a guide license in North Carolina agreed to take me.  I asked him why so many people were skittish about sending their canines after a pig and what he responded with was enlightening.

“The hogs can’t climb trees like bear.  They turn and fight.”  They are just too dangerous was how the response was parlayed to me.  I asked him why he agreed and he told me that it pays well when taking someone out, and he was accustomed to providing care to his dogs.  Care was later explained to me from a brief encounter his dogs had the year before.  After striking a track, the dogs surrounded a 450 pound hog.  The hog proceeded to gut each and every dog in the pack.  The tusks tore through the flesh and left them the on the ground for dead.  He quickly got back to his truck and grabbed a first aid kit.  He then would push the insides back in and sew the bellies back up.  The hog got away.

I ended up not being able to make the hunt do to some circumstances with the gentleman’s personal life.  But I still longed to experience a hog hunt.

Last weekend I was invited to hunt a cypress swamp near South Carolina for feral hogs.  I did not have much notice, but I did not need much either.  This would be a hog hunt with the bow from stands.  I wondered just how many I would see.

I arrived at the camp site just after 5:30pm.  Feeders were set up in multiple locations to go off at 7:00pm.  This land is a deer hunting club once gun season comes in, and the owners wanted the hogs gone.  According to my host, the hogs would eat all the corn and leave nothing for the deer.

The night before I shot a few arrows to check my sight and make sure I was comfortable.  I own a wild boar 3d archer target, so I visualized the ‘kill’ zone and started at 40 yards.  I was told the average shot would run around 15 yards.  After shooting 40 and feeling good, I moved up to 30 yards, then 20 yards.  It was a good practice session and I felt good about the vital area.  I also taped a small picture that showed where the vitals were on a hog to the lower limb of my bow.  This was primarily to remind me that the vitals sit differently in a hog than a deer.

My host shot several arrows while I changed to my camo.  Then around 6:00pm we headed out.  It was hot and muggy with the temps in the mid 90’s.  I was worried about scent control as I knew pigs had a superior sense of smell.  I was given a bag that had some hog attractant to lie at my feet in the stand to use as a cover scent.  I was also told the main scent I had to worry about was my boots.  I was wearing rubber boots, known to not carry odors.  But for pigs, they can even pick those out.

The feeder went off at 7:00 pm and I remained alert.  After another 30 minutes, I noticed something to my left in the wood line.  It was brown and pulsating.  After studying it for a few seconds I could tell it was a hog.  The pulsating was the hog taking deep sniffs of the ground where I had come into the stand.  Three more followed him and they were overly cautious.  As they approached the clearing where the feeder was they turned away.

They continued around the clearing and I could finally see their full bodies about 25 yards away.  A larger black boar was closest and leading the group.  The brown one, slightly smaller, stayed to its left and would step forward in stride with the black one.  I continued to study their movement.  The way they were moving side by side, I would not have a clean shot if the arrow were to make a pass-thru.

So, what if I made the shot where the pass-thru, if there was one, would hit both in the vitals.  It could be done.   The closer hog was slightly taller.  I would need to aim at the top portion of the lungs on the black one, and then if the arrow passed through then it should hit the brown pig near the lower lungs and heart.

The opportunity presented itself.

I released the arrow with its fixed blade broadhead.   I watched it fly as the fletching stopped short in the front hog.  The whole group took off, much faster than you would expect from a robust round animal with short legs.  I texted that one was down even though I was trying for the double shot.

After sitting for another 30 minutes I headed down the stand and to where I shot the pig.  I followed a nice blood trail for about 10 yards and then it split.  Two different directions.  Hmmm.  I followed the one on the left first.  Another 10 yards and I found the brown one on the ground, heart exploded.  He was the back pig.  I had hit both.

I backtracked and followed the other trail.  15 yards away in a briar thick lay the black one.  Blood bubbled around the location where the top of the lungs would be located.

I had taken a double with one arrow on my first hog hunt.

We went on to hunt the remainder of the weekend.  I easily saw pigs out number deer 5 to 1.  The land was infested with them.  And up to this point I had never seen a wild hog.  But I have seen summer sausage.

Turkey Hunting - Part 2

The turkey-less hunter had his share of troubles early in the morning of opening weekend.  Last week started the story of how I had birds show up to stop just short of range.  Then, after calling, the birds made one more approach, turning from 100 yards out to get within range.  At the moment of truth, the birds took to the air and the bewildered hunter sat there with bow drawn for only a couple of seconds before the reason was revealed.  A black bear just a couple of dozen yards away stepped out of the woods where the gobblers had been.

Most days this would have been enough excitement.  But remembering past hunts for this elusive bearded bird, I was determined to stay patient and hope for the best.  The clock continued to tick as the mosquitoes tested my will power.  As the sun rose in the sky, the temperature also increased.  Little breeze was available and the blind coupled with the long sleeved shirt and long pants caused the sweat to start pouring.  Luckily turkeys cannot smell.  If they could, they would be impossible to kill.  Their eyesight is keen and their hearing is more than adequate.  But I would not have to worry able scent control on this day.

The rest of the morning allowed me the opportunity to spot a couple more black bears.  These were much further away than the first.  I have hunted this area before for bear, and I marked the spot on the gps application on my cell phone.

About mid-morning, the next big surprise occurred.  I was somewhat relaxing as nothing was going on nearby.  Virtual silence made for a peaceful time period, and if this would have continued much longer, I am sure a nap would have ensued.  I sensed something to my right, but never saw anything.  I would take an occasional glance down the lane but nothing appeared.  After several minutes I nearly jumped out of my seat.  In my peripheral vision a small black object had made its way into the blind.  Though it startled me, I did not make much movement or noise.  It flared a couple of times and pulled back out of the window.  Then, stepping forward, a small buck whitetail stepped in front of the window and stretched his neck downward and to the side to see what he smelled.  Yes, I had a deer within 3 feet of me sniffing in the window of my blind.  Once he saw me in the blind, he jumped away into the woods.  This was enough to wake me up for the rest of the day.

Shortly after noon, a couple of toms worked their way into the lane in front of me.  They were several hundred yards away, but there was promise.  After coming down the lane about 50 yards or so, they walked off to the right into the high grass and woods.  I clucked a few times with the call and waited.  They exited the grass and looked my way.  They continued toward me in a steady and brisk walk.  My heartbeat sped up once again.  Even though a bear ruined the first real chance of the day, this would be a great opportunity.  There was nothing slowing the gobblers down.

Then, when 25 yards away, the birds stopped.  They were nervous about something.  I glanced toward my left and saw nothing.   I checked behind me to see if something appeared in the lane there.  Again, nothing.  I looked to my right.  There it was. 

As soon as I saw it, the birds ran in full stride back down the path from where they had come.  I took turns looking at them and back to my right.  It took cover in the high grass beside the path.  I could see its shoulders and muscular build as it slowly crept through the grass my way.  Every once and a while, I would lose sight, but the grass folding out of the way indicated its position.

About 15 yards out it stepped back out of the grass.  It was confused.  A bobcat had caught sight of my decoys and had started it sneak and pounce tactic.  But once it was close enough, it realized that even though they looked like turkeys, they did not quite behave like turkeys.  Something was definitely amiss.  The bobcat turned and walked down the middle of the path away from the blind.  It continued to turn and look at the decoys over his shoulder.  I could only imagine what he was thinking.

He had no idea what I was thinking.  On one hand there was excitement as I was witnessing nature in its truest form.  Predator coming upon prey.  The other part of me was again disappointed, as nature had pulled together two predators, human and bobcat, thus allowing the real prey to dart away.

I sat there, reviewing video of the bear, turkeys, bobcat, and deer.  At least I had a story to tell.  Then I noticed two small black objects nearly 500 yards away.  I pulled out my monocular scope.  Both were toms.  Nice ones, as I could see their beards dragging the ground.  I clucked.  I clucked again.  They started my way.  Three more turkeys flew down from the left of the path just behind the two toms.  Now there were five.  This could be beneficial or a detriment.  One outlook is there were five opportunities.  The other outlook is there were now five sets of eyes and ears.

I worked the birds for two hours, alternating between a gobbler call and a hen cluck.  At one point a gust of wind blew down a hen decoy and I snuck out the bottom of the blind.  The birds were still far away, so I felt like I could put it back up.  Crawling on my belly, I was successful.  The birds stopped about 30 yards away as one of the big toms walked into the high grass to the right.  There was a dip in the earth there, and I prepared myself to ‘see the head of the gobbler come over the ridge’ just in front of me.  One of the smaller birds, walked off to the left into the woods.  All were picking and pecking.  The big tom came back up to the path, but about 15 yards further away than where he went in.  He had turned.  This was not good.

I was not in a position to call any longer as the birds were too close.  But, they were still too far for a bow shot, and the one big tom had all of them nervous.  I had positioned myself when the birds began getting close in the most comfortable shooting position I could attain.  But this position had lasted for over 30 minutes, and I was beginning to feel the fatigue on my back and legs.  The stance was similar to the catching position of baseball great Benito Santiago.  My left leg was outstretched to my left, my right leg bent.  I did not know how much longer I could go like this.

At one point, I drew back an arrow.  The thought was there, but the shot was not.  I could not take the shot at the small kill zone from so far away and feel good about it.  It just was not meant to be.  Patience, maybe they will again come closer.

It did not happen.  The birds actually split up with the two big toms exiting into the woods to the right about 50 yards away.  The three smaller ones entered the tree line just 30 yards away to my left.  I waited for a bit to see if they may come out on the path to the left, but they never did.

In the end, the rule of three came into play.  Bear, bobcat, and time were my undoing.  Then again, they also made the hunt that much more memorable.   An appreciation washed over me on the drive home that evening.  I had witnessed some great things on this day, and had successfully put myself in position several times to take my first turkey.  And though I did not have the feathers in hand, I did have video and this story to share.  After all, it is called hunting and not killing.

Turkey Hunting - Part 1



My hand and Chuck Norris' hand.

It is called hunting and not killing for a reason.  Chuck Norris may go killing, but the only thing I have in common with Chuck is our hand size.  Hunting has a number of variables that you may never think will come into play.  Through scouting, patterning, and general species education and knowledge, you can put yourself in the best situation, but one moment of something completely unexpected can alter the outcome completely.



For the last few years I have sought the elusive Eastern Wild Turkey with the bow.  Up until last year, I had been the general proximity of a tom, but not nearly close enough to take one.  Then last year, I learned a valuable lesson while hunting the bearded bird.  Patience is a virtue.  If you have read my columns in the past, you may remember the story of my lack of patience causing me to miss getting a shot at turkeys on three different occasions.  I was determined it would not happen that way this year.

I usually miss opening weekend of turkey season.  My wife and my daughter celebrate their birthday that same weekend, so I usually will schedule a hunt the next weekend.  Of course, the birds a little more seasoned by that time, as they have dodged shotgun blasts and arrows for a week up to that point.  This season, my female family members headed to the coast leaving me to watch the boys.  It also gave me a chance to go out on a Sunday bowhunt.  Not opening day, but close enough.

Now the story that follows may at times seem far-fetched.  Much like the old fisherman that swears he had a 10 pound bass hooked until he tried to pull it in the boat, the story could easily qualify as an exaggeration, if it were not completely true.  By the way, when you hear the fish tale, the question is always asked “how do you know it was 10 pounds?”  The response is always the same…"Cause it has scales!"

The hunt began as planned.  I re-fletched some arrows earlier in the week and practiced with them through the week.  Groups were tight for 40 yards in my practice sessions, even after doing some long hikes before the sessions.  From distances of 50 to 70 yards, groups were not as tight, but were falling in a 6 inch circle steadily.  This is great for elk hunting, but I would never take that shot at the minute vitals of a turkey.  A turkey has two kill spots with a bow.  The first is the heart / lung shot.  The second is the neck.  The neck shot is usually done with a broadhead called a Guillotine.  The Guillotine is designed with extra long blades made for cutting the neck.  The heart / lung shot is performed with a regular broadhead used for any big game hunting.  I was using a regular broadhead.

Saturday I put my gear together, checking everything to make sure it was ready.  I cleaned my decoys consisting of two hens and a jake (a young male).  I made sure I had extras of my vital gear such as arrows, broadheads, bow release, and batteries.  I charged my cell phone and my two cameras I was carrying with me.  I sprayed my hunting clothes with permethrin to barricade my body from ticks, chiggers, and other insects.  I made a packed breakfast and lunch.  I would be there for the duration for this hunt.

Sunday morning I was on the road at 3:30am.  The hunting destination was several hours away and I wanted to be there before sun-up.   I met the land owner at the gate.  We drove about one mile into the area and he unlocked a second gate.  The path was well worn with numerous mud holes and wallows.  About 500 yards in was a box deer blind at a path crossroad.  He advised me to set up with the box blind to my back.  He had seen the turkeys use the crossroad in their routes from their roost to the fields.  He also informed me of a small path about 200 yards away from the blind where I could park the truck after dropping off my gear.  Both were good information.

After dropping everything at the blind and parking, I set up the 3 decoys.  I tried to set them up so 2 would be seen from each of the paths at all times.  The decoys were all set between 10 and 15 yards from my Ameristep Doghouse blind I had positioned next to the tower box blind.

Just after sitting, I hit the mouth call with two series of clucks.  I listened and watched.  No gobbles anywhere.  I glanced behind me down the path and watched a large tom flew down from his roost on the left to the path about 150 yards away.  This was going to be a good hunt!

Not 30 seconds later, a small jake joined in behind the big gobbler.  Both were making a steady walk my way.  They were not running, but they were keeping pace.  Two hens then exited the woods from the right about 30 yards behind them.  My first thought was the hens would likely turn my birds around.  Fortunately they did not.  I kept quiet and patient.  I would have a shot soon enough.

My blind was positioned where I could shoot to my left, front and right.  My rear had a sight window but would not offer a shot due to the box blind.  After videoing the birds, I set my chair to the right rear corner of the blind.  I moved into position on the right front corner allowing me to draw my bow and take an angled shot through the window opening as the bird came into range.  I counted the pace of the big gobbler, and so I figured he would be near the window around the count of 15.  I drew the bow at 10.  He never appeared.  I let off the bow and checked his location.  He had turned and headed back down the path.  After he and the group were about 100 yards away, I proceeded to hit the call once more.  They turned, and began their second approach.  This time, they turned about 20 yards behind me into the woods to the left.  I was not worried.

I figured with the turn they would likely come out to the right side of the blind.  I backed against the left wall and waited.  After about a minute the big one showed himself.  I took a deep breath, released about half the air, and drew back the 70 pounds of death.  Then they flew.  In an instant it was over.  The birds were gone.  In a millisecond I had several thoughts run through my mind.  Did they spot me?  Did they hear me?  What could have spooked th…e…m…

5 yards from where they were standing a large black bear made his way out of the woods.   This was only 20 yards from me.  I never thought about any danger from a bear / human episode.  All I thought about was this bear just blew my best chance I have ever had at a turkey with the bow.

It was ok though.  I had just witnessed 4 turkeys and a black bear in the first 10 minutes of a hunt.  There is nothing like nature.  This hunt was far from over!  And next week, we will cover the rest…

BowAmerica April 2012

Special Moments to Last a Lifetime

I was having a conversation with someone a few months ago who was planning what I would call a dream hunt.  He is on the young side, mid to late 20’s, but was forgoing some of the common extras in life to make the hunt possible.  When I mentioned the particular hunt he was scheduling is usually something someone much older usually takes, he told me of a saying his father had taught him.  “Do the special things young, that way you have the rest of your life to enjoy the memories.”

Haley Price is a 19 year old student at North Carolina State University, majoring in agricultural business management.  She seems to be your typical county girl.  Her father got her involved in hunting back when she was 12 years old.  Through her teenage years, her passion for hunting remained.  When she was 16, she decided to try bowhunting, even though her father is not a bowhunter himself.  She enjoys bowhunting so much; she hardly ever uses her rifle any longer.

When she was 17 years old, she was hunting some land in South Carolina near the North Carolina border.  She did not live far from the border, so she frequently hunted in both states.  She took her first deer with her bow there.  A clean 26 yard shot.  The same day she took her first deer, a feral hog appeared.  From 17 yards, she was able to take a nice double.  Things like that make memories of a lifetime.

But Haley was not done.  Opening day of bow season here in North Carolina brought some excitement to the young lady.  Haley had gained access to land in Forsyth County a year ago.  She immediately set trail cameras on the land to start the scouting.  One particular location on the land showed many bucks, and as the season opener drew near, she decided this would be the place to hunt.



Haley Price with her 120 1/8 inch Velvet Buck taken.

The deer showed movement after 3:00pm on the cameras each day, and Haley would be ready.  She set up in her stand at 12:40pm.  This would allow a couple of hours of quiet before the deer started moving.  Patiently she sat, and just as her scouting had revealed, a nice buck came out in the open shortly after 3:00pm.  She readied her Hoyt Trykon compound.  She released the arrow as the deer stood 24 yards away.  And down he went.  Haley had scored a huge 5 by 5 buck in velvet.

This particular buck had not shown up on any of Haley’s cameras.  He just happened to be at the right place at the right time for Haley to take the shot.  The buck scored 120 1/8 inches net.  This was big enough to take the North Carolina State record for typical velvet by a female.  Her work had paid off regardless if the deer had been seen before or not.

Haley is a fan of rocker and hunter Ted Nugent.  She is capable of pulling 60 pounds draw weight, but has her Hoyt set to 54 pounds.  Nugent was stated anything over 55 pounds is wasted.  Following Nugent’s philosophy, Haley showed that 54 pounds is enough to bring down a monster.  She dreams of one day landing her own hunting television show, and next year she will appear on a local show called HuntFX.

Haley certainly has done some special things at a young age, and now she has memories she can enjoy for the rest of her life.

Suckers are a Sign

It is a sign of spring.  Sure, the dogwoods and Bradford pears begin to bloom.  The grass begins to grow.  And certainly, it is just a matter of days, not weeks, before everything begins to collect a hazy yellow film from the pollinating pines and other plants.  But to me, at least as of the last few years, the true sign of spring is when the sucker fish begin their spawn.

In a manner not unlike the great salmon of Alaska, the sucker fish will make their way upstream to an ancient spot that many, many generations have congregated throughout the centuries.  They flap on top of the water as they squirm over shallow runs, depositing their eggs and secretions along the way.  Often, if you are lucky enough to time the event, it usually lasts only a week or so, you can catch dozens upon dozens rolling amongst each other in their annual dance.

Of course, being one fond of the outdoors and bowfishing, this ignites the inner spirit within me.  No longer must I brave the cold, the biting wind, and the other wintery elements nature has to offer.  While I do enjoy it, the seasons remain in motion for a reason.  They keep us from the having a passion that grows too monotonous to continue.  The seasons pass so that we have something to look forward to as new challenges and adventures await.

Yes, as the sucker fish work their way over distances, I envision myself as hunters of days passed.  Much like the Native Americans hundreds of years ago must have done, I ready the draw on my bow, though it is much more technologically advanced than the ones used then, and release an arrow toward the golden fish.  My arrow contains a string and barbed point.  Theirs were likely longer arrows without a tether.  Many used sharpened sticks to gig the fish instead.  The suckers provided nourishment and an easy catch during the spawn.  The suckers do the same now as well.

Last year my daughter was fortunate in taking a sucker fish as her first animal with the use of a bow.  She did it on the last day we were able to attend the spawning affair.  In the process, she held the North Carolina State bowfishing record for youth female.

This year, she was anxious and willing, and we were able to get out the creekside once again.  I also held the overall North Carolina bowfishing record at 5 pounds 14 ounces.  On the first night, I was able to bring in a nice 6 pounder.  Officially measured, it came up to 5.99 pounds.  Since the weights are not measured in hundredths but rather ounces, it temporarily breaks my old record by 2 ounces.  After a busy day of birthday parties and dancing recitals, I was able to take Julianne back out.  I would guide her, hoping it would not take the hundreds of shots it took the previous year before the hit was made.

Using a LED Lenser headlamp, I searched the shallows and the running waters.  She had taken a couple of shots, just missing each time.  Then, about 10 yards away, there was a flurry of motion as several fish climbed, wallowed, and rubbed over each other.  She pulled back the bow, and before I could finish the statement ‘shoot when you are ready’, she released the biting arrow.

Yes, she hit her mark and the arrow’s barbed point held the fish tight.  We were able to pull it to the shore moments later.  Official weight: 6.01 pounds.  Luckily for me, it gets rounded off to 6 pounds and 0 ounces.

Now, at least for the time being, Julianne and I will share the state record.  That is until someone else is able to find the ancient spawning runs and share an experience with the spirits of old.

A Little Hardware from the Dixie Deer Classic

This will not be my normal post, that will come Thursday.  But I did want to share a little hardware I recieved from the Dixie Deer Classic and North Carolina Bowhunters Association banquet.

Largest Beaver taken by bow 2011

Second Place Best Photo

Yes, I am in the photo and I took the photo.  Amazing how those timers work! (It did take a few tries to get the shot I wanted...)

Outdoors Together

I publish an online magazine for bowhunters each month called BowAmerica.  For February’s issue, I had a couple of male bowhunters explain how they felt about their wives joining them in the outdoors.  Both stories, coming from two different people from two different states, Wisconsin and Colorado, were remarkably similar.

The outdoors not only has a way of linking generations within a family together, but it helps build the bond between husband and wife.  It has a way of breaking barriers, opening conversations, and adding trust.  While the stories were biased toward bowhunting, it is the same whether it means hiking and camping together, fly fishing, or even bird watching and star gazing.

It allows the two to share interest in a common outlet.  Where one may daydream about his next hunt, he now includes his spouse in the reel playing in his mind.  She pictures herself with her husband laughing with excitement and joy as the two splash each other in a cool, clear mountain stream while hiking toward the pinnacle to view the world below.

The couple plans their trips together, each adding segments that they believe would increase the others enthusiasm and overall enjoyment of the quest.  They sit at the table or beside each other on the couch discussing and plotting the coming weekend expedition.

While in the woods, water or field each learns about the other in much the same way a soldier learns about his comrades.  The eyes are opened to what the other’s hopes and intentions are, and realize those hopes and intentions are usually dedicated to fulfilling their mate’s goals more than their own.

Both stories told of how much more the man appreciated the woman after hunting together.  I have spoken with the women and their sentiments are the same.  The love of the outdoors can lead to love in the outdoors.  Share your passion with the one you are passionate about.  It could be life changing and relationship strengthening.  And remember, Cupid is a bowhunter.

Swamp Rats

This is an excerpt from my article in BowAmerica e-Magazine.  You can subscribe for free at BowAmerica.com or http://issuu.com/bowamerica/docs/bowamerica_february_2012.

NUTRIA

     I headed out to the duck blind early.  It was about 6am, another 45 minutes before shooting time.  I spotted some a commotion deeper in the swamp.  I adjusted my LED Lenser headlamp from wide angle light to a spotlight.  I saw a bunched up brushy area ahead.  It was likely a beaver hut.  I scanned the water and could see ripples, but I could not find the source.

     Shooting light came and after a 20 minute span of high flying wood ducks and ringnecks I knew the hunt was likely over except for just a few stragglers and maybe some Canadian geese.

     Down near the beaver hut I saw some more ripples.  I figured it could be a grebe, merganser, or maybe a woodie swimming from deeper in the swamp.

     Nope.  Dead wrong.  I caught the furry head.  Trailing was a motion filled ‘S’.  Not a beaver.  But it was huge.

     Nutria usually make their homes in holes they build on the shoreline.  Often, their digging will tear and expose roots.  This particular one had not made a home of the beaver den; rather it seemed curious as to whether it was occupied.

     Nutria are as rat-like as it gets.  Their long tail is round and slender like a rat, rather than the waffle shape of a beaver.  Their head has rat features other than being much larger and having a blunt nose.  Also unlike a beaver, its fur is of different lengths and appears unkempt.

     They were introduced to North America, relocated from South America, due to the fur trade industry.  They were valued for both their meat and their hides.  Once the value of the fur increased to a premium, at one time as valuable as mink, farmers found a way to raise them.  They were easy to keep, had large litters, and females could breed the day after giving birth.  Due to the farming of the nutria, the fur become over abundant and the value plummeted.  A hurricane hit the Southeast and many of the farmed nutria escaped.

     Like many invasive species, they began to take over their habitats.  Nutria feed only on the bottom of saplings and plants, leaving over 80% of the plant useless.  They choked out the muskrat, as they shared habitats and dens.  And with the beaver falling to near extinction, the nutria’s breeding habits, able to give birth nearly 3 times in a calendar year, the nutria overwhelmed many areas.

     If you know where to look, you can find nutria in nearly any southern state, and they range as far north as Ohio.  They can expand further north if there are subsequent mild winters.  The only barrier is they tend to get frostbite on their tails, causing infection and death.

     As mentioned prior, I took note of where I saw the nutria and the time.  The next time I would be in the water, the bow would be in hand rather than the shotgun.

     A couple of days later, the nutria had a head start on me.  As I was headed to where the blind was, I saw him already swimming well ahead as the water and air was clear.  I positioned myself near the blind and could see it still swimming amongst the trees in the swamp.

     It only took 15 minutes for it to become curious enough to see what I was.  Once it was in range, about 20 yards, I released the arrow towards its mark.  No thrashing, no circling, no fighting.  Just a roll over and the arrow was sticking nearly straight up.

     Once there, I had to look to see if it was a beaver and not a nutria.  It was as huge up close as it looked the other day.  I pulled it into the boat and headed to shore.  This was by far the largest I have taken.

 

Hunter's Safety - Lesson Learned

Several years ago, a man was heading out for a week of scouting and hunting.  We will call him Mr. Smith.  His plan was to scout some farm land in the Triad area of North Carolina during the weekend and then meet his buddies in Eastern North Carolina to hunt deer during the week.  Mr. Smith told his wife where he would be and when he would return.

Mr. Smith stopped at a local gas station to fill up his truck shortly after leaving the house.  An insurance agent was also purchasing fuel and noticed Mr. Smith was in camouflage and packed.  The agent inquired about whether Mr. Smith owned or leased his hunting land, and spoke briefly about some insurance products they may interest him and his hunting partners.  The agent left a handful of business cards with Mr. Smith as they parted ways.

After paying for the gasoline and a soda for the road, Mr. Smith started thinking, “You know, Eastern deer season is already in, and I can scout up here next weekend.”  This would allow Mr. Smith a couple of extra days of hunting before his buddies ever arrived at camp.

That Friday afternoon, Mr. Smith pulled up to the hunting cabin, quickly unloaded his stuff, and made a hurried track into the woods.  He spotted a nice straight tree overlooking a natural trail and fastened his stand.  After climbing up to the stand, he began to clip some limbs that would be in the way of making a clear shot.  There was one rather long limb from another tree nearby that Mr. Smith believed he could reach.  Stretching as far as he could, he grasped the end of the limb and pulled it toward him.  Once he had it pulled as close to his stand as he could he reached out with his other hand and clipped it as far away from his stand as he could.  Picture someone playing tug of war and the other person suddenly letting go.  Mr. Smith lost his balance and tumbled over the backside of the stand.

SAVE A LIFE! - HARNESSES FOR HUNTERS

Mr. Smith awoke later, unable to move and in severe pain.  Up in the stand was his backpack and rifle.  Inside the pack were his cell phone, food, and water.  He looked down to his leg, and saw an iron property spike protruding through his shin.  When he tried to pull his leg off, he passed out from the pain.

Mr. Smith continued this same scenario several times through darkness and light.  He saw a couple of deer, squirrels, even a rabbit while he lay there helpless.  He knew he was in big trouble due to the amount of blood he had lost.  At one point a beagle woke him while licking his face and wound.  Mr. Smith brushed the dog away in frustration.  Certain he was going to die in that spot, Mr. Smith found the business cards he was given at the gas station in his pocket and began writing his last will on the back.  He also found several orange clothes pins he was using to mark his trail in the other pocket.  An idea came to Mr. Smith.

After much calling, the beagle once again returned.  Knowing the beagle belonged to someone, Mr. Smith did his best at drawing a map of where he was in the woods, added his wife’s phone number, and the words ‘injured – help’ on the business cards and pinned them to the collar of the beagle.  He then shooed the dog off again.

A minister was returning from church service that Sunday evening when he found several orange pins and a single business card attached to his frisky pup.  Within the hour, rescue personnel had located Mr. Smith, badly injured and dehydrated.

I tell this story often in the hunter education classes.  Two things of importance are taught.  One, stick with your plan unless you let someone know the plan has changed.  Second, wear a safety harness whenever you are using a tree stand.  Mr. Smith now teaches hunters the importance of both, as well as how to tie different types of knots in the haul line so if one were to fall, he can pull on one line to have the pack drop to him on the ground.

Over the last month there have been a number of deaths and permanent injuries as a result of not using a fall restraint system.  Will Jenkins has started a campaign titled Harnesses for Hunters in which safety harnesses can be donated to hunters who may need one but cannot afford to purchase one.  If you would like to donate a harness, or if you are in need of a harness, you can enroll in the Harnesses for Hunters program at TheWillToHunt.com at no charge.

You may also like Bill Howard's Outdoors: Trees Beg To Be Climbed

                          Bill Howard's Outdoors: Safety First!

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.

My Most Memorable Hunt

I have always considered myself as a hunter.  My passion in my younger days consisted of a shotgun and a sky full of dove.  I was a decent shot; however my dad was a fantastic shot.  I had seen him take a limit of birds with only one box of shells.  Add in the fact my grandfather hunted big game around the world and you can see I could easily be intimidated by my family’s hunting prowess.  In October of 2005 my grandfather, Papa as he was called, left this world to be in a better place.  My dad had never been fortunate enough to go on a big game hunt with Papa, so that Christmas we decided we would a special hunt in part remembrance and honor of Papa, and in part to do something together that Papa and Dad never had.

We debated over different species based on cost, distance, and timing.  Eventually we decided on something I would call an American treasure.  We chose the great bison, a truly magnificent beast with a history like no other animal in North America.  The buffalo, as it is also called, is a herd animal, once nearly extinct but now with sustainable populations that with conservation efforts should never have to worry about endangerment again.  We felt like this would be a fantastic first choice of a shared big game hunt.  In simple terms we would need to spot a herd, and take an animal.

North Dakota became our destination, as we found a guide who had a large land mass with free ranging bison occupying the grounds.  Pingree, North Dakota to be more precise.  Although it could be found on the map, we later found out it consisted of nothing more than a diner and a crossroad.  We would take the hunt in November, during the Thanksgiving week, allowing me time for the hunt without exhausting all my vacation days at work.

Now I was searching for an identity in hunting.  Again, when you grow up listening to the stories shared by my grandfather, and watching my dad nearly limit out before a bird ever gets by his zone of fire so you can pull the trigger, intimidation is immense.  During the winter of 2005 I was introduced to the compound bow.  After taking just a few shots, I felt a fire inside.  Wow!  This is what I wanted to do.  This is how I wanted to hunt.  I just needed to learn how and be good enough with the bow to hunt ethically.

The winter and spring passed and by summer I was more comfortable with a bow than I was with a shotgun.  I was consistent out to 60 yards, which was my goal for the bison hunt.  I refrained from hunting anything with my bow until our trip to North Dakota, as I wanted the bison to be the first animal I took with a bow.

But as with all good stories, there is always a setback.  Mine occurred in late June of 2006.  I began having pain in my left shoulder.   Soon, the pain was great enough that I was losing sleep.  I visited several doctors and a rehabilitation facility but the pain would not subside.  I eventually got to the point that I could not pick up a 2 liter soda with my left arm.  I was only getting about 1 hour of sleep each day and that was with the help of drugs such as Percocet.  Finally, one doctor recommended a neurosurgeon in Raleigh for me to see.  After a few x-rays, and several attempts at MRI’s, we discovered several vertebrae collapsed on a nerve bundle that led to my left shoulder and arm.  The pain had driven me to the point of tears, and during the 45 mile drive to Raleigh my wife had to stop the vehicle several times to allow me to get out and ‘walk it off’, but the other  concern was the loss of feeling in my fingers.  The nerves were damaged but we were not sure how bad.  When the surgeon suggested I have surgery soon, we agreed.  When I asked how long before we have it, he responded that week.  We had to stop the damage as soon as possible to prevent any permanent loss of feeling, if we were not too late already.

I was not able to work for a couple of months after the surgery, so depression naturally set in.  I was not drawing a paycheck, I could not do anything for the most part following the surgery, and I had that one other bit of knowledge sitting in the back of my mind; I had a bison hunt in North Dakota in just a few more months.  Late August and early September I decided I was going to beat the pain and get my head on straight.  I grabbed my bow, something I had not done since June, and turned the draw weight down as far as I could.  I would guess there were no more than a couple of threads inserted through the limbs into the riser of the bow.  Even though I was practicing everyday prior with a 65 lb draw, I was not able to pull back 35 lbs when I first started back.  But I had reason to prevail.  By the first week of November I was not only shooting as well as I had before, but I was now shooting at 75 lb draw weight, and I was shooting consistently out to 70 yards.

Dad and I traveled by pickup to North Dakota, leaving on a Friday at 1pm and arriving at 3pm on that Sunday.  The only stops came for gas, food, or bathroom breaks, as we took turns sleeping and driving.  Well, we would time the breaks when we came to a Bass Pro, Cabela’s, or Gander Mountain.  Yes, I did have each one marked on the map.  When we arrived in Pingree, we were greeted by the guide, Oren.  Just a few minutes after we were shown the house we would stay in, a couple of teenagers came up and asked Oren if they could use the skinning shelter, as one had just taken a small buck.  I asked the kid how big he was and the response came “Oh, he’s just a little 4 pointer.  I’m going to cut the antlers and make a rattle out of ‘em.”  As we stepped outside to see the small buck, we quickly came to the realization that a 4 pointer here meant a 4 x 4 not counting the brow tines.  And as far as small goes, if it is less than 200 lbs, it is small. 

Afterwards, Oren drove us several miles through the land, where we spotted the first herd of buffalo.  I had not envisioned this scene in my pre-hunt thoughts.  North Dakota was an absolute paradise of land, and these creatures seemed to perfect to tend it.  Another party was to meet at the house that evening and we headed back.  After meeting the other couple of hunters, and getting to know each other, Dad and I headed to bed, as we would be the first to hunt that next day.

The morning saw a thick layer of frost and a strong blistery wind.  The temperature was only 25 degrees, but that was favorable to the norm where the temps could drop below zero.  The high was predicted to be in the low to mid 50’s but a wind would steadily blow from the north.  I went outside with one of the other hunters to check my sight on the bow.   The previous night I had taken a small amount of ‘ribbing’ from the others for bowhunting the buffalo and I was ready to prove myself in front of my new audience.  I took 3 shots from 60 yards, placing all within a 3 inch circle.  And that was with a 25 mile per hour wind.  Redemption, baby!

Oren picked up Dad and I and we headed out to search for the herds.  It did not take long to spot a good size group and we decided to take our chances.  Shortly after exiting the truck, we proceeded toward the herd trying to be careful of wind direction.  Then, in a storm of lightning quick reactions and thundering hooves with billowing clouds of dust, the herd stampeded toward us.  Dad and I ran to a large boulder using it to shield us from the thunder beasts.  Just as a flock of birds will weave and turn in unison, the buffalo did as well and slowed to a halt near a dry river bed about a half mile away.

This provided an excellent chance for me to stalk the herd without alerting them.  While a herd animal like this provides easy shots from a distance, it can be a true challenge for a bowhunter.  It only takes one animal to either see or scent you and the whole herd will disappear to the horizon.  I explained to Oren and Dad how I intended to stalk up to the herd.  Everything worked to plan as I made my way the river bed, slowly followed the bed alongside the tall bank down to where the herd was located, and climbed the edge far enough to get a reading from the rangefinder.  At 30 yards, a distance I was very comfortable with stood a nice bull.  I set down my pack, drew the bow and eased over the edge once again.  Just before squeezing the trigger release I noticed directly behind the bull was a female.  If by chance I have a pass-thru on the shot, I could hit the other.  I let down the bow and dropped back into the river bed.  I noticed Oren and Dad were watching me with binoculars, so I hand-signaled what I was up against.  After a few minutes, I drew back once again and tried to position myself for a shot.  One female had worked her way closer to the bank, caught sight of me, and just as quick as this sentence ends, the herd was gone.

Over a hill about a mile and half away, we spotted the herd again.  I had studied bison behavior prior to the hunt, and confirmed it with Oren, that when a bull, especially the alpha bull goes down, the others will attack it.  They will begin by nudging it to get it back on its feet, and if unsuccessful, will basically become more and more forceful in order to revive it or show its own dominance in order to take over the alpha role.  Since Dad was using a lever action, I suggested he and Oren position themselves for the bull he wanted and I would work my way around to the side of the herd.  Again, the plan seemed to work as if I knew what I was talking about.  Dad brought down the alpha bull from 125 yards using a lever action 45-70 with iron sights.  Dropped him straight down.  The remainder of the herd tried to figure out what to do next.  Meanwhile, I had worked my way up to 60 yards when the trailing buffalo spotted me.  He was becoming anxious and I could tell this would not play out very long.  Again, I was confident at 60 yards, and this is the distance I was anticipating.  I set the arrow flying and watched as the arrow spiraled to the right and struck the beast true…in the snout of his nose.  In my anticipation, I neglected to adjust for the 25 mph crosswind.  Here was a buffalo, somewhat in shock and highly irritated as an arrow shaft was protruding halfway down the bridge between his eyes with blood pulsating outward.  The buffalo galloped off.  If there is a positive in this, my buffalo startled the rest of the herd, causing them to stampede away from Dad’s trophy.  My buffalo also separated from the herd, baffled from the pain, blood, and likely cross-eyed vision.  I told Oren and Dad to take care of Dad’s kill, and I was going to follow my buffalo and hopefully get another shot.

After stalking for another mile and a half, the injured buffalo was walking behind a set of mounds with a crevice running between them.  This would my opportunity.  I jogged to the east, up to the mounds and crouched near the crevice.  As the buffalo neared the opening, I quickly ranged the ground for a decent estimate of where the buffalo would cross.  When the brown and black bison came into the opening, I drew the bow, stood and let loose the projectile.  The broadhead struck the side of the buffalo, causing a quick kick and buck, and he took off once more.  Then, about 200 yards later, he stopped and lay down.  I walked up to him once more.  Thirty yards, broadside, laying down and looking at me, I released one more ethical and measured shot.  In just a few more minutes, the great beast of lore and legend was resting peacefully in another place, having left this worldly presence.

I called my wife and mother to tell them of the success.  I also shared a prayer of thanks.  Thanks for the chance to share this hunt with my dad, something my grandfather and dad never had the chance to do.  Thanks for the opportunity to experience such a great creature in his habitat of beautiful and fertile land.  Thanks for the challenge of the hunt and providing me with such a formidable prey.  Thanks for the nourishment he would provide my family for such a long period of time.  Thanks for providing the necessary incentive to push me forward after the injury and surgery.  Thanks for the memory I will possess until I too, leave this worldly presence.  In God’s name and spirit, I give thanks.

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.