One of the Most Dangerous Animals

It was just after daybreak. I had watched her for about 30 minutes in the dark as she worked her way across the field.  She was both beautiful and dangerous. In fact, if you think about it, most things in nature share those two attributes.

Mount Everest is one example. The largest mountain in the world has enticed many a climber with her glorious beauty. She is also a killer. Nearly everyone that has ventured to the summit has come back with either parts of their bodies missing and damaged through frostbite or falls or parts of their soul grieving for the bodies they spot on the way to or from the peak. It is too dangerous to return the fallen, so the climbers that did not make lay scattered throughout the mountain. Having made authors such as Jon Krakauer and Anatoli Boukreev famous with their stories of Everest’s ferocity, it still isn’t close to causing the death, destruction, and disease of the beast that was in front of me.

Niagara with all her history and splendidness is also a devout widow-maker. She has power that few things or places on this world could ever compare to. Many times you can visit something that is regarded as larger than life and then once you get there you realize “wow, it’s not nearly as impressive as I thought it was.” Not Niagara Falls. It actually is beyond what you can imagine. The force of the water slapping the rocks below, the spray that results towering higher than any building it is very impressive. From miles away the sound and spray can be seen. Many daredevils have ventured down the river on their way to the drop. Only a few have survived. Yet it still does not contend with what stood just yards away from me.

Yes, this was the moment. Her kind was scarce just a few decades ago. Through both management and mismanagement she began to flourish however. In fact she is so common throughout the state that North Carolina has allowed unlimited harvest. She destroys landscapes. She decimates food crops. And during the months of October through December she especially burdensome to travelers. She fears not the would-be driver and often will head for direct impact. She also shares parasites, mites, and ticks with both people and pets.

This would be my chance to turn the tables. It had now been nearly an hour after I first saw her. I was not sure I would get an opportunity. She walked from left to right out of the swamp, occasionally pulling up soybeans as she strolled through the field. Patiently I waited. For some reason she turned. I remained still and steadfast sitting on the lock-on stand. She made another turn offering my movement to grab my bow without her noticing. She then turned back toward me once again. I could tell she was completely unaware of my presence. Her ears twitching away from me and back toward the swamp gave away her lack of insight. A little closer, that is all I needed.

Then she walked towards the stand and was only a few yards away. No clear shot for her vitals, I knew I still had one shot available. Nearly directly under me I set the sights. With one steady pull the string and arrow locked in place on the Pearson Stealth II. My right index finger slowly moved up and over the release trigger. Instinctively, the pin glided to the intended point of impact and the trigger was grazed.

The spine shot laid down the doe immediately. Thirty seconds later and another deer would be done.

Firsts

Dove hunting was by far my favorite hunt growing up.  The weather was usually nice with a touch on the hot side.  Well, it was actually very, very hot, but as a pre-teen and teen and a baseball player, 90 degrees seemed normal.

Duck hunting on the other hand, just wasn’t my cup of tea.  Don’t get me wrong, I liked shooting.  But duck hunting was alien to the bird hunting I was accustomed to.  It was cold for one thing.  Bitter cold.  The wind was usually howling and for some reason that God can only explain to me, if it rained, it meant the hunt would be even better.  Really?  Cold, wet, and windy meant this would be a good hunt?

But this was not all!  My dad and I would spend several hours getting the boat ready, packing the decoys, getting our clothes situated then drive several more hours so that we could get in a boat in this terrible weather, drive the boat in dark for another 30 minutes, throw out several dozen plastic birds, and then sit in a blind to wait for the sun to come up.  And yes, I hated the ‘early’ part of the hunt also.  Dove season would come in at noon.  Ducks, they flew thirty minutes before sunrise.  Curse those ducks!

I think I was around thirteen when I shot my first duck.  Nothing special.  Not a magnificent shot at all.  In fact, the hen ruddy duck just kind of flew in and landed.  We didn’t call her in.  I don’t think we noticed her until we saw and heard the splash of her landing.  We scared her up so I could get the shot.  But it was my first duck.

Over the years, especially the last ten or so, I enjoy duck hunting much more.  The variety of species intrigues me and I am like a kid in the zoo when I spot one that I don’t usually see.  In all likelihood though, I think my taste for hunting ducks lies mostly on lifestyle.  Not the lifestyle of living large, or even living lower.  More in the lines of my day is not taken completely away by heading out for ducks.  My wife is less frustrated than if I sit in a stand all day and show up an hour after dark.  I still do not like getting up early, but it is tolerable and I have more discipline as an adult to force myself to get out of bed.

My oldest son’s first experience with hunting waterfowl had the makings of both a miserable hunt and a first class experience.  We hunted swans near Lake Phelps in the northeastern part of the state.  It was hard to find camo for his small frame, but we pieced some things together.  We also had absolutely no luck in finding BB steel shot for the 20 gauge side by side he would use.  He shot 4 shot instead.  The #4s are great for ducks such as woodies, but I was warned that the swan was so big he would not be able to bring one down.  Still, we had to use what was available.

The party hunted from a ditch in a field that must have been more than 10,000 acres and the guide was calling only by mouth with his hands cupped over his lips.  There were about a dozen of us hunters.  Turner was too short to reach from one side of the ditch to the other, so he settled his feet in the bottom and leaned against one side.  Within seconds his boots were completely underwater and he whispered to me that they were soaked.  I kicked with the back of my heel a small shelf into the side of the ditch and he dug his heels in the shelf to stay out of the water.  I could only sympathize for him about how the hunt was starting.

The first time he used the Ithaca 20 gauge was just a few months before on opening day of dove season.  He didn’t even shoot a box of shells, but did bring down a few birds.  I saw he was trigger shy.  He was still learning.  When to shoot, when not to shoot, would someone be upset if he missed, would others laugh; all those questions were certainly flowing through his mind.

This day was not much different.  I shot five times that day to get my first swan.  The swan I shot was actually a follow up shot after Turner’s first shot.  Turner had hit him, but he didn’t go down.  Turner took one more shot that day, folding a young swan nearly 70 yards away.  The small shot with a small shotgun that was fired by a small 9 year old was no small feat.



David Tomlin (Harmony, NC) and his son in 2009

I look back on this day after reading an email from David Tomlin.  David shared with me how his hunts changed after having a child.  Then he emphasized ‘for the better.’  I realize how blessed I am to have been with my son on the swan hunt, the dove hunt, and the many other hunts we have done since.  I realize how blessed I am as I teach my daughter the same skills.  I anticipate the opportunity to teach my youngest son and experience everything again for the first time through his eyes.  And as I think about these events, I realize how blessed my father and grandfather were to experience the same with me as I encountered my ‘firsts.’

 

Definitely for the better.

Wife Knows Best

I first want to thank both the Wilson Times and Yancey County News on these last two years of allowing me to share stories with their readers. January 18th marks 2 years since I had my first deadline. Also, I want to share that Bill Howard's Outdoors will now also run in the Concord Independent Tribune, Hickory Daily Record, Marion-McDowell News, Morganton News Herald, and the Statesville Record & Landmark. I look forward to many years of sharing and promoting the outdoors.

      Sometimes you should just listen to your wife. Like the time I was told to wash dark clothes in warm water and light clothes in cold water. Or was it dark clothes in cold water and light clothes in warm water? See. I should have listened. My camo came out more tie-dyed than when it went in the washing machine.

      Rusty Owens had one of these moments recently as well. Not with washing his clothes, but still…
      The last day of deer season Rusty headed out to his hunting club. The weather was nasty. Wet, cold, windy. Not really enticing unless you are duck hunting. Those ducks, well they like the nastiest weather. But for deer hunting, they just don’t get up and out like the ducks do in weather like that.
      Rusty chatted with his hunting buddies for a while that morning and then headed back to the house. He got back in time to eat lunch with his wife Windy. This is not the part where Rusty should have listened to his wife. Not yet anyway.
      Rusty thought about the season after lunch. He remembered this unique buck he had on camera back in July. That buck was on the hit list. He patterned the buck for a couple of months. The buck appeared on camera as regular as a senior on prune juice. Things changed once September rolled around though. The deer was not seen. Not on Rusty’s trail camera anyway. And none of the other members mentioned seeing the unusual buck during the season.
      Rusty tried to watch television, but couldn’t settle on any particular show. The flashback of the season just kept playing in his mind. Windy could tell he was antsy. Finally, here it comes, Windy told him to just go on back out to the hunting club and give it one last shot. “It’s the last day of the season,” she said, “You’ll regret it the rest of the year if you don’t go one last time.”
      Rusty didn’t listen. You see, women are wise. Women become wise somewhere between “I do” and the birth of the first child. I have seen many women make mistakes before this stage in life. I have very little experience of women making those same mistakes after this stage in life. Granted, I really only have my wife and my mother to truly relate to this theory, but based on that the theory holds 2 to nothing.
      Rusty moped around the house for while longer. Then, around 3:45pm, Rusty had an epiphany. Windy is usually right! “I’m going hunting!” he told her. He quickly donned his hunting clothes and drove the 30 minute drive back to the hunting club.
      He was up in his stand at 4:35pm. There was less than an hour left in the season and several of the other hunters were running dogs earlier that afternoon. It did not seem promising, but he figured he would close the season out just the same as he started; he would sit the same stand and appreciate the little time he had.
      Rusty constantly scanned the fields, and at 5:25pm he spotted a buck walking toward him. The buck kept his head down toward the ground as it strolled. Rusty could make out it was an 8 pointer. The antlers were also extended past the outside of its ears indicating this was a shooter. The last day, the last few minutes, and here was an opportunity.
Rusty steadied his .25-06 Browning A-bolt. With the sight locked in, Rusty gently squeezed the trigger. The 115 grain Nosler Boat Tail ballistic tip bullet spiraled toward the vitals and the buck dropped in its tracks. Rusty’s last shot of the season was true.
      As Rusty approached the downed whitetail he spotted an extra tine at the base of the left antler. Could this be? He knelt down after confirming the kill and it became apparent. This was the deer. This was the one on his hit list. The uniqueness of an extra ‘beam’ protruding about 3 inches below the main left beam just above the eye was the same as he saw nearly half a year earlier on his trail camera while the deer was still in velvet. The same deer that none of the other hunters had even spotted but also vanished from Rusty’s scouting notes. He was successful.
      He listened to his wife.

2013 Goals Scheduled

     My goal for this year is to experience what North Carolina has to offer the outdoorsman.  This wonderful state has a unique geographical landscape that offers plenty of different and exciting opportunities and challenges that many of us never knew was right in our own backyard.

     For the coming year, here is what you will be able to expect from this column.

     I separated the wildlife into twelve categories, of which I will give due diligence to both participate in and report on over the year.  They are whitetail deer, black bear, wild turkey, small game, invasive game, upland game, waterfowl, freshwater fishing, bass fishing, trout fishing, inshore fishing, and offshore fishing.  There are not many states that can boast such a large diversity when you break it down this way.

     I also want to witness the glory of each of the seventeen river basins located in North Carolina.  As much as I would like to hit all seventeen this year, I realize there are just not enough weekends in a year to do it all.

     Last week I mentioned I wanted to spend time with my family and help nurture their passions as well.  Luckily, I have found a way to intertwine these goals to allow them to be met.

     For instance, in late March, my oldest son Turner and I will head down the venerable Neuse River during the height of the annual striped bass migration.  It is not uncommon to bring in over 50 fish in one day with triple digit catches possible.  Memories-check.  Neuse River basin-check.  Bass fishing-check.

     The opening weekend of youth turkey season will see my daughter Julianne and I head out for her first turkey hunt.  Just the two of us, a blind, a few decoys, and my expert calling skills.  Ok, adequate calling skills.  We will be warming up her bow over the next couple of months as she wants to go after the wiley gobbler with archery equipment, which could not make me happier.  Memories-check.  Turkey hunting-check.

     In June, my youngest son Cooper and I are scheduled to hit the waters for bream and crappie.  The old lake where I learned to fish holds some secrets that I hope are still intact some 25 years later.  A few little spots around the dam, a couple of clusters of trees out in the open water, and a hidden growth of lily pads down a little known tributary could hold the secrets to some monster sunfish and largemouth and I intend on sharing that knowledge with him.  Memories-check.  Tar River basin-check.  Freshwater fishing-check.

     During the summer I will also be taking my wife Susan on an adventure she has never encountered.  We will pack up some supplies and head down the Cashie River for an overnight trip.  We will stay on the river in one of the many camping platforms built by the Roanoke River Partners.  The platforms are located on the water and you paddle right up to it.  We will pitch the tent and watch and listen to the wildlife.  If we are lucky, we may spot creatures ranging from raccoons to black bears.  It is not often I can get Susan to agree to do something like this, so when I do, it gets scheduled!  Memories-check.  Roanoke River basin-check.

     Speaking of black bears, I will hit the Pisgah area once again and hunt them under the shadows of the great Mount Mitchell, the tallest mountain east of the Mississippi.  I may even run a spot and stalk on a whitetail while there during the archery season.  Memories-check.  Black bear-check.  Whitetail deer-check.

     Of course during all of this I will do the usual such as dove hunting, pier fishing, and swatting off mosquitoes.  It is what we do as outdoorsmen.  It is what we do as lovers of nature and her inhabitants.

     Along the way we will discuss things important to us as far as regulations, safety, tips (take my advice for what it is worth) and issues that present themselves.  But none of these things are more important than the sharing of one little bit of heaven that God has given us here on Earth.  Whether you are sharing it with family and friends, or it is just you and God’s presence, this is the most important.

 

You can find my goals for 2013 listed here.

 

What are your goals?

2013 Goal Setting

     I sat in the stand this last weekend of the year as well as the last weekend of deer season and it pretty much summed up 2012.  As I walked onto my land, which is gated and posted, I encountered three people in orange vest carrying rifles.  I approached them and as I did it reminded me of the dangers that one can come on that are not expected, just as I wrote about just a few weeks earlier.

     Then on Sunday as I walked to my stand, there were eight atv’s riding around, again on my land.  This continued until dark which in turn promised another unsuccessful hunt.

     Well, not really.  I am an opportunist.  I look for whatever opportunities that may present themselves.  As the deer were certainly frightened off, over the weekend I did manage to arrow three squirrels.  Small game at its finest.  Small targets to test my abilities.  Nothing wrong with that.

     Then on New Year’s eve, I learned my neighbor’s brother had passed in an automobile accident in New York.  My sympathy, thoughts, and prayers are and were with her and her family.

     The lesson continues.  At the beginning of the year there is hope and anticipation.  Opportunities may pass and be passed as other larger dreams are waited upon.  But there is no guarantee.  Just as with my deer season.  Just as with my neighbor’s brother.  We do not know what will come.

     We can plan.  Resolutions are common at the beginning of the year, and I am certain as many of you read this column, that some of these resolutions have already been broken.  Without planning, without dreaming, we will never experience the things that are life changing, memorable events.  While it has been shown above that even with the best made plans, that success is not guaranteed, the best way to not reach a goal is to not have a goal.

     This year, I have looked into my planning a little different.  Not only will I be planning the big things, I will plan the small things too.  It is easy to tell your 7 year old that we will go fishing one day.  It is much more difficult to find that ‘one day.’  So I will mark a weekend on the calendar, hype the trip, and watch his eyes glow as we get closer to that date.  And, if there is a great day to hit the water before then, we can still go that time as well.

     I want to take my oldest son on an overnight float trip fishing for both largemouth and smallmouth.  What better way to make sure it happens than to plan it in advance.  Well in advance.  Not the weekend before.  We become one in planning, execution, and hopefully success of the adventure.

     My daughter wants to shoot her bow more.  I have always had things in the way.  It is easy enough for me to get a little practice time on the spur of the moment.  It is much more difficult to get practice time for the two of us.  We’ll plan it so there are no excuses.

     I am going to sit down with my wife and plan a weekend getaway for the family; perhaps another camping trip.  We will pick a location, a date, and the activities to surround it.  It will be memorable.  Things like this always are.

     Of course I still have my own trips, my own hunts, to plan.  I am working on a couple of books as I type this column that I need photos for.  This has to all play into the planning of the new year.  I have to look at the seasons that are coming, the expected migration runs, the anticipated breeding times.  Without some type of knowledge and planning my goals will not be met.  With goals and planning for those goals, I am at least on the right track.  There is no guarantee I will be successful or even able to do some of the things I plan.  There is a guarantee I will not be successful if I do not at least try.

     Set big goals, set small goals, plan for both.  Experience 2013, do not just let it slip by.  Enjoy it with the people you enjoy. 

 

Know What is Special

Many years ago, a gentleman wandered upon a group of friends who were fishing not far off shore from a boat.  “Having any luck?” he asked.

“No, we cannot seem to find any fish here,” responded one of the fishermen.

“Perhaps you should try fishing from the other side of the boat,” the first man said with a smile.

They laughed, and even entertained the stranger by throwing the net on the other side.  To their amazement, the net was filled with fish.  The boat returned to the shore and they recognized the stranger.  The group of friends were happy to see a resurrected Jesus standing before them.

God has granted us with a beautiful world within which we live.  Though tragedy and outside influences may influence our daily lives, our souls should remain strong and optimistic.  There is still much to be thankful for and worth celebrating.

We have many old Christmas stories which remind us of what the true spirit of Christmas is about, although we often forget.  It is not the gift we get from others that is important.  It may not be the gift we give to others that is important.  It is actually the presence of our loved ones and not the presents of our loved ones that is important.

While juggling in my mind’s eye the recent evil which took place, I thought about my own kids.  My youngest, Cooper, is coming into his own.  My wife is often burdened with Coop’s attention, and I know it can wear her down.  The umbilical cord is still attached.  But I look upon him as he gains confidence in different areas of life.  Little things such as going into martial arts class on his own, or performing his part in the Christmas performance.

My daughter, a blessed soul, is blossoming into a bright, anxious young lady.  She loves the time we spend in the outdoors together and anticipates the next hunting season even before this one is done.  If not for bugs or her big brother or the occasional scary movie, she would not be scared of anything.  Even with her constant reminders of my receding hairline (ok, receded hairline), graying facial hair, and the fact that I may not be as tough as I put on, I love her so.  As far as the tough comment, it stems from the fact that tears readily run down my cheeks whenever I watch her dance.  It’s a dad’s love, what can I say.

My oldest son, Turner, is maturing into a fine young man.  He can drive us crazy at times, but in the end we know we can trust his judgment.  When he asked me recently about hunting on his own, I told him he could without hesitation.  He texted me during the hunt, sometimes asking advice, sometimes just reporting in.

I guess what I am saying through this is a parent’s job is to ready their kids for society.  They need to be able to stand on their own, think on their own, and understand what to do with their freedoms.  One of the best feelings is when you can observe that occurring.  Too often, we miss that observation.

One of the best gifts may be the time and memories we get to spend with each other.  In the woods.  On the water.  In the field.  These times have few distractions.   We are together.  Just us.  We learn things about each other that we likely will not at home in front of the television or while on the computer.  Our kids gain experience and we learn what to teach.  We do this without realizing it.

Merry Christmas.

The Most Feared Thing in the Woods

I was recently asked what was the most frightening moment I had while hunting.  I am sure the images conjured up from the person consisted of encounters with mountain lion in the Arizona high desert, or perhaps wrestling with an alligator as we tried to tie the legs together and tape the mouth shut.  The black bear that scared away my chance at my first turkey this year may have even been on his mind considering I was within a few yards of the potential mauler with nothing more than a camouflaged pop up tent between us.

Although looking back at my answer I would have thought I would have needed more time to come up with the appropriate response, it really just rolled of my tongue.  “I would have to say the time I walked up another hunter who was on the land I was about to hunt.”

A situation like this happens all the time to wildlife officers.  They will receive a call that someone is trespassing or poaching on someone’s land.  While the officer is not quite sure of how the situation will play out, you know they run through their mind’s eye several scenerios for preparation.  While there is uncertainty to the outcome, they know going in that the person they are there to see has a weapon of some sorts.

The same thing played out with me.  I wasn’t sure if the person was purposely on the wrong property or how they would react.  I was fairly certain they would have a weapon, and likely a firearm.

It was not the only time something like this had happened.  My father and I were sighting in his rifle before an out-of-state hunt one day when a dark Suburban drove across the back side of our property.  It turned, coming down the path towards us.  Once it crested the hill approaching us, it braked, then backed up and turned around.  They knew they were on property they were not supposed to be on.

I was also hunting game lands once in which I feared an altercation may ensue.  I was set up early in the morning for turkey, decoys already out.  I spotted a flashlight shining several hundred yards away.  I heard some talking but could not make out what was being said.   The light made one more sweep and then was extinguished.  No big deal, as it is pretty easy to have several hunters trying to hunt the same patch of ground on game lands.  The problem came to when I spotted the hunters in the tree line near me and a barrel edging out past the one of the trees.  I turned on my light, blinking it several times.

The next thing I heard was a few words not appropriate to put in a story as the person realized he had just stalked up on my decoys rather than an early morning brood in the field.  He then walked right through the middle of my set up as he exited the field.

Just to show how the chase of the game can alter one’s ethics and present a dangerous situation, I’ll share a quick story from a few years ago.  A gentleman had several teenagers driving on his land after dark for a period of a couple of weeks.  About every other night, the man reported gun shots.  Finally, he convinced the wildlife officers to come out and find the poachers.

The gentleman was reassured that his land would be patrolled but had not seen the officers for a few days.  As he drove into his driveway, he paused, backed up, swept his high beams across the land, then pulled back up to his house.  He hurried into his house, turning off the porch light as he entered.  He then came back out of the house, 30-06 in hand.  He rested it on the ledge of the porch and fired.

The deer didn’t fall immediately.  He then shot again.  This time it dropped where it stood.

He laid his rifle down and grabbed his four-wheeler driving out to where he had killed the deer.  Just as he approached the fallen buck, headlights popped on a truck concealed nearby.  Two wildlife officers stepped out and asked the landowner what he was doing.  The deer he had just shot was an electronic decoy the officers were using to try and catch the potential poachers.

“It was the largest deer I had ever seen on my land, and I won’t about to let those teenagers come by here and kill me deer!” responded the confused and excited gentleman.

By far, a human is the most frightening thing in the woods.

Hunting Matters

The numbers are in.

Each year the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission releases a report showing both current and historical data related to licensed hunters, the hunter education program, and the number of hunting incidents and fatalities.  Mining through the data can tell you how successful the program is working. 

And in North Carolina, the program is working well.

The 2011-2012 hunting season saw an increase of over 16000 licensed hunters in North Carolina over the year before.  While that is significant in itself, there is more to the story.  The nearly 522000 licensed hunters are the most North Carolina has had since 1994-95.  Sandwiched between those years were many high 300000 to mid 400000 licensed hunters.

Another story that can be deduced from the numbers is we are doing a very good job of bringing new hunters into the mix.  The 19246 hunter education students that were certified during that year were the second most since 1993-94.  These students are primarily taught by volunteer instructors who go through a weekend long class.  The instructors are taught on not only the course material, but various teaching methods that help the student understand the material thoroughly.

Why are we picking up these extra hunters?  It is not a simple one sentence answer.  I personally believe it can attributed to a large variety of factors.

First, society as a whole seems to be at least tolerant of hunting.  While anti-hunters are often the most vocal, the bulk of the population is either for hunting or has the mentality ‘to each his own’.  In hunter education classes we teach how to be ethical.  Ethics is not just whether you should do something that is lawful or not.  We discuss how bloody clothing and photos showing the impact wound can be a detriment to what hunting symbolizes.  Hunters are often painted as being barbaric, and scenes such as these only enhance that mentality.  It seems now, and this is totally unscientific, that the anti-hunters are often painted as the fringe now, and their antics are magnified consistently.

Television shows such as River Monsters, Man vs Wild, Survivorman, Swamp People, and Duck Dynasty have captured the imagination of the viewer as many have never seen nature in this way, nor have they seen the people that interact with nature do so in an ethical manner.  These shows may have done more for the acceptance, or at least tolerance of hunting than any other thing.

But society as a whole is not the only factor.  Programs such as the Hunting Matters mentoring program have been a success as well.  This program in particular asks the hunter to pledge to mentor a new hunter over the coming year and show them our hunting heritage.  In return for this promise, the hunter will receive a hat and bumper sticker from the NCWRC.

Walter Deet James, who began the Hunting Matters program a few years ago recently wrote a piece for me explaining why it is important to recruit new hunters.  Even though our numbers are increasing, our percentages as a nation are not due to overall population growth.  Deet explains that if our numbers do not grow in correlation to the overall population, it will become easy for hunters and outdoorsmen to lose their say, and vital programs for both hunters, anglers, and wildlife may lose their funding.

Funding from programs such as the Pittman-Robertson Act is how the state gets much of its money to furnish our volunteer instructors with material for the over 19000 students certified last year.

Redneck Hillbillies

Rednecks.  Hillbillies.  Country bumpkins.  Heck, even gun-totin’ Bible thumpers.  These words are often used in a derogatory sense for those of us here in the South.  Yet, most often when we hear these names, we just shake our head with an air of confidence and pride.

We are stereotyped as if all we do is sip iced tea out of mason jars and shoot things for fun.  Even hit cable shows such as Duck Dynasty play on this fact as the Robertson clan meet those expectations, and meet them well.

Shoot-arounds have multiple meanings.  Sure, basketball comes to mind, especially this time of year.  But just as we are portrayed, we enjoy slinging the lead as well.

I have been invited twice to go out with an old high school friend who was also my roommate at NC State to shoot at his land with some of his buddies.  Twice I have missed it.  I’ll eventually get to though, Jeff.  Just don’t quit inviting me!

I was able to join a get together my Dad held a few weekends ago.  Some may ask what is so fun about just going out and shooting.  It is a lot more than just shooting.  Stories are told; some true, some as best as can be remembered, some deliberately as fake as a $5 diamond ring.  Of course many of these stories grips you to the end only to find out it was a long, elaborate joke that makes you laugh with a gush that would rival Santa.  There is often some sort of food and drink.  Steaks were on the menu this particular day, and yours truly was the chef.

Before and during these festivities though, was the shooting.  With firearms and firepower that rivaled small guerrilla factions, the group of us set up targets and tended to the range.  We had exploding targets, paper targets, and moving targets.  The smart person would watch and see who could shoot and who couldn’t so as to know who to team with during the Apocalypse and who to go after if further rations were needed.  Usually the ones who missed had the readymade excuse of ‘I’m sighting it in’.  All we needed to turn this in to a hit movie was a few young actors and a banjo.

These types of shoots allow something similar to the family reunion buffet.  With everyone having their own different caliber of firearm, we all were able to shoot weapons that we normally do not get the opportunity to.

Yes, I had to get at least one shot with the bow.

But shoots are not always involving over a dozen friends or family.  They can consist of just a few participants as well.  Several years ago I was on a deer hunt in the Northeastern part of the state.  It was the first season in which crossbows and Sunday hunting was legalized.  I had won the trip while a group from out of state had come down as they do each year.  I knew they were a tight circle of friends, but they accepted me right in, ribbing me for bowhunting only meanwhile accepting the ridicule I dished back.  One of the guys had bought a crossbow and wished to show everyone how great it was.  My ‘status’ had increased within the group as I had taken two deer the evening before with my bow while they were all skunked while using rifles.

“I bet Bill could outshoot that crossbow!” came the loud voice of one of the friends.

“No way.  This thing can hit a quarter from 50 yards,” responded the crossbow hunter.

“I practice out to 70 yards,” I said without thinking.  Then it was on.  The other hunters began the shouts, challenges and prods.  Before I knew it we were ranging 50 yards behind the cabin.  The first friend began laying the ground rules; each of takes a turn shooting and we will only shoot three times each.  We would measure in inches from the bull’s-eye each shot and the winner would have the fewest inches.  Because a crossbow usually uses some type of rest, the crossbow hunter would use a table.

What had I just gotten myself into?  Then money started changing hands between the friends.  Really!  What HAD I just gotten myself into?!?

In short, I won the challenge that day, and my opponent had to wash the dishes that evening.  He also had to accept more insults than one should endure.  Truth is, I was likely just lucky.  But I was able to hold my head high the rest of the hunt.

And at the end of the day, we all got together, we ate well, some were sipping from mason jars, and enjoyed the camaraderie.  Just a bunch of country bumpkin redneck hillbillies totin’ their guns before thanking God for the freedoms we have been given.

We Are America

Our country is unique in many factors.  Our founding fathers designed checks and balances that control our government without compromising our freedoms.

This country, in a large part, has embraced the land in which we reside as the foundation to its building.  Searching throughout our history, one comes to understand without the respect we have given to nature and the frontier; this country may have never survived.

I have written in the past about an episode with Teddy Roosevelt when he was bear hunting in Mississippi.  The story goes that President Roosevelt was pursuing a black bear and had several high ranking state officials invite and join him in the expedition.  The party enlisted the help of Holt Collier who was known as the best bear hunter in the area to assist in the hunt.  The gentleman also happened to be black.  Roosevelt and Collier hit it off and stole the show with their tales of different hunts they had been a part of.  One thing of note; Roosevelt insisted Collier be treated as a member of the hunting party rather than a servant.  Later in the hunt, Roosevelt had a chance at a black bear that was beaten and worn from a ferocious battle with the hounds and Roosevelt refused to take the animal as he deemed it unethical.

A newspaper cartoonist in New York picked up on the story, and tied his rendition of a bear cub strapped to a tree with Roosevelt waving off the shot to the fact that Roosevelt treated a black man in the South as a human of equal standing, titling the cartoon as ‘Drawing the Line in Mississippi.’  It became one of the hallmarks for equal rights amongst races during the time.

We have also had other outdoorsmen make their marks on our history.  People such as Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone were indicative of our American spirit and beliefs.  Not only were they more than capable of living on the land, but they served their states and our country with passion.

Even before we became a sovereign nation, we relied on the resources our land provided.  If it wasn’t for the assistance of a Native American named Squanto in Rhode Island, one of our first settlements may have gone the way of the Lost Colony story here on our own coast.  Squanto assisted the Pilgrims led by John Smith through their first winter, teaching them how to fish for the native species of the region.  Without Squanto’s assistance, the Pilgrims would likely have fought a battle with the local tribes and not been able to survive for lack of food.

One story I find particularly interesting is that of our first President George Washington.  Washington built his Mount Vernon estate on the shores of the Potomac River.  There he became a proficient fisherman.  He learned of the annual shad run there also.  Washington constructed huge nets he could place in the river trapping the massive abundance of the darting silver scaled fish.  It provided
Washington with not only a stable source of income, but actually an abundance of wealth.

The winter of 1777 in Valley Forge was a typical winter for that part of Pennsylvania.  Many stories tell of the harsh conditions and the picture in one’s mind is of deep unrelenting snow and wind.  Actually, the winter consisted of moderate snow that would melt during the day.  The constant wet is what the harsh conditions consisted of.  Disease poured over the troops as there was no way to stay dry.  Most meals were a flour and water mixture called fire cakes.  Washington tried his best to get relief but Congress was unable to assist.  Toward the tail end of winter, Washington realized the time was near for the annual shad run.  Washington directed his men to construct nets and traps and place them in the nearby river.  His hunch proved correct, and nourishment for his weakened and starved troops was provided by shad making their own pilgrimage.

Our country has had plenty of courses that seemed to be astray, yet we continually find the right path.  Adversity, tribulations, and trials have always been countered by instinct, knowledge, and love of the land and people.  We have prospered from our freedoms that allow us to have the chance to develop those instincts and obtain that knowledge.  And in those virtues, we further our love of our land and people.

It’s great to be American and free.

Living versus Surviving

While researching information on a story I am working on, I came upon some information on various Native American Indian groups in North Carolina.  I began looking where certain tribes were as well as the ties they had to other tribes.  Some of the tribes moved elsewhere after settlers came into the area.  There were some that had languages consisting of words from tribes located across North America indicating tribal mergers at some point and time.  I also learned of various living customs and techniques.

This weekend I was able to hit the deer stand on Saturday morning.  When I say Saturday morning, I mean at 3:30am.  Trail camera photos indicated the deer were hitting the field near my stand around 4am, so in order to get in and not spook them; I had to beat them to the field.  I packed my mp3 player which also has radio reception, threaded my earphones through my shirt and under my face mask, and sit back and listened while waiting for shooting light.

I do not listen to music on the radio much.  Usually, the only time music is played over my truck stereo is when my daughter changes the station when I take her to or pick her up from dance class.  The sequence is something like this:

Julianne presses the station preset as soon as she gets in the truck.

“What are you doing?” comes my quick reply to her actions.

“Changing the station.  No one wants to listen to talk radio.”

“Uh, yes I do.  It is my truck, my stereo, and I am listening to this.”  I press the preset back to the station I was listening to.

“Not anymore!” she shrieks while hitting the button again.

I again press the button, “Don’t touch it!”

Halfway home, she leans forward as if she has an itch, or is picking up something, or…anyway, she quickly presses the music preset once again.  It stays that way until I head to work the next day.

Now that I have run a tangent to my topic, let me get back to the real story here.  I was listening to Coast to Coast AM while waiting in the stand.  It is a show that runs overnight and usually deals with conspiracy theories, UFO’s, aliens, and the such.  Music puts me to sleep.  Talk radio, especially something like this, keeps me interested and my eyes open.

The guest that morning was discussing how to survive ‘the oncoming disaster.’

I’m not going to delve into the December 2012 lore, nor am I going to write about the two comets coming in 2013 and how they may actually be planet X and planet Niburu as told in Sumerian tablets.  A quick Google search on any of that will provide plenty of hours and websites of entertainment.  But I did start thinking about the whole survival thing.

I was listening to a man who was discussing how people do not know how to survive anymore.  People cannot live without certain amenities such as electricity, air conditioning, and plumbing.

And I thought to myself about the Native Americans and the European settlers and how they ‘survived.’  Not all of them survived, I know.  That is how we have the Lost Colony.  But survival now is a lot different than survival was back when this land was not yet the United States.  We have television shows starring people such as Les Stroud and Bear Grylls explaining to us how to survive.  Their shows throw them in the middle of nowhere for seven to ten days.  They have to SURVIVE.  Yet, the explorers and settlers and Native Americans did not only survive, they LIVED.  They knew how to make it in the world with what the world offered them.  Our world now bears little resemblance to the world then.

What secrets have we lost?  When did that basic instinct of living become a not-so-instinctive survival quality?

I learned some of the great hunting tribes would cover themselves in mud.  The purposes were many.  First, the mud would cover any human scent.  We now either have to use a spray, high priced clothing, or put ourselves in an enclosed building with windows on each side that allow us to go after our game from several hundred yards away.

Second, the mud offered camouflage.  Head out to a swampy area and pick up a handful of mud.  Then walk over to a tree such as a pine or oak, or even a river birch.  Hold your hand near the bark.  The mud is like the perfect camouflage.  So that high priced clothing that in Realtree or Mossy Oak with the Scentblock emblem costs how much?  The mud is a LOT cheaper!

Third, the mud helped battle those pesky insects.  You know the ones.  The North Carolina State Bird; the mosquito!  Horseflies, gnats, no-see-ums…they cannot penetrate a good caking of mud.  Why do you think pigs and elephants roll around in the mud?  It gets the bugs off!

Mud is just one secret that we no longer have in our arsenal of survival; of living.

I became a bit envious of the knowledge our ancestors had.  Sure we have electricity, air conditioning, plumbing, and even truck stereos with station presets and mp3 players, but our knowledge of luxuries is nothing compared to their knowledge of living.