tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63963165895368094942024-03-14T00:56:10.031-07:00OUTSIDE AGAINYour Blog Site For All Things OutdoorsBill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-85145112428771087752011-01-12T18:02:00.000-08:002011-01-12T18:27:08.723-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj824zei2aah6nREIIzcHNx-WOt6nXEtX0MF3pml-s_z9iGoE2LG-PWYtabIaOU0YxLzaGYYIMbctWA8NqWQo2KvPGbfCj1DQwwuZFT32sUHAV1c6qagJGnkAOZEUtzhtNEo1_0kOgAQk/s1600/scan0197.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 312px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561491325630093506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj824zei2aah6nREIIzcHNx-WOt6nXEtX0MF3pml-s_z9iGoE2LG-PWYtabIaOU0YxLzaGYYIMbctWA8NqWQo2KvPGbfCj1DQwwuZFT32sUHAV1c6qagJGnkAOZEUtzhtNEo1_0kOgAQk/s400/scan0197.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq306ofHWf7iLmnl3H0UvSi-Ip6tckQEzlBULw7zgUbUJInlHQtqW12nh2AClXDvxGS2EGRQ9IeyQCn2eUVRisDJ-c5jtP1tUsluPSdNNgE_Jr_hfPuVjRRCc3G4dNZnyecv6CGrV-w_8/s1600/scan0010.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 274px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561489876279890290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq306ofHWf7iLmnl3H0UvSi-Ip6tckQEzlBULw7zgUbUJInlHQtqW12nh2AClXDvxGS2EGRQ9IeyQCn2eUVRisDJ-c5jtP1tUsluPSdNNgE_Jr_hfPuVjRRCc3G4dNZnyecv6CGrV-w_8/s400/scan0010.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtKTPfjLV8GXMFbZjTqcpMFmAogYVtohoYsV_29yloREa-62UUJqHf_qhS_FTABvTarzNFKGb2iYzfWxLNJJBFD3Qfmfkp2MFaCyyBqymx76gWs7DXfRgpQjLVBi3RY1vSnS-h5NY3-U/s1600/scan0007.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 218px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561488666142836434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtKTPfjLV8GXMFbZjTqcpMFmAogYVtohoYsV_29yloREa-62UUJqHf_qhS_FTABvTarzNFKGb2iYzfWxLNJJBFD3Qfmfkp2MFaCyyBqymx76gWs7DXfRgpQjLVBi3RY1vSnS-h5NY3-U/s320/scan0007.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>FIVE TECHNIQUES FOR<br />TAGGING A TURKEY<br /><br />Bill Cooper for River Hills Traveler March, 2010<br /><br /><br /><br />Rumblings of boisterous, lovesick, wild turkey gobblers<br />are not the only raucous sounds being heard in the Ozarks<br />turkey woods these days. Hunters have grumbled and mumbled<br />the last few seasons about gobblers being difficult to<br />find and hunt.<br /><br />The fact is that turkey numbers are down from historical<br />highs which we all enjoyed a few years ago. There seemed<br />to be a turkey behind every tree and a lot of us developed<br />the idea that we were superb turkey hunters. The abundance<br />of two-year-old birds that loved to gobble and run in to<br />any call that sounded like a rusty gate hinge fed our<br />egos.<br /><br />Matters have changed. Numbers of birds are down and the<br />abundance of two-year-old birds that we once enjoyed is<br />gone. We are now dealing with a lot of older and wiser<br />birds. If you want to be consistently successful at<br />bagging your spring birds, your tactics will have to<br />change.<br /><br />Scouting - There may not be birds in the area you have<br />been accustomed to hunting in the past. It is impossible<br />to kill a bird that is not there. We all love it when we<br />have a honey hole which produces birds year after year.<br />Turkey hunters are passionate about their sport and love<br />to call and kill gobblers. Many hunters often waist<br />precious hunting days by remaining in areas that have<br />produced in the past, but obviously lack birds in the<br />present.<br /><br />Pre-season scouting is paramount during tough turkey<br />hunting years. If you return to your old stomping grounds,<br />scouting is easy. You know the areas where birds hang out.<br />If you don't find the usual signs in the usual quantities<br />and places, it is time to scout elsewhere. Look for<br />tracks, droppings, dust bowls, drag marks from strutting.<br /><br />Look for sign along creek bottoms, dirt lanes, edges, pond<br />banks and other open areas. If you are in agricultural<br />areas, check for scratching around cattle feeding spots.<br />Turkey sign can often be found around cow flops, too.<br /><br />If you insist on staying in your favorite area, your<br />scouting time can be greatly reduced, because you know<br />where to look. You already know where hens are most likely<br />to nest. There will return to the same areas and will drag<br />the toms along.<br /><br />The next step is formulating a plan for opening morning.<br />The best way to do that is to be there well before<br />daylight for pre-dawn gobbling and the fly-down. Hopefully<br />the turkeys in the area have not been bothered all winter.<br />Stay long enough to determine which direction the gobblers<br />travel after fly-down. Staging your setup in a gobbler'<br />routine travel path is insurance for a shooting<br />opportunity on opening day.<br /><br />To upgrade your odds for bagging a bird on opening day,<br />make one last scouting trip the evening before opening<br />morning. Pinpoint the spot where you here that bird fly<br />up. You want to know its exact location for the next<br />morning's hunt.<br /><br />Tweak your camo - No modern day turkey hunter would dream of heading<br />to the turkey woods without his camo. However, even the best patterns<br />are a dead giveaway if it does not match the surroundings in which you<br />plan to hunt. While on your scouting trips, pay close attention to the<br />stage of vegetative development in the area. Woods with little<br />green-up will be wide open and will contain more brown than green.<br />Unless you are dressing for a camo pageant, mixing and matching<br />different styles of camo can help you blend into your surroundings.<br />And needed camo patterns may change by the day. Green-up can advance<br />quickly, or hunting plans may change. You may be hunting on a flat oak<br />ridge top one day, where everything is mostly brown, and on a cedar<br />glade the next where everything is mostly green.</div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-32690411909241923882011-01-07T17:59:00.000-08:002011-01-07T18:20:58.394-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYt-QooFMjdiDvXF9XbY_pEEV7tk9I-PxO8rFZiwZHo0edx_gSA12SV-Bxtg666SyCzC4YCi712No01WKbFHW0PEAPb4z_Bm5Q8IRkJGhlzVXDkhpeIL_xUFaWf8_mrddUjdcheRrYYzw/s1600/20100912_4530a.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559634327059902162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYt-QooFMjdiDvXF9XbY_pEEV7tk9I-PxO8rFZiwZHo0edx_gSA12SV-Bxtg666SyCzC4YCi712No01WKbFHW0PEAPb4z_Bm5Q8IRkJGhlzVXDkhpeIL_xUFaWf8_mrddUjdcheRrYYzw/s320/20100912_4530a.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWW1LnEVi00YhbsCVcQr7F4SInFhXGxH2S1s7PS2HgWc5prkhyphenhyphenDrOAlpWXmnAuWDN5ZeLYRv52_Yfr3I9P8co0bq43UeEpZ9NLI70BNby2YL-b6eJauZcrzmhNNUeJ9xDEcQLYF5EY-1M/s1600/DSC_0208.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 134px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559632778743894242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWW1LnEVi00YhbsCVcQr7F4SInFhXGxH2S1s7PS2HgWc5prkhyphenhyphenDrOAlpWXmnAuWDN5ZeLYRv52_Yfr3I9P8co0bq43UeEpZ9NLI70BNby2YL-b6eJauZcrzmhNNUeJ9xDEcQLYF5EY-1M/s200/DSC_0208.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8mQcxiQ3NaINu8zTeovQvy6o56tCpRSxjU7zjIlPZ8kZgJi5pDBNO8CMpqe_aenWRovwtPIpqXaDph2NFS3a-OrKiOlbL4z2zz-xWS8SmSEq8LTEeFUHz3cyQdzLP09JCwrW31uf7gvU/s1600/DSC_0015.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 268px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559630788299142834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8mQcxiQ3NaINu8zTeovQvy6o56tCpRSxjU7zjIlPZ8kZgJi5pDBNO8CMpqe_aenWRovwtPIpqXaDph2NFS3a-OrKiOlbL4z2zz-xWS8SmSEq8LTEeFUHz3cyQdzLP09JCwrW31uf7gvU/s400/DSC_0015.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>DIAN RETURNS TO PITTSBURGH FOR FOOD, FISH AND FOOTBALL<br /><br />Bill Cooper<br /><br />Being married to a diehard football fan is time consuming to say the least. Being married to a Steeler’s fan is…well, something else all together.<br />Dian, my wife, headed to Pittsburgh recently, with me in tow. She spent her early years there and had not returned in 22 years. She spoke of people and places as if things happened yesterday. Yet, she kept saying, “I hope I will recognize places around home.” A lot can change in 22 years.<br />I tagged along on the trip on Dian’s promise to take me fishing in the Alleghany River, which flows right through downtown Pittsburgh. Although it became a very polluted river at one time, it is now a well known smallmouth and walleye fishery. I contacted Jeff Knapp, a respected outdoor writer and smallmouth guide from the area and he agreed to take us out for a day of smallmouth fishing on the beautiful Alleghany.<br />The hustle and bustle of city life enveloped us shortly after we left the Pittsburgh airport in a rented car. Traffic soon came to a halt where we crept along for the next hour. Dian explained that there were two seasons in Pittsburgh: winter and construction. Over the next few days, I found out the later to be true. We ran into highway construction, regardless of which way we went. I ached for the solitude of the Ozarks.<br />Dian lived near the Alleghany most of her young life and learned to smallmouth fish there, one of her redeeming qualities. We spent the first two days of vacation touring small towns where she had lived at one time or another. All were quaint little towns draped on the steep hills and ridges that cloaked the river. All had been tied to the steel mills of the old days. Dian reminisced of the people, places and events she had known. All had changed. She wandered the streets of Brackenridge in search of a tiny deli which she had frequented as a child. To her delight, it still stood in place. Dian strode into the little store pointing at this and that saying, “it’s just like I remember”.<br />A little old lady came from the back asking if she could help us. Dian said, “its’ Mrs. Dileo”. Mrs. Dileo broke into a smile as soon as she heard Dian’s voice. But the lights really came on when Dian mentioned her maiden name: Semprevivo, undeniably Italian.<br />Dian hung out at Mrs. Dileo’s place often as a child, finding a place of comfort and often a good word of advice. “I worried about you so much when you were growing up,” Mrs. Dileo said. “But, I have worried about many of the kids in the community. I have had dozens upon dozens, over the years, that would stop by the store after school each afternoon while on their way home. But, I remember you so very well, Dian. You were special.”<br />From Brackenridge, we were off to Saxonburg in search of another meat market, Thoma’s. There Dian hoped to introduce me to Saxonburg bologna. It took a little looking, but we eventually found the marvelous store. Ooh, the smells of smoked meats and spicy aromas made our salivary glands kick into high gear as soon as we got out of the car. We quickly acquired a round of the famous Saxonburg bologna, stopped at a local store for bread, mustard and soda. The bologna was everything Dian said it was. We had a feast.<br />We ambled through the countryside to Sarver, where Dian and her family lived in a small mobile home court for years. The court was much larger these days and the local ice cream shop had long since gone by the wayside. To her delight, however, the Lernerville Speedway, just down the road, was still going strong. And we drove several miles down Coal Hollow Road which led kids to Turtle Rock and the old swimming hole. The area had become much more populated, but still remained quite rural.<br />We met a short while with Dian’s cousin JR Semprevivo and family and caught up on all the family history. And there was a lot of it after a 20 year absence.<br />At long last I got to go fishing. Jeff Knapp met us early in the morning, in Kittaning and we followed him about 30 miles north to East Brady, another beautiful old river town. The broad river looked much like our Ozark streams, clear, cold and running fast. Knapp had rods rigged and we began fishing immediately. Dian caught a chunky smallmouth on her very first cast.<br />Knapp made several runs up and down the scenic river to show us sights and reach new fishing grounds. We caught beautifully colored smallmouth everywhere we went. When all was said and done Dian had caught the first fish on her first cast, the biggest fish, the most fish and the last fish. What can I say, it was her home river!<br />On Saturday we toured downtown Pittsburgh. One of our first stops was at the Heinz History Museum which happened to have on hand a traveling exhibit of Steeler history. All six Lombardi trophies were there. Of course Dian had her picture made with them.<br />Dian took me to the warehouse district, which is an old part of town that has been converted into a strip district with dozens of ethnic food shops and one Steelers store after another. The ambience of the place revolved around the jingle; “here we go Steelers, here we go. Pittsburgh goin’ to the suuuper bowl!” Every other store seemed to have the rhythmic song playing. It was definitely Steelers country.<br />We strolled around the shops picking up more Steelers garb for the game the next day. Hunger pains struck and we headed for another of Dian’s favorite eateries: Primanti Brothers. A long, waiting line of hungry fans strung out onto the street. Dian assured me it would be worth the wait. The speciality consisted of sandwich with your choice of meat on freshly sliced bread along with melted cheese, French fries and cole slaw. Yep, all on the same sandwich. And, oh, it was so good. The biggest problem was stuffing the monster sandwich in your mouth, but Dian managed.<br />Dian scarcely slept on Saturday night in anticipation of the big game on Sunday, the Steelers vs the Atlanta Falcons. We left hours before the game started. We parked near the Heinz Museum and walked approximately three miles to the stadium. Downtown Pittsburgh is gorgeous. The riverfront is very well laid out with attractive buildings and numerous old yellow bridges marking the skyline. Avid boaters had motored up the Alleghany and Monongahela (they meet in downtown Pittsburgh to form the Ohio River) and moored at the sports district for some serious tailgating parties.<br />Yellow and black cloaked Heinz Field as 65,000 Steelers fans turned out for the game. Dian could be heard over the roar of the 64,999 other fans. And after a dramatic bit of overtime play, the Steelers pulled it out with a score of 15-9. All I heard on the way home was: “we’re on our way to the Suuuuuuuper Bowl!” I dream of huge smallmouth bass.<br /><br /></div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-32810615257537635562011-01-07T17:31:00.000-08:002011-01-07T17:55:48.467-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi86CDQ_jL2DYEP-pMzIz16-1xRodHm6tB46qARoKBUzDzetTOEDZFs7ycbfGl4u5wOLQMTL-kuBchYOQbALp9QFgrWSVL1ASPno2L0S3rkBgXEhQUgKkZsuDhrV9fudA-bl85SulKL5pE/s1600/mel.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 115px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559627817888832178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi86CDQ_jL2DYEP-pMzIz16-1xRodHm6tB46qARoKBUzDzetTOEDZFs7ycbfGl4u5wOLQMTL-kuBchYOQbALp9QFgrWSVL1ASPno2L0S3rkBgXEhQUgKkZsuDhrV9fudA-bl85SulKL5pE/s200/mel.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZ_X9hqqMTN4FxkbBThMZZU4APSlK0ivhVv9kPWR4mC0CiaM_eonvbKY4BQmc-EzXeXP3Y16-JTvX2GQNNp_NkflpMX61H7QudO77h-jg8poepMhcbjYRF3gNqWMhQtcN4Gy5g8EM4Iw/s1600/100_0528.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559626640274891474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZ_X9hqqMTN4FxkbBThMZZU4APSlK0ivhVv9kPWR4mC0CiaM_eonvbKY4BQmc-EzXeXP3Y16-JTvX2GQNNp_NkflpMX61H7QudO77h-jg8poepMhcbjYRF3gNqWMhQtcN4Gy5g8EM4Iw/s320/100_0528.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXTDwuxIRN-lUldeWuXV89zsqMgJ779NXGrM7IW7Fjw7M00KcHIROjinZbTMKdDT_hTh8K6JXo7vn9TAtVrYt6rYZqdolH94DiOJabuC_qCFcPz-RiorBllfH69B-E9dq2Tc3QWyEym4/s1600/iStock_000011999659Medium.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559624661747201378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXTDwuxIRN-lUldeWuXV89zsqMgJ779NXGrM7IW7Fjw7M00KcHIROjinZbTMKdDT_hTh8K6JXo7vn9TAtVrYt6rYZqdolH94DiOJabuC_qCFcPz-RiorBllfH69B-E9dq2Tc3QWyEym4/s400/iStock_000011999659Medium.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbJpB9Z7k-z9Hfb-1Keab_-KfzsqAPbE8xrROS9Vw1JYV64G612TjajO5wSEuLwJR14A2jzRSEArhqkI1Iak7qVaZqTC4AlOf05pGtPQAsMdGI7aVeo5WM_xs8ZQSYtv5nqjpY0cwumcQ/s1600/DSC_3234.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559623170050127730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbJpB9Z7k-z9Hfb-1Keab_-KfzsqAPbE8xrROS9Vw1JYV64G612TjajO5wSEuLwJR14A2jzRSEArhqkI1Iak7qVaZqTC4AlOf05pGtPQAsMdGI7aVeo5WM_xs8ZQSYtv5nqjpY0cwumcQ/s400/DSC_3234.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>GOOSE THE GEESE<br /><br />Billie R. Cooper<br /><br />Is there anything in waterfowling more frustrating than a huge flock of geese setting down in a nearby field? Here are some tactics to get close and jump up some BBB action.<br /><br />A cold Thanksgiving Day wind rattled the cut corn stalks where my goose hunting buddy and I had fashioned ourselves a couple of makeshift one man burlap and cornstalk blinds. The blinds completely disappeared into the surrounding corn field stubble. My buddy and I were thoroughly convinced that even the wildest of Canada geese would not suspect the least danger as they approached our superb hides.<br />We had done our homework well. The 500 hundred acre corn field had been harvested only a few weeks prior to our well planned goose hunting adventure. Mallards had first caught our attention. We were passing by the farm on the way to another duck hunting destination when we noticed thousands of ducks going down on the back side of the cornfield. The old farmer had been a good friend of my father’s when I still lived on the family farm. We gained permission to hunt easily.<br />Three p.m. had rolled around by the time we reached the corn field. Ducks were beginning to blacken the sky to the west. We hurriedly set out a dozen decoys and found a spot to lie on the ground and throw cornstalks over our bodies.<br />We repeated the process for several days, never failing to fill our one mallard limit. However, on the last afternoon we hunted ducks in the corn stubble, a flight of some 200 Canada geese worked the field. The majestic birds circled numerous times, offering marginal shots, but we held our fire. Goose season would not start until the next day, Thanksgiving Day.<br />The drive home proved long. We each recited to the other the excuses we would use on our families to skip out as soon as the family Thanksgiving dinner was complete, pumpkin pie and all. There were black and white geese to hunt.<br />My hunting partner and I arrived back at the farm around 2 p.m. We huffed and puffed, from full bellies, as we struggled to carry dozens of goose decoys through the corn stubble. Within thirty minutes we had a very respectable spread of goose decoys deployed.<br />We climbed into our blinds to get settled. We each peered at the other to double check for any minute mistakes which might flare geese. We both passed the others scrutiny.<br />I drew my old flute-style Lohman walnut goose call to my lips and uttered a lonesome “woooork- woouurk-wooouuurk” out of it. “Listen,” my buddy said sharply. “Geese to the west.”<br />“Good calling, huh?” I jabbed back. “Shut-up and pay attention,” came my reward.<br />The situation looked good as the two of us honked to the approaching flock. “Let’s hold until we get them close enough so we can both down a couple of birds,” I said.<br />The giant panda-colored birds worked the outer edges of the decoys, with only a couple of birds swinging within 30-yards. We held our fire hoping for closer shots. The flock of 200 birds circled a half dozen more times, teasing us relentlessly with each pass. Our goose hunters’ mentality told us that the next pass would be ‘the one’.<br />I clinched my shotgun tightly as the flock swung to the east, swung south and looped to the north flying into the wind and straight to our decoy spread. “This looks good,” my buddy whispered.<br />Just as the big birds were about to wing into range, they hooked to the west, turned south and immediately began going down on the far end of the field. Our hearts sank. We knew that would be the only flight of geese for the afternoon.<br />As soon as the geese all settled into feeding mode my hunting partner began chattering. “I really want a Christmas goose,” he began. “Let’s sneak up on them and get a couple, OK?”<br />“We can’t sneak up on 200 hundred geese feeding in a field,” I retorted. “That is 400 hundred eyes watching for danger. We don’t stand a chance.”<br />“Well, how many geese do you have now, Cooper?” My partner whispered sarcastically.<br />LOW CRAWL REVISITED<br />“Alright, follow me,” he said. I had heard those words in my military days and it never turned out good. My partner had obviously been in the military at one time, too. He cradled his shotgun across his arms and began the perfect low crawl down a row of corn stubble.<br />“Where are you going?” I asked.<br />“About a hundred yards back there is a low drainage ditch that we can slide into,” he instructed. “It will lead us to the major drainage ditch on the south side of the farm. We can easily maneuver up it. That will put us within shooting distance of the geese.”<br />We paused every few seconds to check on the state of the goose flock. They eagerly fed on the waste corn totally unaware of our presence. We gained ground quickly simply by staying low and utilizing the scant cover available.<br />An hour later we lay just over the ditch bank from 200 feeding Canada geese. Sweaty and exhausted, we took a short break.<br />We peered through the tall grass to get a fix on the situation. We could hear the guttural growls of geese as they competed for food. The closest birds waddled less than 15 yards away. My buddy yelled “shoot ‘em”. Seconds later, four Canada geese lay flopping on the ground. Our well executed mission had worked and we would enjoy a tasty goose dinner for Christmas.<br />CRAWLING GEAR<br />Crawling over rough terrain is difficult at best. After years of experience, I have found that knee pads help prevent cuts and bruises. Most importantly, they reduce the pain from rocks and sticks significantly. Being in decent shape also aids the process. Struggling with gear and exerting lots of energy leads to profuse sweating as well. Carrying a small pack to store extra clothing in makes the crawling trip easier and certainly more comfortable. Clothing layers can be replaced after the crawl.<br />Packing as little gear as possible is fundamental to crawling success. The small pack should include a bottle of water and a snack bar or two, because the sneak attack method can be time consuming. As goose hunting buddy Bill Cobb of Missouri once said to me after I complained about his three hour planned approach to 20,000 snow geese, “what else do you have to do right now, Cooper?”<br />A shotgun and only as many shells as you will need for one volley and chasing cripples is all you need to carry. Shells are very heavy and you will suffer from the weight on long crawls.<br />BLENDING IN<br />Clothing under your outer coat should be of a good camouflage appropriate for the surroundings. Many waterfowlers often wear clothing of a different color under their outer layer. That is not wise if you are going to be sneaking up on birds. A crawler needs every advantage.<br />Make sure the camo clothes you select are terrain appropriate. The Mossy Oak Duck Blind pattern works well in corn stubble as does other patterns with a lot of tans and browns.<br />Matching the colors of the season is important. If you are hunting early season geese, there will more than likely be more greens in the surrounding vegetation. Select camo patterns which match the surroundings of your intended hunting area.<br />If you are traveling a long distance, be sure to check with hunting buddies or outfitters about the type and color of vegetation you will be hunting in. Nothing can ruin a goose hunting trip quicker than traveling a long distance to a hunting destination only to find out that your camo is totally inappropriate for the situation.<br />Pack more than one camo pattern in your gear bag. Meanings are often lost in phone conversations. I have learned that hunters interpret matters differently. A friend’s description of a blind or hunting cover may be misinterpreted. Or, vegetative colors may change in a hurry, depending on weather and the rapid progress of the season. So, adding additional camo patterns to your gear bag may well improve your chances of being successful.<br />Pack a white parka. If you are hunting in northern climes or late season further south, always pack a white parka or light suit to slip over your chosen colored camo pattern. Even a slight dusting of snow can change the look of the terrain in a hurry. And a black lump moving along in the white snow will be readily detected by wary geese.<br />GIVE IT YOUR BEST SHOT<br />Sneaking up on geese is risky business at best. Getting busted is part of the game, but one does hope to up the odds in his favor by doing everything just right.<br />One of the biggest problems encountered by goose sneakers is closing the deal. And nothing can be more frustrating after a long, tiresome crawl than blowing the shot. Practice ahead of time can greatly reduce problems at the ‘time to shoot’ phase of the hunt. Two hunting partners hunting together can practice together as well. Have one guy hide behind a berm or blind while the other places a life size goose decoy at an undetermined distance. Try this learning tactic on both land and water. Single decoys, or live geese, appear to be farther away than they actually are, while gaggles of geese appear closer than they actually are. Practice at estimating distance will greatly improve your shooting success when the moment of truth arrives.<br />Selection of chokes and shot size are another important facet of culminating a sneaky goose hunt successfully. Selection of each should be determined according to the style of hunting you are exercising. If you are approaching a small pond to flush geese, the shots will be close. An improved cylinder with B’s or BB’s will do the trick. If you find yourself making one of those long crawls to intercept feeding geese in a field, the shots are more than apt to be longer. In these situations a modified up to the more restricted goose hunting chokes are necessary. Shot size should be larger, including BBB’S, T’s and F’s. Using the best shot shells you can afford becomes paramount in these longer shot situations. It is especially frustrating to make a long sneak and then not have the firepower to bring down the geese. Hevi-Shot is hard to beat for this type of shooting.<br />EXPERT TIPS<br />Sneaking up on geese can be a perplexing chore, especially for beginners. Talking with, or better yet, hunting with experienced sneakers is worth its weight in gold. SFC Mel Avis, of Virginia, has hunted geese in many parts of the country at his various duty stations. “I resorted to sneak hunting geese primarily because I did not have decoys with me at many of the bases where I was stationed,” Avis said. “I found out quickly that I could be successful at sneaking up on geese by watching them for a while to make sure they were calm and unaware of my presence. Then I simply lay out the best plan of approach according to the lay of the land and the available cover. Next, I implement an extra dose of patience. Patience and moving slowly are the two major keys to being successful at sneaking on geese. Always remember that there are a multitude of eyes watching for danger.”<br />Army Reserve Lt. Col. Bill McKinney, from Arkansas, loves to do the “snow goose sneak”. “Crawling up on thousands of snow geese feeding in a field is about exciting as it gets,” said McKinney. I have been enjoying this activity for years in Missouri and Arkansas. I especially like it during the Conservation Order on light geese when you can take the plugs out of your gun and there is no limit on the number of light geese you take. That can be a real blast when you get several guys together.<br />Bill Cobb and McKinney occasionally hunt snow geese together. They still laugh about the time that they and three other buddies downed 82 snows on their first volley after a long crawl. “That is something to see,” Cobb said. “That is when my back Lab, Oreo really comes in handy to chase down cripples.<br />I had the distinct pleasure to hunt with Cobb and McKinney last season. I brought up the rear as we crawled up a deep ditch towards 20,000 snow geese. Those two old guys proved impressive as they negotiated the terrain. However, Oreo outshined them both. If you have never watched a Lab do the “snow goose sneak”, you owe it to yourself to experience that waterfowling hunting sight.<br />The migrations have begun and geese are filtering into favorite haunts all up and down the Mississippi flyway. Favored blinds are filled once again with goose hunters. Thousands of man hours are being expended on hauling and setting decoys, renovating blinds, practice sessions for calling and a sundry of other chores related to goose hunting. Sitting in a blind waiting on geese to come to decoys and calls is one thing, but why not try something different? There is a definite waterfowl hunting high to being able to sneak close enough to “goose the geese”.<br /><br /><br /></div></div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-20560368578209208332011-01-05T05:42:00.001-08:002011-01-07T05:29:53.192-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZQzrV-dJgVUYab2C66276D-aPlmmfE65CAtqipKHv4QP1R6JeGiP3gcRbzjpcYn2nY0Vt-NfhOtrlk0zWZbu1KKKfdhLtBF_75g9moOg9ZoBZAa9j-lPTPCctMMU68hLoQ8CfkZLVK8/s1600/DSC_0066_edited-2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 263px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559435625120056546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZQzrV-dJgVUYab2C66276D-aPlmmfE65CAtqipKHv4QP1R6JeGiP3gcRbzjpcYn2nY0Vt-NfhOtrlk0zWZbu1KKKfdhLtBF_75g9moOg9ZoBZAa9j-lPTPCctMMU68hLoQ8CfkZLVK8/s320/DSC_0066_edited-2.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijd8WUEsS6BJ1i8_Yse6zkdUQRsV0f7Mq1s2NHq0Ee9IpAQZQyS6xiPqHE7ypa5y4XEzDFdm8vSENj3mQtfBkf3LOZcJBNkLpFG6oU1GzvGxLjK-odNng4Vmfhw1-QcvtsvR30JRkTScs/s1600/DSC_1107.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559434791081115794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijd8WUEsS6BJ1i8_Yse6zkdUQRsV0f7Mq1s2NHq0Ee9IpAQZQyS6xiPqHE7ypa5y4XEzDFdm8vSENj3mQtfBkf3LOZcJBNkLpFG6oU1GzvGxLjK-odNng4Vmfhw1-QcvtsvR30JRkTScs/s320/DSC_1107.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwL7pZou5aCHexU9DSx6YPzDotY_aKFWs3_LBD09ZLY7ijEo_w0MgppheVZYUicflr1EcHCg6BoWE05r9yiw4_y3XoPUhHI4k96QaaWiiUteylT2krD4lYVHLL3a-a7Kay1zYmSJLm0sI/s1600/Fall+09+Marty+Cabin+220.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558697850148226386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwL7pZou5aCHexU9DSx6YPzDotY_aKFWs3_LBD09ZLY7ijEo_w0MgppheVZYUicflr1EcHCg6BoWE05r9yiw4_y3XoPUhHI4k96QaaWiiUteylT2krD4lYVHLL3a-a7Kay1zYmSJLm0sI/s400/Fall+09+Marty+Cabin+220.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>Billie R. Cooper<br /><br />FIVE HOTSPOTS FOR FALL TURKEYS<br />If you can’t decide where to tag your tom this fall, may we suggest one of these great hunting spots?<br /><br />INTRODUCTION TO FALL TURKEY HUNTING<br />Fall turkey hunting is the Roger Dangerfield of the bird hunting world. It just doesn’t get the respect it deserves. It has long baffled me why more hunters don’t turn out for fall turkey hunting. The colors are brilliant in the oak hickory forest. The air is cool and crisp and it is the time of harvest.<br />“It is simply a matter of not understanding the nature of fall turkeys,” says turkey hunting expert Ray Eye. “I hear it at the seminars I present all over the country every year. Hunters say that turkeys don’t gobble in the fall and are not as much fun to hunt. Then I show them film footage I have shot of turkeys not only gobbling in the fall, but fighting as well. Turkeys work on the pecking order all year long and they are more vocal in the fall than in the spring, because large groups of turkeys are flocked together. Turkeys vocalize more in the fall than at any other time of the year because the numbers are at their annual peak and birds are flocked up in big groups. They can be heard for long distances when flying up to the roost or when they are flying down in the morning. Hens are cackling and yelping trying to round up their young of the year. And the young ones make lots of noise while trying to find mama. It’s just a great time to be in the turkey woods.”<br />The hunting outlook in terms of turkey numbers will most likely be up for this fall. Resource Scientist Tom Dailey, the Conservation Department’s turkey specialist indicated in April (at the time of this writing) that the mild temperatures and relatively dry weather that prevailed the first three weeks of April made him optimistic about a good turkey hatch for 2010. He further commented that if those conditions held through May, this year could mark the start of a turkey population recovery in north Missouri where hatches have been below the long term average for several years running.<br />Dailey also noted that even though turkey populations have dwindled a little in recent years, Missouri still leads the nation in turkey abundance and harvest.<br />Fall harvests have fallen below the 10,000 mark in recent years, the product of lower populations and seemingly lower interest in the sport. “To me, it all adds up to the perfect time to hunt turkeys,” says Marty Eye a professional turkey hunter from Mountain View. “Numbers of turkeys are at their annual high in the fall and there are not that many hunters out. What more could a turkey hunter ask for?”<br />Regardless of all the talk about highs and lows of turkey population numbers in the Show-Me State, fall harvest numbers have never been significant enough to impact the success of hunters the following spring. Bird populations are at their highest in the fall after the spring nesting seasons. A certain percentage of turkeys will succumb to predators, disease and other natural causes. These combined mortalities are what biologists call the annual surplus in the population. The future of the overall population is not harmed as long as there is sufficient brood stock left for breeding the following spring. Fall turkey hunting is a method for hunters to harvest a part of the annual population excess without harming the future of the turkey population.<br />TOP SPOTS FOR FALL TURKEYS<br />Hunting where the turkeys are located is a common sense way to approach the sport. Missouri hunters are very fortunate in this regard. Turkeys are fairly well dispersed in much of the state. Still, some areas stand out in each region of the state as better than the average turkey hunting spot. Following are a few picks, but they do not, however, exhaust the list of hotspots available to fall turkey hunters.<br />Truman Lake – This 200,000 acre U.S. Corps of Engineers land and water project in Benton, Henry and St. Clair counties in west-central Missouri should be on every fall turkey hunters list of places to hunt. Vast stretches of hardwood forests, old growth fields and openings surround the massive Truman Lake. Other than the rough and brushy areas around the lake, the Missouri Department of Conservation also manages 55,000-acres of Corps lands in the area. Managed food plots scattered around the project are another food source for the lake’s population of wild turkeys.<br />Many hunters discover the fine turkey hunting at Truman just as I did over 20 years ago. While on a spring time, week-long crappie and bass fishing trip at Truman, I was astounded at the number of gobblers I heard sounding off on surrounding ridges while my family and I were out on the lake fishing. It didn’t take me long to decide that I should combine a few turkey hunting excursions with my fishing trips.<br />A few years later, I began combining fall turkey hunting trips with fall fishing and bow hunting trips which I made to Truman Lake.<br />The lake sprawls through several counties. I studied lake maps to determine where the largest land mass areas were around the lake. I figured if I launched my turkey hunts from the water side of my chosen hunting area, there would be less hunter competition. I chose some of the areas which would be a long, tough walk for anyone approaching from the parking lot side. My method has worked marvelously over the years. I have never encountered another fall turkey hunter while hunting at Truman. My hunting methods have a great deal to do with my success of avoiding other hunters. I have found that I can hit the lake at daylight, fish for a couple of hours and then turkey hunt. Hunters often leave the woods after only two or three hours. I also make sure I cover some ground on the lake while fishing. I constantly scan the bank and woodline for feeding turkeys. I generally bank my boat just out of sight of a flock of turkeys and either attempt to call in the entire flock or approach close enough to them to run at them and scatter them out. I have been successful using both methods.<br />I choose my hunting method according to what the makeup is of the flock of birds which I encounter. If I find a small flock of adult gobblers, I setup on them and begin calling with a series of coarse clucks, or gobbler yelps. An unusual method, which I learned from Ray Eye, involves sounding like a gobbler fight. Yes, gobblers fight in the fall, too. They are constantly working on their position in the pecking order and teasing their egos is a good way to put one on the dinner table. When I find flocks of hens with young of the year, I like to scatter the birds out, let them calm down for 10 minutes or so and then begin hen yelps and kee-kees to bring the group back together. These hunts often last only a few minutes, because young birds don’t like to be alone and often come to the call very quickly. A young bird makes a delicious turkey dinner, too.<br />For information about fall turkey hunting at Truman Lake call the Missouri Department of Conservation at: 1-660-885-6981.<br />Scotia-Marcoot Walk-in Turkey Hunting Area – This 3,700 acre area in Dent and Reynolds Counties is one of 21 such areas in the Mark Twain National Forest of Missouri. All roads in the interior of walk-in areas are closed during turkey season. Scotia is bounded on the east by Highway 72, Forest Road 2340 to the south and private properties on the west and north.<br />J. R. Lanham, of Bunker, cut his fall turkey hunting teeth at the Scotia-Marcoot Area. “I have been turkey hunting there since I turned 16 and became legal to drive myself out there,” Lanham said.<br />The young Lanham is a pro staff member for Rut and Strut Outfitters out of West Plains, Missouri. He is fanatic about turkey calling and recently won the U.S. Open Calling Contest in Nashville, Tennessee. The National Turkey Calling Contest in Yellville, Arkansas fell to his calling prowess in 2008.<br />Lanham lives in the midst of tens of thousands of U. S. forest Service lands but indicated that he chose to hunt the Marcoot Area for one reason. “It holds lots of turkeys and I have never encountered another hunter there during fall turkey season,” he stated.<br />The area is made up of oak-hickory forest with scatterings of shortleaf pine. Old fields and ponds dot the area, but Lanham pointed out that many of the hollows hold water as well.<br />Access to the area is via a network of gravel roads and old fire lanes. Forest Road 2795 enters the area by the fire tower and is a good travel route into the area according to Lanham. “I like to hit the ridges when hunting turkeys there in the fall,” he began. “I generally head to the ridges above the fields on the east side. These are old farm fields near the headwaters of the Meramec River. If I don’t strike birds on the ridges, they will almost always head to the fields some time during the day.”<br />The Scotia-Marcoot Area has experienced good hatches the last two years according to Lanham. “When I hunt there, I know there is a good possibility that I will be the first human many of those birds will have ever seen. I like that.”<br />A grand feature of the Scotia Area is the fact that the ridges are fairly flat and the hollows are not too steep. “Between the roads and fire trails leading into the area and the gentle terrain, this area is relatively easy to hunt,” Lanham said.<br />Maps of the area may be printed from the USFS web page at: www/fs.fed.us. Navigate to the recreation page and to walk in turkey hunting.<br />Peter Cave Hollow – World renowned turkey hunter Ray Eye spent much of his early days of turkey hunting on the Peter Cave Hollow Walk-in Area. At 7,700 acres in Iron County the rugged area gives hunters room to stretch their legs.<br />“I always find turkeys at Peter Cave,” Eye said. “It is a big area and very rugged terrain. I found it was to my advantage not to use the main roads leading into the area. Most people like convenience and that includes access to the turkey woods. Most hunters will walk the biggest road into an area. I always look for an old road or a fire trail well away from the main artery into an area. I eliminate a lot of the competition by putting in a little more effort to access the area.”<br />Eye likes to hunt later in the morning as well. “Most hunters leave in two or three hours and I often can have the area to myself by waiting until nine or ten o’clock to go out. Besides, we can hunt all day during the fall season. And if I do go out early, I burn some shoe leather to get away from other hunters. Most turkey hunters will hunt within one-quarter mile of a road, parking lot or their vehicle.”<br />“There are some big ridges in Peter Cave,” said Eye. “I like to walk those and call and listen. Often the ridges split. These areas have always produced turkeys for me.”<br />If Peter Cave Hollow doesn’t produce turkeys for you, check out the Bell Mountain Wilderness Area across Highway A. Here lies Johnson Mountain, one of Eye’s old favorites for fall turkey hunting. Both areas can be checked out on the USFS web site.<br />Deer Ridge Conservation Area – Located in northeast Missouri’s Lewis County, Deer Ridge CA consists of 7,000 acres of forests, old fields, croplands and wetlands. Twenty miles of trails, including horse trails, a campground, fishing lake and a shooting range makes this area a popular destination with northeast Missouri outdoorsmen.<br />Intensive management programs have greatly improved populations of deer, turkey and other small game animals on the area. In addition to 5,000 acres of woodlands, some of which consists of 150-year-old post oaks, there are managed field cropping areas, grass management areas and wetland management areas. The rich mixture of habitat types provides consistent food sources for a healthy population of wild turkeys.<br />Retired conservation department employee Ralph Duren, of Jefferson City, has turkey hunted on Deer Ridge CA many times. “Deer Ridge is a good place to hunt wild turkeys,” he said. “The mixture of woodlands, crops and fields creates ideal habitat for growing poults. If acorn crops are sparse, turkeys can rely on the crops and fields for food sources.”<br />Duren scouts for roosting areas on Deer Ridge in the hardwood forests and usually attempts to scatter the birds early the next morning. “One of the greatest pleasures of fall turkey hunting is to hear the noise created by a flock of turkeys that has been scattered. Old mama hens raise a ruckus trying to round up all of their young or the year. And the lonesome youngsters are just as noisy in their attempt to find mama. A hunter that gets right in the middle of all this action is going to have a very good time plus a Thanksgiving dinner.”<br />For more information about turkey hunting on the Deer Ridge Conservation Area call: 573-248-2530.<br />“Fall turkey hunting is some of the most enjoyable hunting available in Missouri,” concluded Marty Eye. “The turkeys are at their annual population peak, the colors are coming on, the air is cooling…I love it!” </div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-23501813554060036102010-12-26T17:06:00.000-08:002011-01-12T17:52:56.999-08:00TIPS TO GET YOU STARTED PREDATOR HUNTING<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6c0KNU3x53Ipc2vbeUwIw3Ox4mgQ9179u1KLjCUHYHBfLbQdZY0AnJVylpP4gs1S5lr22pObCPrv9zva-NKSQ3iYghLWkuJD-TByc3X_amYIOvNLdQ81zsbXsuCYg6Zi0WTgE3erOmw/s1600/100_0620.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555164734205406386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6c0KNU3x53Ipc2vbeUwIw3Ox4mgQ9179u1KLjCUHYHBfLbQdZY0AnJVylpP4gs1S5lr22pObCPrv9zva-NKSQ3iYghLWkuJD-TByc3X_amYIOvNLdQ81zsbXsuCYg6Zi0WTgE3erOmw/s320/100_0620.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsG1NS56RzGMfB8zIXWAYKYOgkmkVoEvb4r0bz5L6wparoFFpzK9zQ2S7pVYTH5bbC7hKUg78NY91NyBbHquZqRyEqsxeD5Rj-yl4mxEIAshwe6GAm8O-HW79EdoLwWq5DKhdKJB4yCak/s1600/coyote8.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 176px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555163116431278098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsG1NS56RzGMfB8zIXWAYKYOgkmkVoEvb4r0bz5L6wparoFFpzK9zQ2S7pVYTH5bbC7hKUg78NY91NyBbHquZqRyEqsxeD5Rj-yl4mxEIAshwe6GAm8O-HW79EdoLwWq5DKhdKJB4yCak/s400/coyote8.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>Bill Cooper for TROPHY WHITETAIL MAGAZINE 4/10<br /><br />I took a much needed deep breath. I had been squealing hard on a diaphragm turkey call for five minutes or more. Indeed, that is not an effective turkey calling method. My ridiculous sounding calls were, in fact, to attract a coyote within shotgun range.<br />As I began to call once again, I caught movement far up the valley. A loping animal paused long enough for me to get a good look through my binoculars. “A coyote is on its way,” I whispered to my wife, Dian, who clung to her Stoeger 12-gauge in hopes of taking her first coyote.<br />I squealed on the mouth call once again imitating a dying rabbit. The coyote continued on its course towards us, pausing occasionally to get a better fix on the location of the meal in the bush. I paused my calling each time the coyote stopped. Another soft squeal from my call easily enticed the coyote to continue its search for an easy meal.<br />Dian watched intently, fully camouflaged and 15-feet in front of me and slightly downhill from my calling position. She eased her cheek down on the stock of her shotgun as the coyote closed to within 50 yards.<br />“Let him keep coming,” I whispered. I could tell Dian was a little nervous about the coyote approaching so quickly. I heard her safety click off as the coyote reached 30 yards. “Let him come,” I whispered again.<br />I squeezed one more soft call from the diaphragm and the coyote halted its approach at 15 yards. “Now”, I instructed.<br />Dian’s 12-gauge roared and the coyote tumbled over stone dead. The Winchester Extended Range 3-inch magnum number fours downed the animal cleanly.<br />“Man, that was exciting and a little scary,” Dian said with a rattle in her throat. “I could get into this predator hunting!”<br /><br />HUNT WHERE THE COYOTES ARE<br />Despite a long history of being hunted, trapped, poisoned and hated, coyotes are more abundant than ever. They readily adapted to the encroachments of mankind and are often the culprits behind the disappearance of urban pets. Recently new light has been shed on coyote predation of newborn fawns which will ignite the hunting prowess of deer hunting lovers everywhere. A study is currently being conducted by the U.S. Forest Service at the Savannah River Site, a 310-mile square nuclear processing facility in South Carolina. The study is focusing on fawns a week old or less. After three years of study, biologists have determined that an average of 75% of the fawns in the various study areas had been killed by coyotes within the first week of their life, when they are most vulnerable.<br />Coyotes can be found about anywhere in the country these days. Howling packs are commonly heard at dawn and dusk. Anxious predator hunters can drive around the countryside early and late in the day and often hear the serenades of hunting packs. Mark the locations on your map then seek permission to hunt on a later date. Few farmers and ranchers will deny access to coyote hunters. Most landowners would like to have the song dogs removed from their properties.<br />If you don’t hear coyotes sound off, don’t become discouraged. Scouting will more than likely turn up tracks, droppings and fur from kill sights. Coyotes prefer woods and hills and rough country. In open country they will seek out grassy depressions, gullies, swampy areas and brushy fencerows.<br /><br />PLANNING AN APPROACH<br />Don’t plan on sneaking up on a coyote. It is not likely to happen. They have a natural security system bolstered by keen senses and wild instincts. Begin your approach by keeping the wind in your favor, travel slowly and use the terrain to your advantage. And camouflage yourself from head to toe in a pattern which blends into the surroundings.<br />If you have trouble locating coyotes, rethink your approach into your hunting area. Make absolutely sure the wind is in your face. Improper wind direction ends more coyote hunts than any other single factor.<br />The best setup locations are normally elevated. This allows the shooter to see long distances. Approach the vantage points with stealth and do not skylight yourself. Circle a hill if needed rather than traveling across the top.<br /><br />SETTING UP<br />Coyotes are survivors. They are very efficient predators and their ability to sneak up on their prey is almost unparalleled in the natural world. They use every natural terrain feature and piece of vegetation to their advantage. Hunting from an elevated position gives shooters a distinct advantage over these wily predators, which are masters at remaining undetected.<br />My hunting buddies and I often coyote hunt in the woods with shotguns. Visibility is seldom over 75 yards. Utilizing the slightest elevation gives us the best advantage we can gain in thick cover. Humps, knolls, and even the slight rise made by the roots of a fallen tree have come into play in our coyote hunting adventures.<br />Our home territory is made up of oak-hickory forests with lots of open spaces such as cow pastures and hayfields. A favorite tactic is to hunt the edges of these fields while making sure to setup on a hillside so we can see long distances. The name of the game in this scenario is to make the long shot with our chosen caliber rifle for the day.<br /><br />WHICH CALL TO USE<br />The market is flooded with predator calls. Choosing one or several can be a daunting task. Unless you want to spend the time trying them all, go coyote hunting with experienced hunters and see what they are using. That doesn’t mean you have to use the same calls as those guys, but it will give you some place to start as you figure out what you personally prefer. Too, one of the most enjoyable facets of the whole idea of predator hunting is figuring out the finite points which fit your personal style. As your predator hunting skills develop you will want to show your buddies what you can do and that often entails demonstrating how you can best use the calls you have chosen. Johnny Stewart’s Preymaster Electronic Game Caller comes with a variety of cards for both coyotes and other game. Randy Anderson Calls are some of the most sought after hand held percussion calls.<br />Your number one priority in choosing a call should be to select one that you can use to best imitate sounds made by animals which coyotes prey on in your area. Rabbits are a prime target for coyotes and your arsenal of calls should certainly include a rabbit squealer. However, don’t over use it just because it is easy to blow. Coyotes will catch on to you quickly.<br />Predator hunters mess with coyotes at every opportunity. I learned much about predators while deer and turkey hunting. Many years ago I entertained myself most of the morning, while on a deer stand, by squeaking like a mouse to tease a coyote crossing a field in front of me. The coyote took the better part of two hours to cross the field. It wasn’t that the animal did not like my mouse squeaks. It simply kept finding mice in the field as it approached my location. There is nothing like a bird, or mouse in hand, even for a coyote. The antics of the coyote, as it jumped, lurched and stalked to find a meal provided grand entertainment during a slow morning on the deer stand.<br />Experienced coyotes can be a tough adversary and will require a greater diversity of calls. They will eat about anything and are particularly susceptible to distress calls made by a variety of animals including rodents, birds, fawns and young calves and lambs. Master the raucous calls of a bunch of crows and you have another tool of deceit in your growing arsenal of calls.<br />Using hand held mouth calls is the ultimate in coyote calling, but has some disadvantages, especially when dogs get close. Electronic callers are available in many models and come with interchangeable cards for a wide variety of animal sounds to attract coyotes.<br /><br />MAKING THE SHOT<br />Witching a coyote approach your position can give even veteran hunters a serious case of “coyote fever”. Your success at taking the animal will be dependent on a number of items which should have been taken care of ahead of time. They include: excellent camo, proper setup, playing the wind, time on the range to know what your gun and loads will do and practice with your calls.<br />Unless you are a very experienced shooter, beginners should always shoot only at standing coyotes. A song dog running and darting through the grass and bushes can be a formidable target. That, too, is fun, but the more challenging shots will come with experience.<br /><br />WARNING<br />Coyote hunting, or any type of predator hunting, becomes quickly addictive. Watch future issues of “Trophy Whitetail Magazine” for more predator hunting stories to feed your new addiction! </div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-75423136405522743402010-12-26T16:35:00.001-08:002011-01-12T18:00:40.813-08:00RABBIT HUNT STIMULATES MEMORIES OF DAYS GONE BY<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeWg_eZlhuI1e2AjinH1PZ1VBnHEh24YaZ2cMitgKWj4ay_ZoraSKv7BCF1VPMoGZGo5bLPTnSMErZAbY-D07sRTubSj44gVZX81n1FIqOqI5RWxbK37icnLV8xZ87ifbHP-lh3AdJWtE/s1600/DSC_2799_edited-2.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 110px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555161529499099602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeWg_eZlhuI1e2AjinH1PZ1VBnHEh24YaZ2cMitgKWj4ay_ZoraSKv7BCF1VPMoGZGo5bLPTnSMErZAbY-D07sRTubSj44gVZX81n1FIqOqI5RWxbK37icnLV8xZ87ifbHP-lh3AdJWtE/s200/DSC_2799_edited-2.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9czfkmHOIggbW6r1ejRsBUL1b0HP_4QrrXrSMgu0oS8g0WG4z5cIJzZTAYx8g-gutxJ7Kyi0iOLYIGXSRyZr3q_YPYE8hcgE6aWbEMxqP7263yg3DYy7olBA0VMr4nNpDxFBJq_As-I0/s1600/DSC_2821.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555160854425525890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9czfkmHOIggbW6r1ejRsBUL1b0HP_4QrrXrSMgu0oS8g0WG4z5cIJzZTAYx8g-gutxJ7Kyi0iOLYIGXSRyZr3q_YPYE8hcgE6aWbEMxqP7263yg3DYy7olBA0VMr4nNpDxFBJq_As-I0/s320/DSC_2821.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaOmDqd4z7mQeaeyPBXS4c7mCGksO2wQPxOa7mutlLbSgTkkp8JCamYjlc5bFE4qgl286eYCo9m2CrNDDmLqnBhoXVt4QRaU8tc6syDfco6sUHXNcs25Bxf1FiW5038Gh2I6K6X4kOiVM/s1600/McRbt.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 268px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555158254533961090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaOmDqd4z7mQeaeyPBXS4c7mCGksO2wQPxOa7mutlLbSgTkkp8JCamYjlc5bFE4qgl286eYCo9m2CrNDDmLqnBhoXVt4QRaU8tc6syDfco6sUHXNcs25Bxf1FiW5038Gh2I6K6X4kOiVM/s400/McRbt.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>Bill Cooper 1/11<br /><br />I laughed out loud. The wriggly, bouncy, black, tan and white dogs in front of me wreaked of excitement, joy and anxiousness. They were about to chase bunnies. I giggled from the pure joy of seeing a pair of rabbit hunting beagles once again.<br />I grew up in the once rabbit rich country of southeast Missouri better known as the Bootheel. Our family farm In Mississippi County provided superb rabitat. We often kicked rabbits up only a few feet from the back door. Hundred of rabbit hunting trips occurred on our 40-acre farm. Friends, family and our ever present beagle, Rowdy, tromped, stomped and kicked every brush pile and weed patch on the place. Rowdy, however, proved to be the ultimate rabbit finder of our hunting band. He managed to find rabbits in the most unlikely places. Tractors and other farm machinery left unused for months at a time seemed to spark new weed growth. I suspect they packed their own weed seeds from field to parking spot. At any rate, new weeds sprang up around the machinery quickly, providing excellent rabbit hiding places, until Rowdy checked them out. He roamed the farm all the time and had stored in his beagle brain the whereabouts of most of the farm’s rabbit population.<br />Family members liked to hunt the fence rows, drainage ditches and cane patches. All were narrow and rabbits being chased by Rowdy would most often bound from the narrow confines of the habitat at hand and bolt down the more open country of cut bean fields to put some much needed space between them and the dog in as short a time as possible. Those escape attempts were often foiled by one of us standing at the field edges gripping our favorite 12-gauge shotgun.<br />Once we had satisfied our rabbit hunting urges for the day, our hunting party would slowly make our way back to the farm house, laughing and goading one another about botched shots. Those times when my brother, Dad and friends were together rabbit hunting provided some of the purest, most enjoyable fun of my life. Our jaunts to the fields cost very little and provided fresh air, exercise and hours of delightful fun. Analysts these days would place a big price tag on such events, thus missing the entire point of the hunt.<br />It never failed that our hunting gang would be tired and hungry as we strolled back to the house. Too, it never failed that Rowdy never gave up chasing bunnies. He had a knack for disappearing as we neared home. He’d make a slight detour to check out the weeds around the machinery, the piles of boards around the barn and discarded lumber or other piles of stuff that accumulated around the farm. Invariably, Rowdy rooted out a rabbit or two, which he proudly ran by all us, as if to prove that he was indeed the super dog of bunny chasers. Often, it appeared that Rowdy scowled at us for not shooting those last minute bunnies. It was a matter of practical safety that we unloaded guns once we approached farm buildings, machinery or the house. Rowdy simply didn’t buy the importance of our notions and often gave up the chase when we didn’t shoot at the fleeing rabbits. Truth be known – Rowdy looked forward to returning home from a long rabbit hunt as much as us. He enjoyed the warmth and food found there, too.<br />Last January found me in the Bootheel chasing ducks in the harshest cold weather we’d experienced all winter. Every hole of water had frozen to several inches thickness. Managers at Ten Mile Pond Conservation Area kept a few pumps running, which meant open water in front of them. My friends and I managed to draw in and collect a few late season mallards. Bill McKinney, a friend from Timber, Missouri had tagged along. As it turned out he had a hunting camp a few miles west of Sikeston. Too, he knew some locals with beagles. With a simple phone call he set us up for an afternoon of rabbit hunting.<br />McKinney’s friend turned his two beagles out of the truck and my laughter began. The beautiful pair of beagles proved to be all business. Noses hit the ground almost before their feet. Tails wagged, bodies zig-zagged and twisted as the beagles headed into the thick brush to begin rooting out rabbits.<br />The small patch of woods we hunted consisted of a lot of deadfalls, honeysuckle vines and small sprouts. Shooting at fleeing rabbits would be an extreme challenge.<br />Minutes into the hunt the first low, mournful yodel came from one of the beagles. I chuckled to myself. It is amazing how soothing the voice of a beagle tracking a rabbit can be.<br />The second beagle joined in and the crescendo of their combined voices created a delightful beagle choir as they jointly worked out the track. Their voices picked up cadence as the trail grew hotter. Anticipation grew and I gripped my shotgun a little tighter. The excitement of the hunt was building.<br />The dogs worked my direction. I strained to see through the thick underbrush. I knew the rabbit would be at least 50 yards ahead of the dogs and I would have to react quickly to get a shot. The thought had no more passed through my head when I saw a brown flash streak through the tangles. “Don’t look, Ethel”, came to mind. The streak was gone.<br />The dogs pushed the bunny out of the wood patch and down a long narrow fence row. We maneuvered to head it off. I had shot many rabbis over the years under just those same conditions. I itched to see a bunny streak out my side of the fencerow.<br />Shotgun blasts from the other side of the fencerow provided a clear indication that the bunny decided to run out the safe side of the fencerow, where Bill McKinney waited. I didn’t get a count on the number of shots fired, but McKinney must be the fastest shotgun reloader west of the Mississippi. At any rate, he rolled the first rabbit of the day.<br />Beagles and bunnies traded back and forth between the fencerows and the small patch of woods. I sighted four different bunnies in the thick stuff but never managed a shot. McKinney rolled another one fleeing from the fencerow.<br />As we headed back to the truck after calling it a day, I gouged McKinney about his hunting vest being so much lighter after firing so many rounds to get two rabbits. “Yeah, but feel the weight of those rabbits,” he responded.<br />“And what school did you go to?” I quizzed. Everybody knows that lead is heavier than rabbits………….”</div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-92069891764091051012010-09-26T08:51:00.000-07:002010-09-26T09:30:47.935-07:00SNOOK ON THE FLY<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDg4McY4MksPS4Z7phB80kaBFiBzvWhWlTk-BgE1cFb9orjMyXNCrGh3EZlI6TUFS3EXz4bEH2xE5czkYJm19yc621d-rbNkyXm2yQs6uUvpfOoZC6ZmFRgM3zJGDeGDJZoApeo5_pJ3c/s1600/DSC_8747.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 268px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521260479735228114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDg4McY4MksPS4Z7phB80kaBFiBzvWhWlTk-BgE1cFb9orjMyXNCrGh3EZlI6TUFS3EXz4bEH2xE5czkYJm19yc621d-rbNkyXm2yQs6uUvpfOoZC6ZmFRgM3zJGDeGDJZoApeo5_pJ3c/s400/DSC_8747.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghCM_w_QpiNjQlp0-jj0svROab0t-p96tekQznVr311wQHdoMcjwv4SJ3Gt9ECBf8O79FBogsQTH5A-wWlj58d8ysGaZqP1xNYG8-PZPKR8dQ6f6vQZjcaM9NVl0zjWrzMlOaTb7vFifE/s1600/DSC_9681.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 134px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521258441969595858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghCM_w_QpiNjQlp0-jj0svROab0t-p96tekQznVr311wQHdoMcjwv4SJ3Gt9ECBf8O79FBogsQTH5A-wWlj58d8ysGaZqP1xNYG8-PZPKR8dQ6f6vQZjcaM9NVl0zjWrzMlOaTb7vFifE/s200/DSC_9681.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGuHUg8011cdoMnCwSXa8m2kKeDZmCwtaYGPtZWBdK_DUiMsOclGeDo9sJxMZKDxLP89xBLKlbblDOHK5JpL2_qgWcj5MPb8Qz28c7CGFPequ5tL6cJsJ-sIeQBf5XgLS8RwS_pGIoCjI/s1600/DSC_8563.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 134px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521256985274701986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGuHUg8011cdoMnCwSXa8m2kKeDZmCwtaYGPtZWBdK_DUiMsOclGeDo9sJxMZKDxLP89xBLKlbblDOHK5JpL2_qgWcj5MPb8Qz28c7CGFPequ5tL6cJsJ-sIeQBf5XgLS8RwS_pGIoCjI/s200/DSC_8563.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJ5LXKIVqS1XvfJyvAJ8dAnMLv_jMP7elWp4ju1-BuEQMEUobOvt8DcRXous0-AqSs-A2c3wX2-yORmLzP_ZSnQFkJ_LC2epN1j_XVZJuYO9uuMUrgpGP3bk0Ta0xC-2A7kgn0B32LrA/s1600/DSC_8884.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521255162636994178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJ5LXKIVqS1XvfJyvAJ8dAnMLv_jMP7elWp4ju1-BuEQMEUobOvt8DcRXous0-AqSs-A2c3wX2-yORmLzP_ZSnQFkJ_LC2epN1j_XVZJuYO9uuMUrgpGP3bk0Ta0xC-2A7kgn0B32LrA/s400/DSC_8884.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizufJ62IH6mqCi6XDbSzLdQmMy4i0vgH1xKjYrqHq9sSjeMVA1YEnmZPb7-MwEb593O7Zq85I70tZ2moNnqFVz6i80hCDIvIhSSnpCWaEo-R_7Ip5VZkrTVB1XI-aQMHkOUZq0BLq9Wnk/s1600/DSC_8323.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521252407219076082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizufJ62IH6mqCi6XDbSzLdQmMy4i0vgH1xKjYrqHq9sSjeMVA1YEnmZPb7-MwEb593O7Zq85I70tZ2moNnqFVz6i80hCDIvIhSSnpCWaEo-R_7Ip5VZkrTVB1XI-aQMHkOUZq0BLq9Wnk/s320/DSC_8323.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Fishermen have long been dazzled by the incredible beauty of the slender, silver, black and yellow bodies of snook. Their sporting qualities have been argued by the best anglers on earth, thus their inclusion in the saltwater Super Slam. Throw in the tropical paradises where snook roam and you have the ingredients for a grand saltwater fishing adventure.<br />Snook are ample adversaries on any type of tackle, but the ultimate snook fishing challenge comes from stalking them with a flyrod in hand.<br />Flyfishing for snook has been on my bucket list for a long time. I struck it off recently, but put it on the list again after the feisty fish thoroughly thrashed me on my first attempt. “Flyfishing for snook is not easy,” said Cpt. Rodman Hunter of Cancun Flyfishing. “Fishermen often come here with preconceived ideas about how they will go about flyfishing for snook. I book a lot of five day trips and require my clients to spend the first two days on the dock learning the proper methods to be successful.”<br />Because of time limitations I had to skip the two days of instruction on the dock. Cpt. Hunter taught as we went. It was not pretty. Accustomed to casting 40-to-50-feet at a leisurely pace, I learned quickly that preparation and practice before hand is an absolute necessity prior to tackling snook with a flyrod.<br />“The window of opportunity to take a shot (cast) at a snook is very narrow,” Cpt. Hunter had explained via e-mail prior to my trip. I have been fortunate enough to enjoy a grand variety of outdoor adventures in my lifetime and have adapted to the techniques of countless guides. However, the levity of Cpt. Hunter’s statement didn’t soak in until my moment of truth.<br />Cpt. Hunter’s Maverick flats boat drifted to a halt in the backcountry waters of Isla Blanca, 30 miles north of Cancun, Mexico. Eagerly, I stepped up on the bow while Hunter manned the poling tower. My Temple Fork 9-weight flyrod felt good in my hand. Stretched out coils of fly line, at the ready and off of my feet, lay on the deck.<br />A daunting maze of downed mangrove trees lay like skeletal remains in the gin clear waters along the sandy shoreline. Every laydown looked like it should have a snook hiding in its cover.<br />“There, 80-feet at 3:00 o’clock. Two snook. See them?” Hunter snorted.<br />“No, I don’t see them,” I whispered. “Now I do,” I chortled as the two 20 pound fish, now 50 feet away and too close, streaked for cover.<br />“You spooked them!” echoed Hunter’s charge. “You shuffled your feet. Don’t move your feet. Don’t turn your body. Bill, stealth is the name of this game. I have seldom caught a snook which saw me first. You have got to see them, play out line quickly and cast to them quickly and accurately. Remember, the window of opportunity is VERY narrow. The chance for a shot is here one second and gone the next.”<br />A couple of minutes later Hunter found two more snook. “Point your rod tip to 2:00 o’clock, now”, he instructed. “There , right behind the double trees. Cast, cast,cast. Now.”<br />“Too short. Cast again. You’re losing them. Shoot now,” Hunter insisted.<br />By the grace of God my Deceiver fly zoomed through the tangle of mangroves and landed 8-feet in front of the two large snook. “Strip, strip, strip faster,” Hunter coached.<br />The pair of fish sped towards the fleeing fly like twin torpedoes. “He got it! Set the hook!” Hunter yelled.<br />I put all the muscle I had into the set and simultaneously felt my fingers burning as the powerful fish ripped line from my fly reel. A resounding “ping” echoed across the water as the 20-pound test tippet popped like a soap bubble.<br />“Incredible!” I yelled. “Wow, I’ve never seen anything like that. Those fish are powerful. That one sure beat me up.”<br />Ten minutes later, I repeated the process and wrestled a 25-pound snook free of the mangrove snags. Confidence welled up inside of me as I felt the powerful lunges of the fighting fish on the end of my line. I knew I would wear this one down and bring it to hand. My arrogance faded quickly as the fish as long as my leg turned on a dime and sped towards the boat. My line went limp right along with my ego.<br />My skills improved with each encounter. I slipped into super stealth mode, scanning the shallow waters for horizontal black lines in a world of vertical stickups. “You need better sunglasses,” Hunter pointed out. “In the future, buy only the best – Costa del Mars. They are absolutely necessary for this type of fishing.”<br />Snook are known to have extremely sensitive sensor cells lining their lateral line. Therefore, a quite approach is paramount to obtaining a shot at a fish. Playing the current and knowing the water temperature and water depth gives an angler several advantages. Cold water transmits sound better than warmer water. Current is like wind in the water. If the current is flowing the way you are traveling, fish will hear you easier and spook.<br />Light angle is another important fact to consider when approaching snook. Three important phases of light occur each day, sunrise, overhead and sunset. It is best to have the brightest light to your back. It will help you spot fish and at the same time make it difficult for fish to spot you. They will be looking into the light source. A downside to this scenario is the fact that your fly must be placed closer to the fish, because they are having difficulty seeing well. A fly must be worked slower, too, to give a fish ample opportunity to spot the offering.<br />Flyfishing for snook quickly converted me into an adrenaline junky. The excitement of hunting the fish, approaching it with utmost stealth, presenting a fly to the right spot and watching the lanky fish attack ranked right up there with the best of my outdoor adventures.<br />Two days later, Cpt. Hunter and I returned to the snook hangout and tried our luck again. Waves pounded the shoreline. “We will have to wade,” Cpt. Hunter pointed out. “Wading is actually the best way to approach snook. I only use the boat when the water is deep or the bottom is too soft to wade, or when the mangrove tangles are too thick.”<br />I chose to pack my camera instead of my flyrod. I knew instantly that fishing the turbid waters would be the ultimate challenge and I wanted to capture it on film. Hunter approached every stickup in a crouched position to keep a low profile. “I’ll have to put the fly right on their nose to entice a strike,” Hunter explained.<br />Thousands of stickups made the fishing task appear daunting. Hunter patiently and stealthily approached likely looking lairs and laid his fly near them. He successfully caught several 3-to-4-pound snook in 30 minutes. Then he set the hook with muscle. The water erupted with a spray of saltwater. “Much bigger fish,” he laughed. I struggled to keep up as the fish raced through the tangles with hunter in tow. The powerful snook finally hit a tangle of roots and wrapped the leader. Cpt. Hunter strode rapidly through the thigh deep water and thrust his free hand into the mangrove tangles and yanked out a splendid ten pound snook. We both danced with excitement.<br />After photographing the 10-pound snook, we headed back to the boat. I took the opportunity to qui z Cpt. Hunter about several aspects of snook fishing including rods, reels lines, flies and presentations. His response would fill a book. Needles to say, there is not room for that much information here. Following are the essentials for anyone considering getting into flyfishing for snook and other saltwater species.<br />Snook range from very small up to 60 pounds. Five to six weight rods will work for the smaller fish. However a wind of over 5 knots will make it difficult to utilize the lighter rods. Hunter says the best weight rods to use to always keep the windows of opportunity open are sizes 8 thru 11. The best saltwater rods on the high end are the Sage RPLX-Orvis, Orvis Helios and Loomis Crosscurrent. In the mid-price range are the Temple Fork Outfitters Tcrx-i and the Redington CPX.<br />Good drags and plenty of room for backing are musts for a snook fly reel. The drag helps an anlger control the fish and keep it out of the tangles. In open water, fishermen need both a good drag and lots of backing to subdue a big snook. Tibor, Able, Orvis and Ross are top brands.<br />“Even the best fly lines must be cleaned often to prevent friction which slows down the cast,” Hunter said. The Orvis Wonderline G3 and Cortland tropical saltwater lines are among the best in full color and floating lines, according to Hunter. Additionally, he recommends clear floating lines, which he says are the best lines ever made. He adamantly stated that he had increased his catch rate strikes by 50 percent since he began using EP+. Cortland Ghost and Rio Camo are best for fishing a variety of depths.<br />Flies for snook are easy to select. “Simply match the hatch,” Hunter said. But, the best snook flies will include the floating flies: snook-aroo, gurlers, poppers, gummy minnows, and shrimp and crab patterns. Sinking flies should include: deceivers, seahabit, puglisis sardine, mullets and bunkers, supreme hair shrimp and gummy minnows.<br />Most saltwater flies are not made with weed guards. It is worth the extra money and effort to buy flies with guards. If you can’t find them, fashion your own guards out of heavy mono and glue. It will save a lot of lost flies and ultimately result in more hooked fish.<br />Presentation of flies to snook in heavy cover is a subject which needs a book to thoroughly cover the possibilities. I understand overhead and sidearm casts, but when Cpt. Hunter began talking about making sidearm cast and delivering flies with an overhead- inverted delivery…well, I knew I would eventually have to spend the two days on the dock, because that delivery is the stealthiest of all deliveries. I clearly remember spooking fish when my flies splashed heavily in front of them!<br />Clothing is another very important item when pursuing snook with a flyrod. Colors should match the sky behind you, usually sky blue or light blue. Matching buffs and gloves are essential as well. Long sleeve shirts and long pants help to cover up shiny skin.<br />A quick way to evaluate your guide is to check the color and style of his fishing boat. The hull of the boat should be blue where it meets the water, so it blends into the water and sky. Brightly colored sides will be seen by fish looking upwards. THE name of the game is about stealth and the boat has to handle the task, otherwise any noise (water slapping the boat) decreases chances for a shot to the point of spooking all fish out of the area or alerting your intended targets. Too, guides should be running the best flats boats available. Anything less will not get you to the skinny water where many of the biggest snook hide.<br />In spite of the tips in this article, the best thing you can do to properly prepare for the ultimate snook fishing challenge is to book a trip with Cpt. Rodman Hunter. He is one of the best guides in the business. The tough education you receive will stick with you the rest of your life. Cpt. Hunter is death on detail and will prepare you for what is to come. Check him out at <a href="http://www.cancunflyfishing.com/">http://www.cancunflyfishing.com/</a>.<br />The snook may have won the first round I spent with them, but I am practicing with a vengeance. The next time Cpt. Hunter takes me out, I will be able to swiftly make that 100-foot, pin-point accurate cast which he demands.</div></div></div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-33164457520294299582010-04-04T15:10:00.000-07:002010-04-04T16:18:04.080-07:00THE BABY TARPON OF CAMPECHE BAY<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxacSA_WtmaJovecQLOYkY5JQnErvXKA0C5Ga9mAU8V0QG6yc7FOOdVdgRvPQIG3w9BT_Pq1h0_5IhhpWsmY5XgehLb6fiI63OOy5dB6RjTEcpyWd-1xtIvxWBwc5PkA91rLmqwvf4jg/s1600/DSC_3526.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 134px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456425513222071170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxacSA_WtmaJovecQLOYkY5JQnErvXKA0C5Ga9mAU8V0QG6yc7FOOdVdgRvPQIG3w9BT_Pq1h0_5IhhpWsmY5XgehLb6fiI63OOy5dB6RjTEcpyWd-1xtIvxWBwc5PkA91rLmqwvf4jg/s200/DSC_3526.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqXdOZEKZ-x8bmxzugfVGTqb7CC-1v4zM6upKbp9PaMdPuX9n38x2r8JB8OhHF8ypEiVWlIZS3yY92_tt68LnNv6wGVy-QLj_VdcYjh6axuAIeIxaTFts6-riOR3UFsSci_tvqSNwkuiw/s1600/DSC_4502_edited-1.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 314px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456420600473390354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqXdOZEKZ-x8bmxzugfVGTqb7CC-1v4zM6upKbp9PaMdPuX9n38x2r8JB8OhHF8ypEiVWlIZS3yY92_tt68LnNv6wGVy-QLj_VdcYjh6axuAIeIxaTFts6-riOR3UFsSci_tvqSNwkuiw/s400/DSC_4502_edited-1.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQqSnuzztWlxxes-3dK2ogd8OGZAf0elo1jherRFsbocEmVJ36j6qjdSbQKTlQ1BUQjCUuC8ImXU7PwgeClNO7v9NffpS577d8JVN7oGfYh3KkrLJW25w5rX_YoL4eKLyPCXC-B7XNv9o/s1600/DSC_4669.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 134px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456419199374576674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQqSnuzztWlxxes-3dK2ogd8OGZAf0elo1jherRFsbocEmVJ36j6qjdSbQKTlQ1BUQjCUuC8ImXU7PwgeClNO7v9NffpS577d8JVN7oGfYh3KkrLJW25w5rX_YoL4eKLyPCXC-B7XNv9o/s200/DSC_4669.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfeZUEfnFjauj5e4pLwJZRqSQqRSZ6r46Qvz-jt_KBWW8OesOaFp6gWCTrEBDLr6guwEKQxku3DQcYJ8wNLPmu99nJpR0HhALs8MukEjX7CJZmeKJ3QJSk7APVc-6pfDXYhAEMIR0Z4Yw/s1600/DSC_4926.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 134px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456417962524601170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfeZUEfnFjauj5e4pLwJZRqSQqRSZ6r46Qvz-jt_KBWW8OesOaFp6gWCTrEBDLr6guwEKQxku3DQcYJ8wNLPmu99nJpR0HhALs8MukEjX7CJZmeKJ3QJSk7APVc-6pfDXYhAEMIR0Z4Yw/s200/DSC_4926.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR27LCy2t5XR6GHLcWkCFperus6ACFKr1NMJZYi6KcX2djhpn4fFFdsC3J-S4rdFi1g64raBznc1B2OTqASgCi4FSszkiYHnuYG-U2gNzSQ-Zt9BaOx7WM6Xk9VmuJYsdTn3eYSpGRYeg/s1600/DSC_4509.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456416017214178770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR27LCy2t5XR6GHLcWkCFperus6ACFKr1NMJZYi6KcX2djhpn4fFFdsC3J-S4rdFi1g64raBznc1B2OTqASgCi4FSszkiYHnuYG-U2gNzSQ-Zt9BaOx7WM6Xk9VmuJYsdTn3eYSpGRYeg/s320/DSC_4509.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMTFMy_Owuhngh_DWQsAhSFuN8kYUR-sggPb9XQtmFzSQ-kpQPWdYGTw5K5f9TJlImbSNGlOk5gmY54wcyxIMNq_xSgbV_thOUpGwLrM6xvB24tXbQiTzjSZ2QmW4MBAR1dceYIAcK4M/s1600/100_0696.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456415011706502802" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMTFMy_Owuhngh_DWQsAhSFuN8kYUR-sggPb9XQtmFzSQ-kpQPWdYGTw5K5f9TJlImbSNGlOk5gmY54wcyxIMNq_xSgbV_thOUpGwLrM6xvB24tXbQiTzjSZ2QmW4MBAR1dceYIAcK4M/s200/100_0696.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0cfOtiZ6h1An-mRtGFKZAaL2NZ1pds-Bkd8MzWlxrmV4c85euo5PSvNhGEDkN-DO3Gih4KowZo_cQiIfg_Q5-b5KoL8LUNe2ZkUfxvJZdPe01n3JxTRGiL3BKrTPe3JbMpgcSt4E2iA8/s1600/DSC_4395.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456412979641210818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0cfOtiZ6h1An-mRtGFKZAaL2NZ1pds-Bkd8MzWlxrmV4c85euo5PSvNhGEDkN-DO3Gih4KowZo_cQiIfg_Q5-b5KoL8LUNe2ZkUfxvJZdPe01n3JxTRGiL3BKrTPe3JbMpgcSt4E2iA8/s320/DSC_4395.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Bill Cooper 3/10<br /><br />The faint smell of saltwater invaded my nostrils as Cpt. Miquel Encalada brought his Mako flats boat up on plane and sped across the mirror smooth waters of Campeche Bay, Mexico. “Welcome, amigo, to the world of Tarpon Bay,” he said through a tanned face full of gleaming white teeth. “Our adventure begins.”<br /><br />Indeed, I had just begun an adventure for which I had waited a lifetime to experience. Visions of the ‘Silver King’ leaping to the sky filled my mind. For well over 50 years I had only read of these great fish in the pages of Outdoor Life and Saltwater Magazine. Now, I would pen my own story.<br />The unique baby tarpon destination of Tarpon Bay is located on the western gulf area of the Yucatan Peninsula. Sight fishing is the expectation in 1-to-5-feet of crystal clear water in the UNESCO Los Petenes Biosphere Reserve, which runs some 80 miles from the edge of Campeche City to the border of the Yucatan State. Vast areas of mangroves, turtle grass flats and an uncountable number of channels provide feeding and resting places for back country tarpon. Anxious anglers may fish all day long without casting a fly to the same waters twice.<br />Cpt. Encalada has spent all of his life on or near the water somewhere in Mexico and Central America. His charming wit and uncanny knowledge of the environment around him soon had me at perfect ease. He had voluntarily explained in our first conversation by e-mail that I was making the trip at the worst possible time of the year to catch tarpon. I insisted we give it a shot regardless of the cool weather and expected windy conditions. I would be teal hunting prior to the fishing trip and hunting had been superb near Sisal in the Yucatan.<br />After a run of 27 nautical miles in the flats boat, Cpt. Encalada slowed the skiff to a halt. His boat man, Mike xxx, a local man of short stature and Mayan decent, immediately took charge of the craft poling into position for the first fly cast of the day to the massive tangles of the mangrove jungles.<br />At my request Cpt. Encalda had invited along on the trip his good friend Alberto Avila, an experienced tarpon fisherman. Avila and Encalada would alternate on the bow of the boat casting to cruising tarpon. Because of a tender shoulder, I would limit my flycasting to only two hours or less. However, my time behind the camera proved as rewarding as fishing itself.<br />Equipped with an 8-weight, 9-foot Sage rod with matching reel, Avila began casting to the mangroves where a freshwater creek entered the bay. Despite Cpt. Encalada’s honesty about the possibilities of fish being few and far between, I fully expected the purple and black Tarpon Toad on Avila’s line to disappear as soon as it hit the water. The incredible wild, seemingly untouched by man beauty of the mangrove wetlands captivated my spirit and I secretly hoped for Avila’s success at landing a baby tarpon.<br />I questioned Encalada unmercifully as he scouted the waters ahead while Avila made cast after cast to promising looking tarpon lairs. He fielded every question with poise and confidence, no doubt having heard each inquiry hundreds of times from fishermen over the years.<br />Beginning tarpon fishermen can reasonably expect to cast their flylines 35-to-45-feet and catch fish. However, having the skill to cast 60-feet makes the guide’s job much easier because of the spooky nature of tarpon.<br />Encalada’s voice crackled with excitement as he chattered in Spanish to Avila and simultaneously pointed to a tarpon which had just rolled to the right. “Cast in front of the line of bubbles,” he instructed Avila with the authority of a Pittsburgh Steelers football coach.<br />Mike turned the boat perfectly aligning Avila for his next cast. One, two, three false casts and Avila’s Tarpon Toad landed two feet in front of the cruising tarpon. The fish exploded into action, spooked by the fly rather than enticed to strike.<br />“Tarpon are the wariest fish in the mangroves,” Encalada explained. “That was a perfect cast, but tarpon can be really tough some days.”<br />Cpt. Encalada continued my tarpon education as Mike poled the boat towards another rolling tarpon. “A falling tide flowing from the mangroves makes for better fishing,” he explained. “And the faster the flow, the better the fishing conditions because more food becomes available with the faster flow.”<br />“Tarpon, tarpon,” Cpt. Encalada excitedly whispered to Avila. “Cast to one o’clock,” he chattered as he pointed towards a hole in the mangroves. “Perfect. He sees the fly. Strip, strip, strip. Stop. Stop. Strip, strip. He’s chasing. Strip faster!”<br />My heart pounded heavily as the action unfolded in front of me. A flash of silver charged towards the fly. It missed and streaked for the cover of the mangroves. Our foursome sounded like a ‘choir of anguish’ as we aired grand sighs in unison.<br />I clearly understood how tarpon fishing gets in the blood so quickly. The adventure contains all the elements of a great drama. Highs, lows, surprises, planned approaches, spooky fish, love, hatred, respect, disdain, admiration and above all a longing desire to return to the hunt in the mangroves over and over.<br />Cpt. Encalada rotated to the bow. He soon spotted a couple of cruising fish and bowed at the waist as he cast to create a lower profile on the boat. Mike closed the distance to the fish. Encalada false cast numerous times and laid 70 feet of line out perfectly. Well, almost. The water erupted as the line drifted to the surface. Some expletives, which I did not understand, rolled from Encalada’s native tongue. “I overcast them by two feet,” he explained. “The flyline spooked them.”<br />In the course of moving the flats boat from one area to another, Cpt. Encalada continued my education about the rich and colorful history of the Mayan culture. He pointed out that there are more Mayan ruins in the state of Campeche than any other area of Mexico. However, Campeche is just now beginning to develop their ruins for visitors.<br />My education about fishing for baby tarpon continued as well. I was all ears. Basic equipment is essential to all anglers and a good guide can save anglers many hours of failure and frustration. Cpt. Encalada patiently explained every aspect of the necessary equipment for flyfishing for baby tarpon.<br />Encalada spotted several tarpon from 5 to 12 pounds cruising in and out of the mangroves. He quickly tied on a chartreuse Tarpon Toad, gave Mike instructions for boat position and began his false casts. The toad landed perfectly, just a few feet in front of the school of silver fish. The largest fish looked more like 20 pounds to me.<br />Encalada stripped his line once, twice and the action happened so fast at that moment that it all remains a blur of my fishing memory. I later referred to his actions at the strike as the Tarpon Toad Two Step. As he had instructed me, Encalada set the hook by lowering his rod tip, while simultaneously stripping the line across his left hip and sweeping the rod hard to the right. The swift action appeared as graceful as the moves of a well trained ballerina.<br />The blue, Sage rod arched heavily and the whir of line burning from the reel echoed in my sunburned ears. “Music of the tarpon symphony,” I thought to myself. The moment of tarpon magic had arrived. The King of the mangroves had entered in grand fashion, a moment burned on my gray matter which I shall never forget.<br />Encalada ran the boat to one beautiful location after another – islands, freshwater springs bubbling up from the bay bottom, canals, lagoons and beaches. He even graciously allowed me a few moments to cast to barracudas with my Ardent baitcaster, the only reel now made in America. David Gray, the company’s founder had graciously sent a pair of reels with me for testing. The barracuda gave the delightful reels a heavy duty work out, but the handsome reels performed magnificently.<br />My lifelong dreams had been more than fulfilled. However, my heart still pounds in my dreams when I once again envision the first baby tarpon that charged from under the tangled roots of the mangroves and chased my fly which I stripped rapidly straight towards me. Head to head and face to face with the King. My return to experience the rush once again will, indeed, not be soon enough!<br />Note: Mexico has experienced tremendous drops in its tourist industry because of flu and drug scares, which have been grossly exaggerated by U.S. media. Almost all of the drug problems are centered in northern Mexico. I felt very safe everywhere I traveled in southern Mexico. The people were warm and friendly. I strolled the city streets of Campeche at night, enjoying fine food, live music and entertainment totally relaxed and refreshed from the magical atmosphere that is Mexico. To find out more about baby tarpon fishing, check Cpt. Encalada’s website at: www.campecheflyfishingtarponbay.com.mx. For tourism information about this beautiful Spanish colonial city go to: www.secretario@campechetravel.com.mx. Or e-mail me at: brcooper@dishmail.net.<br /><br /><strong></strong></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-15662290261959697672010-03-28T08:32:00.000-07:002010-03-28T09:59:37.623-07:00BRINGING SNOWS TO THE DECOYS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2Dff17gd8vFHLiIWuhHnwd6P9fLE-OiK4dofiDOH_q9Ae-vJ1ZHlGU_sCYYJbkN9MvT8oyvqGoVMg4sE6JfWjAQwfndd4EpN268h7Mb9wNuJk3soXBGxxvNJIXmswQojfRfgz8NJN94/s1600/DSC_5864.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2Dff17gd8vFHLiIWuhHnwd6P9fLE-OiK4dofiDOH_q9Ae-vJ1ZHlGU_sCYYJbkN9MvT8oyvqGoVMg4sE6JfWjAQwfndd4EpN268h7Mb9wNuJk3soXBGxxvNJIXmswQojfRfgz8NJN94/s320/DSC_5864.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453729400939682850" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgafOWa3wAUYhbf7WZRsdar-LTOetlDz2jHa_q_fPEZf-mc4G8DQ8H8B6atul5a1kTXrVeKNCAscCgYpdS3AY-npi4uWbkVcE6cGLrAsAi8oTbZb7qardwgUKN6hbiBzb27tgeca-JUaY/s1600/DSC_5855.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgafOWa3wAUYhbf7WZRsdar-LTOetlDz2jHa_q_fPEZf-mc4G8DQ8H8B6atul5a1kTXrVeKNCAscCgYpdS3AY-npi4uWbkVcE6cGLrAsAi8oTbZb7qardwgUKN6hbiBzb27tgeca-JUaY/s320/DSC_5855.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453727724728774466" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjxpiDRP3izAKAp5TfOS6f2HkEXpUuAPuelUV-TeyN0Y8DxR7-PQ9C8RK4vvMBmxoOvv3X1kJVWfchjmQkBU5oExPrKEk1ChaKKgMfN50dLhOX5piEOypjNfEKkgZeyyK3o_Vb_vUmUDw/s1600/Copy+(2)+of+DSC_5778.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjxpiDRP3izAKAp5TfOS6f2HkEXpUuAPuelUV-TeyN0Y8DxR7-PQ9C8RK4vvMBmxoOvv3X1kJVWfchjmQkBU5oExPrKEk1ChaKKgMfN50dLhOX5piEOypjNfEKkgZeyyK3o_Vb_vUmUDw/s200/Copy+(2)+of+DSC_5778.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453723808090416722" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgajWl3S501xyYpxcJdWY3k_VfElH5S9V4-u_n-oSbC-S80rs-gMqwne3JGa5ZcPYWUobCJm1ubmC3vX4MufAkgVyxzuGWpksNLwDbtc1flJIcrPAL4sk6dGIfbC6fVCSYZPfNpWsMvMms/s1600/Copy+of+DSC_5927.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgajWl3S501xyYpxcJdWY3k_VfElH5S9V4-u_n-oSbC-S80rs-gMqwne3JGa5ZcPYWUobCJm1ubmC3vX4MufAkgVyxzuGWpksNLwDbtc1flJIcrPAL4sk6dGIfbC6fVCSYZPfNpWsMvMms/s400/Copy+of+DSC_5927.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453722374573178322" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdsuouAHEXZaLhSaoioIq0UnyPh7Ear8E4ewknmMVPCb09Ve8AMZEBf_GXld9ztNSsjWLfx8qdgXFjNdWypHI7L22xTKamBENIl1-edDU8vkbTQdAc-sjTGzQcrDMZhIQaAfU2yiploYk/s1600/Copy+(2)+of+DSC_5542.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdsuouAHEXZaLhSaoioIq0UnyPh7Ear8E4ewknmMVPCb09Ve8AMZEBf_GXld9ztNSsjWLfx8qdgXFjNdWypHI7L22xTKamBENIl1-edDU8vkbTQdAc-sjTGzQcrDMZhIQaAfU2yiploYk/s320/Copy+(2)+of+DSC_5542.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453719937089547346" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcKZtva1BqeBdLNb1QE_v0FnI5VKcCr-fFMrjD19KV-Pr1OPkBBSIx7p0mfPRxz63KV9pZQQ2z6j_xaYctSEz0ijUQm_U1ZTmRuaoVWts06MLFpDAFb6z-IoeOEkpCqhgd-w2QsUq2Tdk/s1600/DSC_6108.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcKZtva1BqeBdLNb1QE_v0FnI5VKcCr-fFMrjD19KV-Pr1OPkBBSIx7p0mfPRxz63KV9pZQQ2z6j_xaYctSEz0ijUQm_U1ZTmRuaoVWts06MLFpDAFb6z-IoeOEkpCqhgd-w2QsUq2Tdk/s320/DSC_6108.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453718111578493074" /></a><br />COX USES OWN SNOWSMACKER CALLER FOR SNOW GEESE<br /><br />Bill Cooper <br /><br /><br /> I could feel the steady spray of liquefied gumbo mud thumping against my back as I clung to Frank Cox, of Rolla, Missouri as he sped down a dirt farm road in Chariton County attempting to steer his four wheeler. A pair of teenage boys would have been in mud heaven. I simply held on tight hoping to arrive at our snow goose hunting destination, a mile off the main road in a cut corn field, in one piece and recognizable as a human being.<br /> Slick mud and dark water dribbled off of my back and legs as I dismounted the four wheeler. At least I had managed to keep my camera and shotgun dry.<br /> Frank Cox is into commercial heating and cooling in Rolla when he is not off chasing some kind of waterfowl. This time he chased snow geese. The spring migration was in full force and Cox had headed north a day ahead of me to drive the countryside and find where geese were feeding. Information from the Internet had indicated there were over a million snow geese in northwest Missouri. Many of them had concentrated around Grand Pass Wildlife Management Area near Marshall. This Missouri Department of Conservation Area along the Missouri River is a waterfowl magnet. A large concentration of snow geese had been using the area for days and Cox knew the birds would be flying out to private corn fields twice a day to feed.<br /> My cell phone rang while I was stopped in Columbia, two-thirds of the way to Marshall. Cox’s voice echoed from the phone. “Bill, I’ve got bad news,” he had said. “Man, the geese have left. I can’t find any anywhere. I thought I would stop you before you drove all the way up here.”<br /> “Not a problem,” I responded. “That’s snow goose hunting, Cox, and the primary reason so few people hunt them. I have things to do in Columbia and will be here for a couple of hours, so call me if the situation changes.” <br /> Snow geese are notorious for moving around as weather and food sources dictate. Cox’s report didn’t surprise me. Hordes of snow geese moving out of an area is nothing new. Snow goose hunters burn more gasoline than all other waterfowlers combined. Friends of mine in the Bootheel drove 350 miles a few weekends ago and found one large group of geese to sneak up on. They did well. Four guys killed 82 geese in the first volley. Their hunt ended. They found no more geese that weekend.<br /> I took my time wandering through the University Bookstore searching for textbooks on tourism and cultural and historical interpretation. I’m working with a couple of cities in Mexico on tourism development. I had taken my first sip of black coffee after climbing into my pickup to head home. My cell phone rang again. “Cox’s excited voice felt like a slap to my eardrum. Bill, get here as fast as you can. I have found geese!<br /> Somehow, I knew Cox would come up with a place to hunt snow geese. That guy just doesn’t give up.<br /> Cox gave me directions where to meet him. As I pulled off the highway I could see him roaring towards me on his four wheeler. He had been frantically setting out 600 decoys. We would scarcely get everything set up before the afternoon flights of hungry snow geese would begin arriving.<br /> “How did you find this place to hunt,” I asked.<br /> “I met this young guy at the gas station” Cox said, “and we started talking. He had just bought three dozen decoys and was going to try to hunt over them. I told him I had 600 decoys in the trailer and he invited me to come to his farm to hunt with him and his buddy.”<br /> Orion Warren, the landowner, Cox and I were putting the finishing touches on the decoy spread and blinds when Dakota Wells, from Fayette, showed up to help with last minute changes. The spread looked very convincing. I secretly hoped the geese agreed.<br /> Cox had been running wires from an E-caller he built himself. He scattered eight speakers through the decoys. When he turned the speakers on they sounded like thousands of feeding snow geese. The unit uses two amps that can play 2 separate MP3 or CD tracks at the same time. The contraption is appropriately called a “Snowsmacker Caller”. The sock decoys, full bodied decoys, kites with wings flapping and the squawking speakers created a loud, moving body of white, fake birds which looked very convincing.<br /> “Everyone needs to put the last corn stalks on their layout blind and get ready,” Cox instructed. “There comes the first big wave of snows from Grand Pass.”<br /> A high flying, ragged “V” formation of birds materialized over the Grand River levee a half mile away. Thousands of snow geese dotted the distant sky. The afternoon feeding flights had begun.<br /> I peered through the mesh of my blind. I realized why they call them coffin blinds. I had never been in a coffin before, but the e3xperience of being in that linear, boxy blind stretched out on the ground with two hinged doors that closed in on top of me made me think about making final arrangement s for cremation.<br /> Wind whistling through wings caused me to peer out of my blind. Dozens of mallards and pintails buzzed around our set. Duck season had closed three months earlier. The birds were now headed back north due to uncontrollable migration urges. They were a grand sight in their developing mating plumage. <br /> Snow geese had flown over by the thousands, but none low enough to shoot with shotguns. My blind lay five yards behind the other three. I fired away with my Nikon camera and captured images of the flights. The other three guys would do the shooting.<br /> Masses of snow geese began to swirl over our decoy set. Geese seemed to be headed every direction. I wandered which goose was in charge. They seemed to be in complete disorder. And ducks and specklebelly geese made the scene even more chaotic. Duck and specs were off limits, shooters had to be careful.<br /> Lower and lower some of the geese circled. I could clearly see the black wing tips of several geese that swung to my downwind side. At that moment I wished I held a shotgun instead of a camera. I heard Frank tell the other two guys to take ‘em on the next pass.<br /> I began firing frames as the trio of shooter did sit ups in their blinds and began firing straight up. I cringed when the first goose thumped the ground five feet from my blind. Cox’s shotgun malfunctioned so he didn’t get a round off. Warren and Wells managed to drop three snows.<br /> Thousands of ducks and geese swarmed through the skies. Seldom have I seen such a concentration of waterfowl in one area. Thousands of acres of cut, but untilled corn fields provided plentiful food supplies for the hordes of waterfowl. Millions of goose footprints in the field provided evidence of the birds having been there.<br /> Cox borrowed my shotgun and prepared for the next wave of snow geese. In unison the trio sat up and emptied their shotguns. Only two snows twirled to the ground like two miniature, white helicopters. The guys laughed allowed and moaned about only two geese tumbling out of the sky.<br />The afternoon sped by all too quickly. I lay back in my blind and enjoyed the sight of so many birds in the sky and the intense noise level. I caught movement low to my right. A dozen specklebellies had their wings locked and sailed 10 feet over my blind. Would have been easy shooting. They decoy much easier than snows, but are not as plentiful.<br />The end of shooting hours approached. The guys had a dozen geese down, but mumbled about the goofed up shots and the birds that should have come by a little bit closer.<br />The chore of tearing down the set took the four of us about 30 minutes. White geese and night fall surrounded us. The sights and sounds painted a waterfowl hunter’s dream. We chanted and laughed and gouged one another. We were a foursome of relaxed, happy and, very muddy men.<br />Frank Cox and his hunting buddies call themselves the Mid-Missouri Migrators. Anyone with questions about the E-callers may call Cox at 573-578-6180. Without a doubt the system is the best for a snow goose decoy spread that I have seen yet.Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-11620887713358525282010-02-01T08:19:00.000-08:002010-02-01T12:03:31.928-08:00THE CONSERVATION ORDER FOR LIGHT GEESE<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxX_8LdVHs6hjL_te33H1RGOeomOuEoiMLeONAU2WLkz8a6zNL3Wmp23Bq13UOXKVkWsQgt4OKT_lcZLWvr8Ja9_hdVSXNC-TYjisICb1nDKvjrjF7pTAtAwADLkPYf0JsDHxipiAWRM/s1600-h/DSC_3234_0597.JPG"> The US Fish and Wildlife Service established a Conservation Order for Mid-Continent Light Geese in 1999 after biologists had determined that Ross’ and Lesser Snow Geese populations had reached the point of exceeding the long-term carrying capacity of their breeding habitat.<br /> The population of Mid-Continent Light Geese exploded from 800,000 to 3,000 million in a 30-year period prior to 1998. Cause for the population explosion included: 1) increased agricultural practices in the US and Canada; 2) expanding bird sanctuaries for migrating species; 3) decline in harvest rates; and, 4) an increase in adult survival rates.<br /> The Conservation Order now runs February 1 through April 25. Special regulations apply: Hunters may use electronic callers. Hunters may use unplugged shotguns. Shooting hours are extended to one-half hour past sunset. There is no bag limit. Hunters must possess a valid hunting license from any state. Note: Some states now require a special light goose Conservation Order permit. <br /> Many hunters have discovered that they can successfully sneak up on light geese by using drainage ditches, fencerows and other features of the terrain. Hunters crawl up ditches and lay in wait until the masses of geese feed within range. All hunters in the party then stand up and shoot into the masses hoping to harvest as many light geese as possible. A retrieving dog greatly reduces retrieval efforts for the cripples.<br /> Light goose hunters using the sneak method generally drive around the countryside until they find geese feeding in a winter wheat field or a harvested grin field. Then they seek permission from landowners to hunt the geese. Farmer are generally very reasonable about allowing hunters to pursue snow and Ross’ geese because they are so destructive.+<br /><br /> <img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433312962844131650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxX_8LdVHs6hjL_te33H1RGOeomOuEoiMLeONAU2WLkz8a6zNL3Wmp23Bq13UOXKVkWsQgt4OKT_lcZLWvr8Ja9_hdVSXNC-TYjisICb1nDKvjrjF7pTAtAwADLkPYf0JsDHxipiAWRM/s400/DSC_3234_0597.JPG" /></a><br /><div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-22173776017072748222010-01-24T05:19:00.000-08:002010-01-24T06:13:34.010-08:00THE SNOW GOOSE SNEAK<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBMeW8eIBb-0WmtFbGZbIRGUheX0u4bSK45qGTZif6NDv3Cn62pYPl5N2mznea_IrkyPdW5C0EDwSjAgSky9FjYZoVc6xN03KXPz1gh-kkTMTEDuZGf8mDa9BcfukK557P5AEX0lMRBN4/s1600-h/100_0502.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430305819244327250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBMeW8eIBb-0WmtFbGZbIRGUheX0u4bSK45qGTZif6NDv3Cn62pYPl5N2mznea_IrkyPdW5C0EDwSjAgSky9FjYZoVc6xN03KXPz1gh-kkTMTEDuZGf8mDa9BcfukK557P5AEX0lMRBN4/s320/100_0502.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8PT5_ZkIk3bCgXb1wW_8WuD8ySOr3LzIo0Z6p8r4AZWF2zQEftHkhVF3llcq2B6Gqx8A3g6wxhGPHZUU_IaD8d0qTrXQPVxSNVgruWRtV8dg653bZhzkbTeDB9vVq9XkrFNgBFnB7sDI/s1600-h/DSC_3136_0506.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 134px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430304507024459458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8PT5_ZkIk3bCgXb1wW_8WuD8ySOr3LzIo0Z6p8r4AZWF2zQEftHkhVF3llcq2B6Gqx8A3g6wxhGPHZUU_IaD8d0qTrXQPVxSNVgruWRtV8dg653bZhzkbTeDB9vVq9XkrFNgBFnB7sDI/s200/DSC_3136_0506.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcP-U5vvE70HTKHqYY4btdaJKrM-xES1EgFkt6HnVQthxIImo7IEIPZJbEB0WqOITP7TJD2euYOj-iD_GAm7LjokpfI-wNubjJd07EPPKH4cj2oC-3PxF3zi59wwsQSzFC4bQKiRgesnw/s1600-h/DSC_3118_0488.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430302911683341138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcP-U5vvE70HTKHqYY4btdaJKrM-xES1EgFkt6HnVQthxIImo7IEIPZJbEB0WqOITP7TJD2euYOj-iD_GAm7LjokpfI-wNubjJd07EPPKH4cj2oC-3PxF3zi59wwsQSzFC4bQKiRgesnw/s320/DSC_3118_0488.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFCUWHDj9uVdg3bnHBF-ltUegqBI93pv4crQ4xD7zreCUB3loQJhDOvvmnD_JP0BS1ye9CkxVHD7W7gzu3g63h_CpzeiWxI7A-U9_DMkGJUIwT5Pu5ERp5b8Rb7JkdOpecJ3xXS-yeyM/s1600-h/DSC_3228_0592.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430298557688427378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFCUWHDj9uVdg3bnHBF-ltUegqBI93pv4crQ4xD7zreCUB3loQJhDOvvmnD_JP0BS1ye9CkxVHD7W7gzu3g63h_CpzeiWxI7A-U9_DMkGJUIwT5Pu5ERp5b8Rb7JkdOpecJ3xXS-yeyM/s400/DSC_3228_0592.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>THE SNOW GOOSE SNEAK<br /><br />Bill Cooper<br /><br />Many waterfowl hunters are new to snow goose hunting. They have discovered that the birds are tough to hunt and require unusual tactics.<br /><br /><br />The murmur of ten thousand feeding snow geese echoed across the 2,000 acre corn field. Our hunting trio sat in my pickup truck along the highway plotting an approach to the mass of white birds 400 yards away.<br />Most Canada goose hunters had never heard of a snow goose thirty years ago. Sometime since then, agricultural practices began to change in the Midwest and Southern United States. Tens of thousands of acres of grain fields started popping up on a regular basis. Corn, soybeans, wheat, milo and rice acreages grew by leaps and bounds over a twenty year period to meet the growing food demands of a burgeoning world human population. Opportunistic migrating snow geese reaped bountiful rewards as well.<br />Snow geese feeding on the rich food sources found across the Midwest and South began returning to their nesting grounds on the Tundra only to produce larger clutches. Survival rates among young increased and more and more birds answered Nature’s call each fall to migrate south. Snow goose numbers skyrocketed in less than 20 years.<br />Hunters began taking advantage of the newfound multitude of migratory birds. However, frustration soon overwhelmed many new snow goose hunters, because they simply did not know how to hunt them. Tactics which worked for Canada geese simply did not produce much shooting action when it came to snow geese.<br />In the mean time, snow goose populations continued to climb. Biologists discovered that the huge populations of snow geese had exceeded the long-term carrying capacity of their breeding habitat. Their foraging activity has degraded artic and sub-artic habitats, thus posing a threat to the long-term health of the artic eco-system and associated wildlife communities. Snow geese are grubbers. They have a tough tongue lined with small teeth. Combined with short, stout bills used for rooting, snow geese have the uncanny ability to snip vegetation off below the ground. The end result of millions of geese exercising this feeding behavior on the fragile Tundra soils is damage that will last for decades.<br />Biologists quickly realized that hunting would be the primary management tool necessary to reduce snow goose numbers to acceptable levels. A Conservation Order was established in 2000 to allow hunters to remove the plug from their shotgun and use electronic callers. Shooting hours were extended until 30 minutes after sunset and limit restrictions were removed. Gunners are allowed 20 snow geese per day during the regular hunting season. The plan was to reduce the light goose population by 50% by the year 2005. That did not happen because of the difficulties associated with hunting light geese.<br />Hunting buddy Bill McKinney and I plotted tactical maneuvers against the snow geese feeding contentedly far out in the corn field. McKinney is a Lieutenant Colonel in the National Guard. I served as an Army Officer during the Vietnam era. We both take pride in our understanding of tactics. We were ready to circle, surprise and charge.<br />Fortunately for McKinney and I, Bill Cobb, a veteran snow goose hunter, accompanied us. “Hold on boys,” he said. Let’s sit and study this group of geese a bit longer.” McKinney and I wanted to slip up a fence row and hope for the best chance to get a shot.<br />Twenty minutes later Cobb noted that the birds were gradually feeding to the southeast. “There is a big ditch over in that direction,” he said. “Let’s drive the mile around to the other end of that ditch, get in it and sneak a half mile or so up it towards the birds. It could take a couple of hours for them to feed close to us, but we don’t have anything better to do.”<br />Cobb’s unusual patience and well laid plans took some adjustment in attitude for mine and McKinney’s frontal assault idea.<br />Our trio, and Cobb’s spectacular black Lab, Oreo, began the crawl up the ditch. The low crawl came natural to at least two of us. Oreo crawled with her master, obviously having had much experience at sneaking on snow geese.<br />Masses of snow geese continued to pour into the field. Ten thousand geese soon grew to 15,000 or more. Tornado shaped forms of white geese circled and circled before committing to joining the birds on the ground.<br />We hugged the ditch bank every time a flight circled over us. On numerous occasions we could have taken shots at birds 20 yards above us. “Don’t shoot until I give the signal,” Cobb had instructed earlier. I kept thinking about the bird in the hand theory.<br />Large groups of geese kept rising and falling, each frog hopping over the last, steadily moving towards our position in the drainage ditch. Birds began hopping across the ditch 100 yards ahead of us. Hundreds of white and blue heads appeared though our scant cover.<br />A steadily growing murmur of feeding geese, like hordes of ants moving across the landscape, edged closer and closer to our position. “Get ready to stand and shoot,” Cobb whispered. McKinney lay three feet from me. “The idea is to shoot for the heads and take down as many as you can.” Sounded simple enough.<br />I envisioned there being a mass of goose bodies at 25 yards when Cobb gave the order to fire. Surprise is a great advantage in war or hunting. I stood to fire at the geese and surprise overwhelmed me. Thousands of geese stood 20 feet way! The noise level of three shotguns roaring three times each and a mass of geese pitching into the air at the same time created one of the greatest highs I have ever encountered while hunting.<br />I heard Cobb give Oreo the order to fetch. The splendid dog realized that she should chase the cripples first. Ten minutes later, Oreo had 11 snow and blue geese lying at our feet. “Those geese were too close for our patterns to spread,” Cobb quipped. “I was with a couple of guys last year. We had a similar situation, but the geese were further out. We killed fifty two geese on our first volley.”<br />The Conservation Order allows for spectacular hunting opportunities. However, a special set of ethics must play a part in these extraordinary hunting circumstances. Because of the sneak and shoot tactics required to approach white geese, cripples are a given. “Using a good retriever is the best way to go,” Cobb pointed out. “Guys hunting without dogs either don’t retrieve all of their cripples, or they spend a lot of time chasing them. I never have to chase cripples. Oreo gets them all and she loves doing it.”<br />The geese flew the tornado pattern for a few minutes and landed again at the far end of the field. “Let’s watch them for a while,’ Cobb instructed. “We’ll sneak ‘em again.”<br />Thirty minutes later Cobb gave the order to fire again just as thousands of geese got up 20 yards in front of us. We dropped five more. Oreo charged across the muddy field to retrieve a downed goose 100 yards away. Our hunting party reveled in the sight of thousands of swirling geese and a champion class dog doing what she loved to do.<br />Sweat poured down my back as we assembled the last of our kill. The enormous mass of geese landed on the far end of the field again. “Several times I have been on hunts where we killed 150 to 200 snow geese,” Cobb chuckled. I began calculating in my head. We took 16 geese on two sneaks and had duck walked and crawled over a mile in the process. “The number of sneaks that would be necessary to harvest 150 geese would kill an ordinary man,” I commented. “How ‘bout McKinney and me working on our shooting abilities and we will join you again sometime. We’ll work on that 150 number then!”<br />Snow goose hunting opportunities abound in the Central and Mississippi flyways. They are very destructive to farmers’ crops. Most farmers welcome hunters and they understand the nature of hunting them. Seldom do you get the opportunity to plan ahead. Plan on driving lots of miles trough farm country to locate geese and then seek permission.<br />Our hunt took place in Mississippi County, Missouri. The Tourism Commission is anxious to help hunters. For more information go to: <a href="http://www.eastprairiemo.net/waterfowl.htm">www.eastprairiemo.net/waterfowl.htm</a>.</div></div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-48294272837473404102010-01-05T05:11:00.000-08:002010-01-05T05:47:31.984-08:00RABBIT HUNTING IS A SOCIAL SPORT<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJ-PJMbCyfoU4G3UQoGzgMT_nPC5zQxawwXtjO-lQVeyAm5SKAVFmjPjDOuD903thk487ef5KXfTRH_QoIMmkWXOP440SXTVZk976x3yMKl2egyZvmj7hn17DPr84ISltIa1l8oIvVz8/s1600-h/scan0006.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 259px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423251908395025010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJ-PJMbCyfoU4G3UQoGzgMT_nPC5zQxawwXtjO-lQVeyAm5SKAVFmjPjDOuD903thk487ef5KXfTRH_QoIMmkWXOP440SXTVZk976x3yMKl2egyZvmj7hn17DPr84ISltIa1l8oIvVz8/s400/scan0006.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-F5btJUBCYDxJbDJBaiThwHrb_UUP68FJYoWued4hgn9Y16Zrxcz6ST0F17uL30o0tTOtg0tbXcsko9d07mRVF_Snq6Y1pcqKD-0t81Aj9FkeoLfYmPir-iG6YPM7M5nCa7yZjUIIf6A/s1600-h/scan0007.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 211px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423250723777270354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-F5btJUBCYDxJbDJBaiThwHrb_UUP68FJYoWued4hgn9Y16Zrxcz6ST0F17uL30o0tTOtg0tbXcsko9d07mRVF_Snq6Y1pcqKD-0t81Aj9FkeoLfYmPir-iG6YPM7M5nCa7yZjUIIf6A/s320/scan0007.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p>Bill Cooper</o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></p><br /><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal" align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Chasing bunnies is about as fun as hunting can get, but toss in a few buddies to tag along and the hunt turns into a laughter-filled socail afair.</span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">My older brother, Phil, lives in Vandalia, Missouri not far from Mark Twain Lake. The area around Vandalia is rolling hills that are farmed heavily. Patches of woods still exist and woody draws and brushy fence rows are abundant. Toss in the fields of wheat, soybeans and corn and it all adds up to perfect “rabitat”.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">I jumped at the invitation to tag along on a rabbit hunt with Phil and friends Rob Cassaday, Michael Graham, and J.R. Graham, all seasoned, serious rabbit hunters. I had not been rabbit hunting in so long I felt I would be a novice in the company of frequent bunny hunters. To take the heat off my rusty abilities of shotgunning for rabbits, I packed my Browning BuckMark .22 pistol with a red dot scope. Surely no one would make fun of me for using a pistol or for missing with a pistol. I am 58 years old. I should have known better.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Phil and I grew up on a cotton farm in Mississippi County, Missouri. All we had to do to go rabbit hunting was to walk out the back door. Rowdy, our old beagle, collie, and hound mix usually laid around the yard somewhere. He recognized the slam of the old screen door and I believe Rowdy could smell the oil and powder from Phil’s old single shot 12-gauge. No sooner would we be out the back door than Rowdy would be bouncing by our side as happy to be going hunting as us two boys. Our trio spent countless hours tromping the fence rows, ditch lines, cane patches, bayou banks, and field borders chasing rabbits. We were never happier, Rowdy included.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Rabbit became standard table fare at our house. Mom served the fresh meat up in a variety of dishes, but we often begged for barbecued rabbit, knowing we would pay the price. Mom made her own sauce, which had to be 90 percent something extremely hot. Ours eyes watered and an occasional tear dribbled down our cheeks as we gobbled the tasty rabbit legs down chased by quart jars of ice water.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Phil often made long jaunts from the house in search of swamp rabbits. Rowdy always traipsed along. Phil religiously returned home with more rabbits than he could carry. The limit was 10. He carried a piece of rope with him to tie them together so he could drag them. He became quiet a legend as a swamp rqbbit hunter in the Mounds community where we lived.</span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Vandalia is quite different from Mississippi County. No swamps, no big ditches or bayous, no cotton fields or wild cane patches, but row crop country is always good for rabbits and rabbit hunters are the same regardless of where they come from. They love to hunt bunnies and like to eat them as well.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">We loaded into a couple of vehicles and headed to a nearby farm that J. R. Had permission to hunt. Gear and guns came out quickly and each hunter in turn showed off his gun and told the history of rabbits and other game they had harvested with it. Stories and comparisons of guns and gear are an intimate part of rabbit hunting. Each has his own preferences and most wouldn’t change guns if something better did come along. Tradition is solid among rabbit hunters. Or, it could be said that they are just hard headed. It doesn’t matter. Rabbit hunters are not worried about being politically correct. We were simply out to enjoy a morning of fresh, cold air, stretch our legs, catch up on one another’s lives, kick up a few rabbits and make fun of the other guys’ misses. Such social comraderie is a stress reliever to the max. No one talked about the state of the union, taxes, or social evils. We quickly became engrossed in the simple pleasures of rabbit hunting.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">We hunted without the aid of beagles, so someone had to be the dog to root rabbits out of the wide, weedy fence row we were hunting. Phil volunteered to attack the tangles first. J. R. And I partnered up on one side of the fence while Michael and Rob took the other.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">In short order, we heard the shout of “rabbit”. A 12-gauge roared once, twice, and then laughter broke out. Someone missed. Names weren’t being called, at least at first. I had to ask. Shouldn’t have. Created digs for myself later.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Phil continued stomping through the thick stuff. A shot echoed from the other side of the fence again. A second round of shots blocked out the victory shots of the first shooter. When all the smoke and laughter cleared, Michael and Rob had their first bunnies of the day.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">The only action J.R. and I had seen came with rabbits darting into the turn row, running like their tails were on fire and darting back into the jungle of weeds and brush. J.R. took Phil’s place as bunny kicker. Honeysuckle vines made the going tough, but he soon stirred up some action. J.R. spotted a sitting rabbit and managed to shoot it in the top of the head with his single shot 12-gauge. Not a bit of good meat was lost. That is a true sign of either an experienced or an old rabbit hunter.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Phil and I reminisced about our boyhood days of rabbit hunting on the farm. A bunny bounded from the cover and made a quick escape before either of us raised a gun. We both realized the time together would be far more beneficial than any rabbits we might harvest. We laughed as the bounding rabbit made its escape. “That would not have happened back on the farm”, Phil said. “Times do change.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Shotguns roared again on the other side of the fence. Rob had number two.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Our troop turned to cross a weedy field, when a rabbit broke and ran. Michael fired and thought he had missed. Rob and J.R. managed to knock off two more fleeing bunnies as we tromped trough the field. Michael found his rabbit as we cleared the field on the other side.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">We entered a narrow, brushy funnel between two fields. Someone shot at the fleeing rabbit three times, then someone else. J.R. shot at the rabbit three times over the next few minutes with his single shot 12-gauge. Everyone caught some heavy ridicule over the amount of ammunition expended on one rabbit. And the bunny still ran free. “Cheaper to buy one at the farmers’ market”,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>someone commented.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">I spotted the rabbit sitting between two big clumps of buffalo grass. “J.R., be my spotter”, I whispered, as I unholstered my .22 pistol. I settled the red dot on the bunnies head and fired.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">“You shot a foot out in front of him”, J.R. instructed. The rabbit had been farther than I estimated. I raised the red dot two inches over its head and fired. “You shot just over its back”, came the spotters reply.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">I adjusted for the third shot and fired a gain. Missed again. The roar of a shotgun toppled the rabbit. “Hey, you shot my rabbit,” I retorted to J.R.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">“I was afraid you were going to run out of ammo”, he replied. Everyone had a hearty laugh and we went to retrieve our quarry.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">The wind grew colder and legs began to ache. Chatter echoed back and fourth as our group headed to the trucks. Laughter and gouging continued. Phil and I knew what was coming. We were the only two in the group that had not taken a bunny.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">After a few photos, everyone began casing guns and packing gear in the trucks. Someone made the comment, “hey, did anyone notice that the two oldest guys in the bunch did not kill a one of these 8 rabbits?” Before the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>uproarious laughter subsided, Phil grinned from ear to ear. It was as if E.F. Hutton was about to speak. Everyone listened. “Yeah, Bill and I aren’t so dumb. We don’t have any rabbits to clean!” The sage had spoken.<o:p></o:p></span></p></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-52132994070744328632010-01-04T06:07:00.000-08:002010-01-04T06:18:24.527-08:00FAT CATS OF JUNE<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsg5jtJFt0FOt9PNARuBZLAvKEr_o7JnDVbxQHNvv_bxEZ6Jwbm7AKsWzEWrq8_WDIw4V2MB1D7FG9pkpPZVUJ1IXuEtYA3PToGRAHZuj5tkfhUYv5UnqLtdu1Grx1rySnAd50JGGHBiM/s1600-h/DSCN0201+(2).jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 233px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422888797684777202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsg5jtJFt0FOt9PNARuBZLAvKEr_o7JnDVbxQHNvv_bxEZ6Jwbm7AKsWzEWrq8_WDIw4V2MB1D7FG9pkpPZVUJ1IXuEtYA3PToGRAHZuj5tkfhUYv5UnqLtdu1Grx1rySnAd50JGGHBiM/s320/DSCN0201+(2).jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSoXZ0J_X7x7Juk0po5Eclf7qRv4RSD3Rp_TQRpAGqvqErGjOnrWsRApbXwhBDhnCs8DsCOAWxIMYUDuzK0ZqfLgxi4fk3JOZJ5220PdYP9Q8CG2e-fm1t7dl0PboN-DDFxKl_UTeFTck/s1600-h/Brown+family+pics+068.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422887857350541666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSoXZ0J_X7x7Juk0po5Eclf7qRv4RSD3Rp_TQRpAGqvqErGjOnrWsRApbXwhBDhnCs8DsCOAWxIMYUDuzK0ZqfLgxi4fk3JOZJ5220PdYP9Q8CG2e-fm1t7dl0PboN-DDFxKl_UTeFTck/s320/Brown+family+pics+068.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>Billie R. Cooper<br /></div><br /><br /><div>2009<br /></div><br /><br /><div>Here are some great places for catching catfish near Kansas City and St. Louis.<br /><br />As my daddy used to say, a catfish face is so ugly, only a mamma catfish could love it. Well, that was a stretch even for my dad. He spent much of his leisure time chasing catfish of one sort or another. And being a small time row crop farmer, dad had a lot of spare time on his hands to fish for the fish with the ugly face, which, by the way, he loved far more than any other.<br />Cat fishermen come in all shapes and sizes, but it seems that the successful guys have a few things in common. They either have a lot of time to fish, or they take a lot of time to fish. They have the patience of Job, know the waters they fish like the backs of their hands and know what conditions provide the ultimate in catfishing opportunities. And they fish whether the current conditions are the best or not. They simply love to feel the powerful tug of a fighting catfish on the end of their lines.<br />Then you have the cat fishermen of the big rivers. They are a breed unto themselves. Hardy outdoorsmen who ply the big powerful rivers, they possess the knowledge, skill and a sixth sense about how to wrangle the big fat cats from their lairs. Long standing superstitions and river myths have fashioned an ambience of awe about these often solitary men who regularly call the big rivers home. One witty observer noted that many of those guys, too, have faces which only a mamma could love. Maybe there is an attraction between fish and fishers which resemble one another.<br />Catfishing is a popular sport, but there is still plenty of room for more anglers. And this month is the time to try your luck on the big rivers. A series of events over the last few years have brought catfishing to the best levels in decades. Commercial fishing was banned on the Missouri River in 1992. Record floods in 1993 and 1995 gave big river catfish expanded opportunities to feed and spawn. And high waters in 2008 did the same. The tremendous increase in food and cover when rivers over flow their banks increases the survival rate and growth rate of both young and old catfish. It also insures survival rates and good production rates for prey species for catfish. An additional bonus for the fish is the fact that fewer anglers get out when rivers are flooded. All these factors combined equals super catfishing for years to come.<br />“The Missouri River near Kansas City is an underutilized resource,” said the voice on the other end of the phone line. Jake Allman is the fisheries management biologist for the Missouri Department of Conservation on that section of the Missouri River.<br />The state record blue cat, a behemoth fish of 103 pounds, was caught in the vicinity of Kansas City. “There are big blues out there,” stated Allman, “but not a lot of people fish for them. Fish can be caught right in Kansas City.”<br />Allman recommended fishing in the deep holes at the ends of wing dikes for blues during the day and on the flats between the dikes at night. A good rule of thumb for June catfishing is: deep in the day and shallow at night. Blue cats move up into the shallows to chase shad and pick up whatever foods are available. The strong light of daytime moves the fish to deeper water where they lay in wait for whatever food sources wash downstream.<br />It is an established fact among blue fishermen that cut shad is the best bait to use. The strong, oily fish leave a scent trail that blue cats will follow for quiet some distance to find the bait. Allman recommended another very plentiful bait source – the invasive silver carp. “A lot of guys run their boats behind the wind dikes until a silver carp jumps into the boat. They then filet it out and use it for bait.”<br />Chasing silver carp is not without its hazards, however. Allman has been injured twice by flying carp while contacting studies on the Missouri and Grand Rivers. “I suffered a slight concussion on the Missouri River when I was struck by a silver carp. Another jumping carp dislocated my shoulder while I was working on the Grand River.”<br />Flatheads can be caught around woody cover. “There is not a lot of woody structure in this section of the Missouri River,” Allman pointed out. “However, it would be a good idea to fish any woody cover you find. There is a good chance it will hold flatheads.”<br />The upper third of the Missouri River is the best bet for those seeking flatheads. High water periods provide ideal conditions to find flatheads in the first mile of tributary streams. Logjams, rocky banks, and debris around wing dikes are the best places to find sulking flatheads at lower water levels.<br />Channel cats are plentiful throughout the entire length of the Missouri River and may be easily caught on a wide variety of baits. However, they are real suckers for big, fat nightcrawlers. You will find channel cats on mud flats with a little current, chutes and the upstream side of wing dikes. The mouths of tributaries entering the big river can provide fast fishing action at times.<br />Bank fishing opportunities are available at English Landing Park, Parkeville and LaBonette at 291 and Sugar Creek. LaBonette offers wing dikes and riverbank fishing. For further information about fishing the Missouri River near Kansas City call: (816) 792-8662.<br />“There is a very good chance of catching a 50-pound blue catfish in the Missouri River in the St. Louis region,” said Danny Brown, the MDC fisheries management biologist for the area. “I see pictures of 50-to-70-pound blue cats in the Washington paper almost every week,” he continued.<br />Although Brown was unable to survey the river in 2008 and 2009 because of consistent high water, he feels confident that the catfishery is in good shape. “High water gives catfish and other river fishes expanded opportunities for spawning and feeding,” he stated.<br />Columbia Bottoms, at the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers offers excellent bank fishing opportunities. Large blues are caught here every year. Klondike Park and Weldon Springs are excellent access points for fishermen wanting to access the river. Access further up river can be found at Washington, Hermann, Gasconade, Chamois and Bonnotts Mill. Further information can be garnered by calling the MDC office at: (636) 441-4554.<br />The Mississippi River near St. Louis is another bonafide catfishing heaven. Chris Morrow, an MDC Regional Protection Supervisor, lives to chase big catfish. While hunting big blue cats on the Mississippi, Morrow concentrates most of his efforts north of St. Louis. “Unlike the Missouri River, the Mississippi has lots of structure that catfish like,” Morrow began. “There are scour holes, rock ledges, blowdowns, barges and some rip-rap. However, the number one structure which catfish relate to on the Mississippi River is dams.”<br />Morrow has been keeping notes about his catfishing expeditions for a long time. “I have discovered that blues migrate as water temperatures change. Most fishermen say that the cold weather months are the best times to catch big blues. My personal research indicates otherwise.”<br />Morrow has concluded that blues stay in deep scour holes until the water temperature reaches 50-degrees. “I’ve noticed over the years that blues begin to travel once water temperatures begin to climb into the fifties. They concentrate near the dams and stay there until the water temperature reaches the mid-sixties. And, there is little fishing pressure, because few people have made this discovery.”<br />As temperatures climb out of the mid-sixties, the blues begin to move back down stream and disperse in preparation for the spawn. This is the time to fish the rip-rap along banks and wing dikes.<br />Morrow proclaims emphatically that when water temperatures hit the seventies the blue catfish go crazy. “Look for barges that have been moored for a good while. They will have brush under them. Position your boat so that you can fish under the barges and you will be in business.”<br />Another of Morrow’s favorite areas to fish is scour holes. “Find a bowl shaped scour hole, go to the middle of it and move upstream. You should drift your baits to the point where the sides drop to the bottom of the hole.”<br />Rock ledges are another place to look for big blues on the Mississippi River. “You have to find this structure on your depth finder. Look for three stair steps into a deep hole,” Morrow remarked. “Many anglers scrimp on depth finders. That is a mistake.”<br />Morrow disagrees with the vast majority of anglers about the best bait for blues. “Skipjack herring is the very best catfish bait available,” Morrow offered. “I call it catfish candy! I catch them behind moored barges on the Mississippi. I use dropper rigs with three flies attached to catch them. They run in June. I catch a bunch and vacuum seal them for future use. My second choice for bait is mooneyes. They can be caught with a cast net about anywhere you find eddies at tributaries and feeder creeks.”<br />Morrow utilizes medium-weight saltwater equipment, including Surge Rods and Shimano baitcaster reels. He spools with 80-pound braided line tipped with 50-pound strength monofilament line. The monofilament allows for stretch when he sets the hook on a big blue. “I used to fish with circle hooks, too,” he said. “When I got a bite, I simply had to pick up the rod and the fish hooked itself in the corner of the mouth. I switched to Kahle hooks in sizes 8/0 to 10/0. They allow the pleasure of being able to set the hook myself. I absolutely love making the hook set on a big blue catfish.”<br />Catch big blues – Morrow does it on a regular basis. Last year he wrestled a 71-pounder from the Mississippi. “I had hooked a much larger fish before hooking the 71-pounder,” Morrow admitted. “I fought that fish for over an hour. The power of the fish and the current combined proved a bit more than me and my gear could handle. That monster broke off three feet from the boat!”<br />Morrow also chases cats on the Missouri river near St. Louis. He recommends the section between Weldon Springs and the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi. “Look for outside bends and scour holes, “he said. “Rip-rap on the outside bends is the key structure along this portion of the river. When fishing the scour holes, move your boat to the upper end of the hole. Boat positioning will make or break you. Drift your baits right down the seam between the current and calmer water. And hang on!”<br />Morrow loves to talk catfishing. He may be reached at: (636) 441-4554.<br /><br />Truman Lake, southeast of Kansas City, remained one of the top producers of catfish in the state, especially big blue catfish, for several decades. However the grand old days of glory are gone. The resources have been badly damaged to overfishing and regulations far behind the times. That is not to say, however, that one can’t still catch a monster blue catfish from Truman’s waters.<br />“In the last five years, I could count on one hand the numbers of blues over 50-pounds I have seen come out of Truman,” said MDC fisheries biologist Kevin Sullivan. “On the other hand, Truman is loaded with all three species of catfish.”<br />Troy Greenwood, of Warsaw, said that 30 years ago it was not uncommon to see a good catfisherman harvest several hundred pounds of blue cats in a single day. “Fifteen to 20-pounders are still common and a big one only shows up occasionally.”<br />Greenwood and fishing partner Jim Wainwright still know how to get the big ones. In 2006 Greenwood manhandled an 81.5-pound blue to the boat while his partner wrangled a 51.5-pound blue at the same time.<br />Greenwood recommends looking for a bend in the river channel with deep water and a shallow flat nearby. After finding such a spot, Greenwood motors around slowly, watching his electronics. He watches for big balls of shad. If big arches show up on the screen, below the shad he knows he has found the big ones. For further information about Truman Lake catfishing call the MDC office at: (660) 530-5500.<br />Smithville Lake is another sizzling June hotspot for catfishermen. Blues are often caught in the middle potions of the lake on juglines. Flatheads are also available, but the real treat at Smithville is the abundant population of channel cats. That’s the good news. The bad news is that Smithville receives a lot of pressure from fishermen and pleasure boaters during the summer months. Best tip available; do your catfishing at night. The rewards will be worth the effort.<br />Catfishing opportunities are exceptional this year, especially in areas close to Kansas City and St. Louis. Hit the water, follow the recommended methods and you may well latch on to the fat cat of your lifetime! </div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-47745104686658655362010-01-04T05:18:00.000-08:002010-01-04T05:44:54.126-08:00HANDGUNNING FOR BUSHYTAILS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW8adVyp9xVJ40i9hMdOM95EMRUHY-AqOA2VSfQDjAicSe_l4RrWGOs-_ulrpnl8G4QofdAkYuSeGsdkxUOE2uH403RdYaHpbN8Ns7cXYK_2ECs2X7GTigiYpGpyjQbHnqoxirUkQCkpQ/s1600-h/scan0186.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 154px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422880154733553458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW8adVyp9xVJ40i9hMdOM95EMRUHY-AqOA2VSfQDjAicSe_l4RrWGOs-_ulrpnl8G4QofdAkYuSeGsdkxUOE2uH403RdYaHpbN8Ns7cXYK_2ECs2X7GTigiYpGpyjQbHnqoxirUkQCkpQ/s200/scan0186.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMMvKGV_YLekZiMSwQtYX63YVE8H_lTdz1DUPEcqA3FoAumAORqiGzYtuVgyEnBJfEeRw6nRVxiGr9-jpO0ewyAShTTKXpiQm3_iN45V43HGaP6vFQbOGFCh8Wwe05hwyzHEynT5fHL-w/s1600-h/scan0188.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 170px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422879866102695650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMMvKGV_YLekZiMSwQtYX63YVE8H_lTdz1DUPEcqA3FoAumAORqiGzYtuVgyEnBJfEeRw6nRVxiGr9-jpO0ewyAShTTKXpiQm3_iN45V43HGaP6vFQbOGFCh8Wwe05hwyzHEynT5fHL-w/s200/scan0188.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidk50lp9pzvnwQVQ3ZQKsSgBMqeMk1IpK4yO6WtS99jVL16pPmvuh08fh-5Vxtc6xbqSPNPZ7zEWtyLSBXYlziEflUEn2aMGjXPxS1fptC8OkyalZ3HWxBLJrnvRaqHceb1aMjfZKD5IY/s1600-h/scan0182.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 210px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422879237680337138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidk50lp9pzvnwQVQ3ZQKsSgBMqeMk1IpK4yO6WtS99jVL16pPmvuh08fh-5Vxtc6xbqSPNPZ7zEWtyLSBXYlziEflUEn2aMGjXPxS1fptC8OkyalZ3HWxBLJrnvRaqHceb1aMjfZKD5IY/s320/scan0182.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><br />Bill Cooper<br />5/09<br /><br />In our modern world, it is not easy being a squirrel hunter. Hunters pursuing monster whitetail bucks with incredible racks, bugling elk and gobbling wild turkeys cast scornful looks at those of us who chase bushytails. And wingshooters declare that their style of hunting carries more class.<br />Only a few decades ago, squirrels were the most sought after game animal in the United States. A heavily rural population drifted to the suburbs. As lifestyles changed, interests changed and the need to put wild meat on the table vanished with the introduction of supermarkets.<br />Nevertheless, squirrel hunting is steeped in tradition and history and still provides elements basic to all hunting adventures. My American History teacher, at a small rural school, proclaimed proudly that the British received a sound thrashing from a bunch of Revolutionary squirrel hunters. Squirrel hunting camps still thrive in some parts of the country and my family relishes a meal of fried squirrel adorned with buttermilk biscuits and milk gravy. And squirrel hunting hones outdoor skills necessary for any type of big game hunting. Class can be argued, but who wants to argue with folks who liken to their ancestors who whipped foreign invaders with squirrel rifles?<br />Harvesting squirrels is most often done with shotguns or .22 rifles. I have enjoyed both methods many times. However, I added a whole new dimension to my squirrel hunting forays many years ago with the purchase of a Browning BuckMark .22 pistol topped with a Bushnell red dot scope. Knocking a feeding grey squirrel from the top of a 100-foot tall hickory tree is every bit as classy as downing an elk at 400-yards with a 7mm magnum rifle.<br />Squirrels are abundant in any many parts of the United States and hunter access to state and federal lands and private properties, too, is plentiful. Asking permission to hunt squirrels on private property may raise landowner eyebrows, but I have never been declined. Landowners seem to reason that anyone who takes the time to hunt bushytails has to be an OK person. A key to maintaining private properties to hunt squirrels is to not ask to hunt other game. Often, however, landowners make the offer, which I happily accept.<br />Choosing a handgun to use for squirrel hunting can be perplexing. The key to satisfaction is becoming familiar with several makes and models and choosing what suits you best. Visit several gun shops and visit the websites of Browning, Ruger, Smith and Wesson and others. Options are plentiful.<br />After choosing a suitable firearm, buy several types of ammo and spend some time on the range. Learning to shot a pistol accurately and consistently takes time and good basic shooting techniques. Instructors can be very helpful in getting the proper start to handgunning. My first experience with handguns occurred while I served an Army Officer. Fortunately, for me, I entered the first class of officers required to qualify with the notorious .45. Our honest instructor suggested, when in combat, we fire our rounds quickly and then use the weapon as a club.<br />I prefer to be a bit more accurate with my shooting. Fortunately, for me, again, my wife, Dian, is a certified NRA pistol instructor. Although she claims I am not the best student she has taught, she does keep me on track with proper shooting techniques.<br />Beyond choosing a pistol, testing ammo, tweaking technique and finding a place to hunt, a new handgunner is ready to hunt squirrels. Basic squirrel hunting with a handgun does not require a lot of fancy equipment. However, if being classy is your thing, you can add a horde of hunting accessories to your equipment list. Scopes, shooting glasses, binoculars, range finders, squirrel calls, camo, shooting sticks, skinning knives and high bred squirrel dogs can put you styling with the best dressed waterfowl hunter.<br />I utilize a few basic squirrel hunting tools. I top my Browning BuckMark pistol with a Bushnell Red-GreenDot scope. They have proven durable and accurate through thousands of rounds. I have found that hollow point .22 rimfire bullets do the job cleanly on squirrels. The expanding bullets insure fewer wounded animals.<br />Arguments about the best spot to shoot a squirrel abound. Most claim a headshot is best, because the animal drops in its tracks. Others prefer a shot through the heart or lungs, because they eat the head and brains of their harvest, and place their shots just behind the shoulder. The late Gene Halbert, of Steelville, once told me that he prefers to “shot ‘em in the middle”. Sounds messy, but he employed a unique squirrel skinning technique which kept him from handling intestines. He split the squirrel’s skin at the tail like the old time method. Next he stepped on the squirrel’s tail and pulled upward on its back legs, effectively stripping the squirrel of most of its hide. Next, he grasped the hide left on the back legs and pulled it clear. Then he took a sharp knife ( Halbert was an expert knife sharpener; I use game shears) and clipped off the head and upper body skin, tail and lower body skin and clipped the feet at the ankles. Next he removed the front and back legs at the joints. All that remained was the torso. Backstraps lay alongside the spine on either side. He cut through the spine at the top and bottom of the straps, clipped the ribcage on both sides and removed a clean piece of meat. The ribcage and intestines were then discarded. This is the slickest and cleanest way to clean a squirrel I have ever seen.<br />Hunting squirrels is a fun and relaxing way to enjoy time the woods. Squirrels of the Midwest can be found on hardwood ridges, riverbottoms and along the fencerows of old fields with a scattering of trees.<br />Squirrels are prolific eaters, consuming their bodyweight, 1.5-pounds, in food each week. They are opportunists and will eat anything from wildflowers to mushrooms. Don’t think you can eat the same fungi as squirrels, however. They have a tolerance for toxins which humans do not.<br />“Find the food source and you will find the squirrels”, is an old adage which stands eternally true. In early spring, squirrels can be found high in the tree tops nipping tender buds. After spring rains, they forage heavily on mushrooms which pop up overnight. By late spring, bushytails congregate in mulberry trees and other soft mast food sources.<br />Squirrel hunters who live near hardwood forests impatiently wait for the ripening of hickory nuts. Dozens of squirrels may work one tree as nuts come into the “milky” stage. Experienced hunters know that this is the prime time for fast action squirrel hunting.<br />Taking up a stand or sitting on a stool near a tree loaded with hickory nuts and waiting patiently is a key to success. Squirrels will already be in such trees at daylight. The “crack” of a .22 pistol seldom disturbs feeding squirrels. You can knock one out of the branches and the others will resume feeding in a couple of minutes if you keep movement to a minimum. On many occasions, I have taken a limit of six squirrels from one tree. Squirrels will continue to feed on a “hot” tree throughout the day. So, sticking tight to a proven tree can pay big dividends.<br />Squirrel calls are fun to use, but not necessary for success. Shaker-type calls mimic the excited chatter of a squirrel. My Dad used two quarters and by rubbing the serrated edges together produced the grating sounds of a squirrel cutting on nuts. The sounds my Dad produced had a calming effect on feeding squirrels.<br />I placed the dot of my scope two inches over the top of the feeding squirrel’s head. It was going to be a long shot of 40 yards and I knew from my practice sessions that the bullet would drop. At the crack of my pistol, the grey squirrel tumbled from the top of a massive white oak tree. I proudly claimed my prize, which had been struck through the temples. Other squirrels in the tree paused for a few seconds from their feeding spree, unsure of the strange sound, yet unaware of the danger which stalked them. I chuckled smugly to myself and reasoned that the classy British must have experienced the same feelings.<br /><br />Note: The Missouri squirrel season opens Memorial Day Weekend, Saturday, May 24. The limit is six. This will change to 10 in 2010. </div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-49448399327934782532010-01-03T10:15:00.000-08:002010-01-24T08:11:45.084-08:00RED RIVER VALLEY RIOS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPB9R5_R1PULRRlnOJ1I7O_kJPcbWw9tjImOIUvPwV8ud8BZsUJu8gXp1Ahia-LiwkBiPxjSExd9vOhKO07dQKfo9h7-O5w1rmtA5FHOqxpxlKj1IvJCk_4d6UJXbMBNMx0_1M0HXXbdk/s1600-h/scan0130.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 162px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422580563692791426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPB9R5_R1PULRRlnOJ1I7O_kJPcbWw9tjImOIUvPwV8ud8BZsUJu8gXp1Ahia-LiwkBiPxjSExd9vOhKO07dQKfo9h7-O5w1rmtA5FHOqxpxlKj1IvJCk_4d6UJXbMBNMx0_1M0HXXbdk/s200/scan0130.jpg" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMXBf8hsKR1Ex1nEhftTGk62vZLBdElCbWH_TzNty9xWotAJu4Xj00ZFCHgApYQbBnK-b3AUgNCZLaZ8qCgdR0J0mjp1Q4-u6TDQhQUQJKDsgw9rgS5DUTWOBx2NtoVTF_CozZIDEsW6g/s1600-h/scan0123.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 95px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422580219707954594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMXBf8hsKR1Ex1nEhftTGk62vZLBdElCbWH_TzNty9xWotAJu4Xj00ZFCHgApYQbBnK-b3AUgNCZLaZ8qCgdR0J0mjp1Q4-u6TDQhQUQJKDsgw9rgS5DUTWOBx2NtoVTF_CozZIDEsW6g/s200/scan0123.jpg" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtVZIvf-OHe_42jl5DjW0AVA32p5umg6tg1Kevd7S_o5dVfCKm0pkUJGZk8uiaNs-ILqNqg0aZdtxWHW52IRXvda5vHuI9R9pSOM-7j3YYNvn6uwKIWbJgqKYD8pggNi0qCASuM4Cfl_I/s1600-h/scan0115.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 280px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422579883059716466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtVZIvf-OHe_42jl5DjW0AVA32p5umg6tg1Kevd7S_o5dVfCKm0pkUJGZk8uiaNs-ILqNqg0aZdtxWHW52IRXvda5vHuI9R9pSOM-7j3YYNvn6uwKIWbJgqKYD8pggNi0qCASuM4Cfl_I/s400/scan0115.jpg" /></a><br />BillCooper<br /><br />Jan 2010<br /><br />A tall, lean Texan thrust his hand into the fading early morning darkness and said, “Mornin’, Bill. Welcome to Texas. I’m Sherman Wyman.”<br />I felt at home already. Wyman planned to take me hunting for a Rio Grande gobbler on his 1,900 acre Clay County, Texas ranch. Daybreak approached rapidly as we spoke.<br />“I think you are in for a grand turkey hunt this morning, Wyman said with a Texas-sized grin on his tanned face. “I roosted a bunch of birds down on the river last night.”<br />I could not have heard sweeter words. Wyman knew his stuff as well as the lay of the land. There is nothing comparable to roosting birds the night before the hunt. It offers a great advantage when approaching the birds for the first calling setup the next morning.<br />“I have already been down there this morning,” Wyman whispered. Unbelievable, I thought to myself. This guy is my kind of turkey hunter. “I jerked an immediate response from a gobbler with my owl hooter,” Wyman continued. “We need to get going, but I think we will arrive just about right.”<br />Wyman hopped on his ATV. I followed in my pickup. We wound our way down a curvy ranch road through rolling hills of lush, green grass, a testament of Wyman’s dedication to this piece of land he had restored through his conservation efforts.<br />We paused briefly to watch a wild hog scramble over the crest of a hill to the east. We continued forward, flushing a pair of Bobwhite quail from lane side cover.<br />As my pickup topped the last hill, which lay cloaked in Indian paintbrush, a panoramic view of the Red River Valley appeared. Tall oaks, cottonwood and locust trees formed a riparian corridor which resembled a giant serpent stretched across the landscape in the fading darkness.<br />Wyman stopped 75-yards short of the heavily wooded river bottom. I scrambled for my gear while the cameraman shouldered the camera gear. We hoped to film the entire hunt for my first Rio Grande gobbler.<br />Wyman’s long legs covered ground quickly. Forty yards inside the wood line, he paused. Our surroundings looked very similar to a river bottom back home in the Missouri Ozarks.<br />Rumblings of distant gobblers echoed down the river valley from both directions. “Let’s set up right here,” Wyman said. We staked out a couple of decoys while the cameraman nestled into the abundant cover.<br />I unfolded my Cabela’s stadium seat turkey vest and made myself comfortable against a small hackberry tree. Being very comfortable, including back support, helps the toughest of turkey hunters to hang with the hunt a little bit longer. The lush bluestem grass made the perfect blind cover.<br />I stroked a soft tree yelp on my Quaker Boy slate call. Seconds later I increased the volume to a throaty yelp, then a short cackle. Multiple gobbles boomed back from 150-yards away, immediately. I shuffled 90-degrees to my right and reset. I cackled again. Surprise! The group of gobblers had already covered half the distance. They were coming fast.<br />I cackled non-stop for 15 seconds. The birds bellowed their approval of my serenade. They were closing in.<br />Sudden silence can unnerve even the wariest of old gobblers. I held my call. The first red head bobbled behind an old locust deadfall. Then another and another and another. Seven jakes scurried for position to arrive first.<br />I purred softly on my slate call. The youngsters thundered back at me, their combined gobbles creating a heavy rumble from twenty yards. I combined my mouth and slate call into a cackling duo. The jakes boiled into a gobbling frenzy like I had never heard.<br />Wyman’s ranch held lots of mature gobblers. The jakes presented an easy target, but it was only twenty minutes past shooting time. We elected to watch and listen as the jakes headed to a sandbar on the banks of the Red River, that thin line which separates Texas from Oklahoma. There they gobbled and danced like so many drunken ballerinas, an incredible show that I will long remember.<br />Rowdy gobblers from both the east and west of our location had begun to answer my calls. I suspected things were about to get very interesting.<br />Wyman and I estimated that the closest mature gobbler sounded off 300 yards away. We closed the distance by 75 yards and setup again. I waited five minutes to let thing settle down. My heart hit my throat so hard it gave me a headache when I made my first call from our new location. That old boss gobbler had closed to within 80 yards.<br />I have harvested over 80 turkeys in my lifetime, but I will never forget the tail fan of my first Rio Grande Gobbler as it appeared above the bluestem grass in that Red River valley hardwood forest.<br />The grand old gobbler bellowed once again as it broke into the open in full strut. I settled the bead of my shotgun at the base of its neck as it waltzed ever closer to our hide. The magnificent tom broke strut and periscoped its head looking for the lusty hen in the brush. The perfect shot opportunity – but I held my fire. The bird appeared perfectly comfortable and I didn’t want to rush the moment. I wanted to see the tom strut once more. Feathers glistened like diamonds in the morning sun. A palette of iridescent colors flashed as the tom edged closer.<br />As always seems to be the case with wild turkey gobblers, the grand old Rio gobbler finally smelled a rat. He folded from the strut position and nervously began to walk away.<br />My 30 years of experience hunting gobblers in several states did not help my steadiness. My heart pounded and I detected a slight shake of my hands. When the tom reached an open spot, 30 yards out, I slowly squeezed the trigger. The load of 3-inch, 12-gauge Hevi-Shot number 6’s put my first Rio gobbler down for good.<br />Wyman and I raced to the flopping gobbler. My short legs kept up with his much longer legs. “Look at those spurs.” Wyman gasped. “They are a good 1 3/8-inches long. This is the best gobbler ever taken on my place.”<br />After all congrats and photos, I sat for a while on a flower covered hilltop above the Red River Valley. I captured the memory of my first Rio Grande gobbler and the grand country which provided it.Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-31165857224380213032010-01-02T13:32:00.000-08:002010-01-03T10:15:29.038-08:00CATCH 'EM FROM A BELLY BOAT<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidKkd0qp4AGKlPgbMjTD0pNgqJQHvFbLH1c8qZEA-cNPxjS8v9mpOSTClMmy8AcDA3NqiSkx1elYgInOHJMuIr-xlexsf0W8GRfoPeyBHmaFytaaOHBGCfgHcw0ghYBHSy5ScGUYNGZVE/s1600-h/scan0093.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 254px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422279907022766386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidKkd0qp4AGKlPgbMjTD0pNgqJQHvFbLH1c8qZEA-cNPxjS8v9mpOSTClMmy8AcDA3NqiSkx1elYgInOHJMuIr-xlexsf0W8GRfoPeyBHmaFytaaOHBGCfgHcw0ghYBHSy5ScGUYNGZVE/s320/scan0093.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2mk9K5QtFfAcAz7UViWj9svndsEdXZZK422ZVoeaB8nTfosum94Z0F2aLrXIf0_HY_X_JPGxdnHjqscouhJbjzlpFoz5-ccJ8ifdfy9URh-Hp_H128kAE3W0lNvbXJXnAP4oVevbgx84/s1600-h/scan0104.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 264px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422278041515847746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2mk9K5QtFfAcAz7UViWj9svndsEdXZZK422ZVoeaB8nTfosum94Z0F2aLrXIf0_HY_X_JPGxdnHjqscouhJbjzlpFoz5-ccJ8ifdfy9URh-Hp_H128kAE3W0lNvbXJXnAP4oVevbgx84/s400/scan0104.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>Bill Cooper</div><br /><div>2008</div><br /><div>Mankind is ingenious, especially when it comes to getting around on water. Everyone knows about the exploits of the Chinese, the Vikings and Christopher Columbus. The birch bark canoes of the American Indians and the sealskin boats or qajaqs (now kayaks) of the Inuits in Alaska were phenomenal crafts which gave the Native Americans the ability to travel great distances and hunt and fish with much greater efficiency.<br />And what outdoorsman has not longed for the romantic experience of paddling a Cajun pirogue in the bayou country of southern Louisiana?<br />Practically no one knows the origin of the belly boat. You will not find it mentioned in history classes.<br />The advent of car tires with innertubes more than likely gave birth to the tubing or belly boating idea.<br />Innovative fishermen prior to the 1940’s began to strap some type of improvised seat across a tire tube to allow them to float within range of hard to get to fishing spots.<br />Sometime during the 1940’s the Tucker Duck and Rubber Company of Fort Smith, Arkansas manufactured the first commercial float tube.<br />Problems plagued the first “Fish-N-Float”. The craft became very heavy when wet and the seams deteriorated quickly. Regardless, the craft became a big hit with fishermen.<br />Competition to the “Fish-N-Float” soon arrived on the scene. In 1947, the Fishmaster Mfg. Company out of Oklahoma City produced a model with quick connect seat releases. Their float tube business made quick advances in the next few years.<br />During the 1950’s, Western anglers made many modifications in float tubes. Fishermen from Idaho and Colorado began to add pockets, backrests, pouches, tie down rings, front aprons and large back pockets that could be stuffed or inflated for back support.<br />The canvas float tubes still had two major faults-weight and the short life of untreated canvas.<br />Necessity is the mother of invention, even among fishermen. In the 60’s, vinyl began to replace canvas.<br />Vinyl tubes were prone to many problems like explosions from over inflation. And vinyl did not expand and contract.<br />In the early 70’s, the first float tubes started showing up in the fly-fishing magazines. By the mid-70’s, the lakes of Colorado and Montana floated thousands of new belly boats created from highly improved materials. The first 3.3 pound tube that could support a 300-pound person had made it on the scene.<br />Belly boating has never been the same since.<br />Dennis Gaylardt, of Tecumseh, has been fishing from a float tube for more than 40 years.<br />A member of the Federation of Flyfishers, Gaylardt took up tube fishing for one reason. Mobility!<br />“A float tube will get you where others simply can’t or won’t go,” he said.<br />“Even on heavily fished waters, there are places that are seldom reached by the average angler. Extreme conditions such as steep banks, brush, boggy bottoms and a host of other obstacles keep anglers from reaching good spots blocked by those obstacles,” Gaylardt stated.<br />And Gaylardt thinks it stands to reason that if an area is hard to reach, there will be a big fish there. A belly boat enables him to reach such places.<br />Terry and Roxanne Wilson, of Bolivar, are a belly boating couple.<br />“I bought my first belly boat in 1970 from Cabelas,” Terry said. “It was made of molded plastic and called a Bass Buddy Mini Boat.”<br />The Wilsons eventually went to the modernized inflatable boats. “<br />“We have owned every imaginable style of belly boat over the last 30 years,” the Wilsons noted.<br />“We use our belly boats primarily on farm ponds, but we do occasionally venture to the large ponds at the Schell-Osage Wildlife Management Area and the lake at the Bushwhacker Wildlife ManagementArea west of Stockton Lake,” Terry said.<br />“Our boats allow us to get into some great places to fish, but one of the greatest things about the whole experience is that we almost never see anyone else belly boating the places we go.”<br />What do you need to get started belly boating? First and foremost is the belly boat itself. These days there are many models available. It is rather like buying a car, except for the price.<br />For first time float tubers, an open front tube, like the White River Fly Shop Lost Lake Open Front boat from Bass Pro for $79.95, is a good choice. Or, the combo with fins and pump is $99.95. If you prefer Cadillacs, the Outcast Prowler Float Tube is available for $450.00. Big guys need to look at the WRFS Titan Tube. It is the first of its kind for the big boys and comes with lots of room and is exceptionally stable. Regardless, the U-shaped boats are much easier to enter and exit than the O-shaped boats.<br />Flippers or fins are a matter of personal choice. Float tube dealers offer fins that are short and wide and made to strap over wading shoes. Many people wear waders while in their belly boat. Others wear shorts and a good pair of wading shoes or high-topped water socks.<br />Gaylardt prefers to use regular swim fins. Either style will work effectively.<br />Unless you are extra windy, a pump is nice when blowing up your tube. Models are made just for float tubes.<br />Life jackets are an important safety item and should be worn while belly boating. Although modern tubes have multiple air bladders, a life jacket is the best insurance against disaster. Models with mesh shoulders are much more comfortable and allow for ease of movement while fishing.<br />If you wear water booties or waders, a pair of sandals that will slip over them will protect their souls while you walk to and from the water.<br />Your preferred fishing equipment can be stored in the tube pockets and rods can be strapped across the work platform. Simple rod holders are available to attach to the boat.<br />Fly fishermen have been the main users of float fishing tubes, but they lend themselves well to spin fishing and baitcasting as well.<br />A look at a float tube retailer’s website will reveal a ton of other bells and whistles which may be attached to a belly boat. Accessories are a matter of taste and thickness of one’s wallet.<br />“With the proper setup, the float tube experience provides a relaxing, easy chair approach to getting some exercise and catching some fish,” said Galyhardt. “Too, the mobile crafts will increase your catch by 100%, because you will have left other anglers in less productive waters.”<br />And with the economy the way it is, belly boating is a cheap choice for anglers. “Belly boats don’t require gasoline,” Galyhardt laughed. “Leg power pushes these boats. And you can buy more than a lifetime supply of belly boats for what a bass angler pays for one the fancy bass boats.”<br />Retired Missouri State biology professor Steve Jensen has enjoyed belly boating for 24 years.<br />“I started flyfishing in 1982. I didn’t own a boat, but wanted to gain access to some good looking fishing spots. A belly boat gave me the opportunity to do just that.”<br />“Too, a belly boat fit my budget and kicking it around the lake provided plenty of good exercise.”<br />Jensen’s favorite belly boat is a Big Bucks Bag that he has owned for 20 years.<br />“That boat has been inflated in the garage for the last 20 years,” Jensen said. “It came out before the U-shaped boats hit the market. It uses a big truck tire inner tube and will support up to 300 pounds.”<br />Nancy Jensen belly boats, too.<br />“I don’t fish from a belly boat. I simply like to paddle around in the boat and relax. On several occasions, my girlfriends and I have gone to Table Rock Lake with our boats. We find a calm, partially shaded cove and kick around for fun and relaxation. It is a great way to get away and have some fun with friends.”<br /><br />For a summertime adventure that cools while you cruise, hop in a belly boat in your shorts and plunge into your favorite pond or lake. Drifting down a short stretch of one our Ozark streams provides a relaxing way to float and fish as well. And when that big fish strikes, be ready for that in-your-face, stare- down- its- throat experience!<br /><br />SIDEBARS:<br />Benefits and drawbacks – Float tubes were designed with fly fishers in mind. They work well for other types of fishing, too. Lots of pockets on the boat allow for storage and organization of gear and supplies. They turn easily, allowing anglers to turn in any direction to cast.<br />Float tubes are extremely portable. They roll up easily, once deflated, for storage. And they fit into backpacks for those long walk-in trips. They inflate easily and generally weigh less than 20 pound, some much less.<br />Quality float tubes are very durable. They will puncture easier than a raft, since they are not designed for whitewater. However, tubes are easily patched.<br />Maneuvering a belly boat is easy but slow. Fins are used to propel the boat. It is different from scuba or skin diving in that the upward motion of the fins tends to push a belly boat better than kicking the fins.<br />While belly boats are versatile, they are not meant for big lakes, long floats down rivers, or white water. There are much better crafts available for those conditions.<br /><br />Entering and exiting the tube – Donut style tubes offer some special challenges. Place the tube with the back facing the water. Back towards the tube, placing one finned foot inside the tube. Place the other foot inside the tube, while bending and balancing with your hands. Pull the tube up until you are seated. Back slowly into the water.<br />Use the same approach with the open front models. However, entering will be much easier. Latch down the cross brace and secure the mesh work table.<br />Exiting the water must be done by walking backwards as well. Once on the bank, remove your flippers before trying to exit the boat. This method will prevent falls.<br /><br />If you would like to get into belly boating, but would like to join the company of experienced belly boaters, check out <a href="http://www.warmwaterflyfisher.com/">http://www.warmwaterflyfisher.com/</a>, <a href="http://www.federationofflyfishermen.com/">http://www.federationofflyfishermen.com/</a>, <a href="http://www.southwestmisouriflyfishers.org/">http://www.southwestmisouriflyfishers.org/</a> and <a href="http://www.floattubefisherman.com/">http://www.floattubefisherman.com/</a>.<br /><br /><br /></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-83676184404757148112010-01-02T03:01:00.000-08:002010-01-03T13:32:05.383-08:00TACTICS FOR SNOW GEESE<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqpEJMl86ILlycmbnY1dLT_3HZth-bJlXW_Fkeuq9CrkcTdBqTsi__KWTAOGTEFWBxQXcctbYMmUdRQVsu5uAPm6jFK9hE4hnrJtjsZVaaF5H8Z0ryhtECsVBLepPKHQuciN8RrWb3LqM/s1600-h/scan0138.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 260px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422629439887611938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqpEJMl86ILlycmbnY1dLT_3HZth-bJlXW_Fkeuq9CrkcTdBqTsi__KWTAOGTEFWBxQXcctbYMmUdRQVsu5uAPm6jFK9hE4hnrJtjsZVaaF5H8Z0ryhtECsVBLepPKHQuciN8RrWb3LqM/s320/scan0138.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHZ__XXv03Xx7evK1-0b2ndwYr5e_Z_ZzmLkECiQYdYZn6xd8enEYbyf97EFQpt6wE_f4atupycTFv-XPMwhPGxMTVCtrggK2a1jPBiyqeteP8zuAkNlJQ_4-Ljxu8p9kUntYe_v2Wdc/s1600-h/scan0133.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 132px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422628964450790866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHZ__XXv03Xx7evK1-0b2ndwYr5e_Z_ZzmLkECiQYdYZn6xd8enEYbyf97EFQpt6wE_f4atupycTFv-XPMwhPGxMTVCtrggK2a1jPBiyqeteP8zuAkNlJQ_4-Ljxu8p9kUntYe_v2Wdc/s200/scan0133.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7E3LAx2hhlw0v3kyCjEQhyZVFytiGfZLSrqo4cIXYoxiKBBJGa66Eanx5rL-sChct8WLqU5BlaEzZOWr5jmSiU9btWyDZLNZARi6jaTla0_i6DL5cWZuoSgH59qP0N3YlMOARI8na3q8/s1600-h/scan0047.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 5px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 99px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422107221793410914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7E3LAx2hhlw0v3kyCjEQhyZVFytiGfZLSrqo4cIXYoxiKBBJGa66Eanx5rL-sChct8WLqU5BlaEzZOWr5jmSiU9btWyDZLNZARi6jaTla0_i6DL5cWZuoSgH59qP0N3YlMOARI8na3q8/s320/scan0047.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrE0ocadRalu-kSDLbENb1ldglnwBq8mKAHdp879IGdb7MG-mLcVPSh_5CezWg_O4eE4rpL1mOPBl6k0pjXGABS-lPA8PMcAIWrGoRvZ90uGmcUSZJ_genFXWVa39dqfak992a6LJypaE/s1600-h/scan0044.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 1px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 95px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422104809467394162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrE0ocadRalu-kSDLbENb1ldglnwBq8mKAHdp879IGdb7MG-mLcVPSh_5CezWg_O4eE4rpL1mOPBl6k0pjXGABS-lPA8PMcAIWrGoRvZ90uGmcUSZJ_genFXWVa39dqfak992a6LJypaE/s320/scan0044.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJcCXSY854aY80hFCvSlJZFTmLSW9cvsq7SSsFYnivOwixQfZpFux4V7y-joKnlC0MI4dFNriikjWLX0mEkGQHBB-vewQzxwGCg_lCusAaFDCSakH8Q5dpS4zO7tdRijX_cWXeDxy4pjw/s1600-h/scan0045.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 264px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422097718582301042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJcCXSY854aY80hFCvSlJZFTmLSW9cvsq7SSsFYnivOwixQfZpFux4V7y-joKnlC0MI4dFNriikjWLX0mEkGQHBB-vewQzxwGCg_lCusAaFDCSakH8Q5dpS4zO7tdRijX_cWXeDxy4pjw/s400/scan0045.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br />Bill Cooper<br />January 2010<br /><br />Snow goose populations exploded over two decades ago, leading conservation officials to institute a special conservation order legalizing the hunting of snow geese during their annual migration back north. Snow geese became so plentiful that they are actually destroying their own nesting habitat on the Tundra.<br />Hunters immediately became ecstatic about the new conservation order which allowed them to take the plugs out of their shotguns and to use electronic callers. Additionally, there were no limits placed on the amount of birds a hunter could harvest.<br />The regulation sounded wonderful to hunters, but that is where the easy deal ended. Snow geese are notoriously difficult to hunt. They live a long time, generally 12-to-15-years, and are very wary. Hunters need something in the neighborhood of 1,000 decoys just to get a flock of snows to investigate. And some say the birds have become even more wary since the institution of the conservation order. In the beginning of the order many hunters used rag decoys. Now, most use full bodied decoys.<br />Snow geese travel in enormous flocks and it takes a lot of loud calling to entice them. It is wise to use two or more electronic callers strategically placed in the decoy set.<br />Snow geese are tough birds. Utilizing the best shotshells available is recommended for hunting snow geese. B’s, BB’s, BBB’s, and in some cases, T’s are recommended. These loads carry big shot which is required to bring a snow goose down.<br />Snow geese move about regularly searching for food sources. Unlike Canadas, snows are not likely to return soon to a field where they have been hunted. Daily scouting is paramount in order to be consistently successful at hunting snow geese.<br />Check with your state conservation agency about specific regulations for hunting snow geese in your area. And, take lots of patience to the field with you.</div></div></div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-25459530853584982352010-01-01T14:18:00.000-08:002010-01-01T15:40:50.863-08:00THE ELEVEN POINT BUCK<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRqFU5Lw7vgsTRQDotTgWLp9wAafqOfv7MxGTaWcw6YVLYb6ddzOw4Vt8BsDUlzq-6zH9nskz1JHP4lAWvj0M3KypI8QIrTaQ8QRPBQp78hHahbgQRROXg-jgXEXJUGnJlvvYrF-oE1wA/s1600-h/DSC_0399.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421920145589790562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRqFU5Lw7vgsTRQDotTgWLp9wAafqOfv7MxGTaWcw6YVLYb6ddzOw4Vt8BsDUlzq-6zH9nskz1JHP4lAWvj0M3KypI8QIrTaQ8QRPBQp78hHahbgQRROXg-jgXEXJUGnJlvvYrF-oE1wA/s320/DSC_0399.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiarRvNE2AzA7Z78czodR7ntjCPb8hhCKuW2ERYcSNu-tqBiA1Ajzgu6pzjgLbX7EukaSOIrpnP8i2lBAFj51BqFQBPHyFnuR0mCBEBXqp3w9C-ZtfPRin4anSY2hE9oZMnFPFcYLR2JV8/s1600-h/DSC_0443.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421917214975044338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiarRvNE2AzA7Z78czodR7ntjCPb8hhCKuW2ERYcSNu-tqBiA1Ajzgu6pzjgLbX7EukaSOIrpnP8i2lBAFj51BqFQBPHyFnuR0mCBEBXqp3w9C-ZtfPRin4anSY2hE9oZMnFPFcYLR2JV8/s400/DSC_0443.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMvU5ditktP2x0DSJ-H4MbxClqhDjHbxj64-0nGUHptHQ0SssvwVcTW9Jj9fXTuLBe1KJcpNAc7OQ6iUSBFFABDav4VnRDWSEkn1CgzrSNTWAMRiOjA-sFIZi3dPHVEQjnpwJYq5Me2A/s1600-h/DSC_0008.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 134px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421912448201617394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMvU5ditktP2x0DSJ-H4MbxClqhDjHbxj64-0nGUHptHQ0SssvwVcTW9Jj9fXTuLBe1KJcpNAc7OQ6iUSBFFABDav4VnRDWSEkn1CgzrSNTWAMRiOjA-sFIZi3dPHVEQjnpwJYq5Me2A/s200/DSC_0008.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWcJj7V_dMpLf5vs9F3CEaJeL0-lHcOcGPyvzZDqRLoxs3a2ZaeZ-CVXck8-BKXH2w_NVBnk-R4hkd4Ag-HKcO2HpacgKuJ1oBGW7OCmeSegDD2u7_9TRfW3UokpvpcDW13hhUlnmcO0/s1600-h/DSC_0023.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 134px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421908493391055218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWcJj7V_dMpLf5vs9F3CEaJeL0-lHcOcGPyvzZDqRLoxs3a2ZaeZ-CVXck8-BKXH2w_NVBnk-R4hkd4Ag-HKcO2HpacgKuJ1oBGW7OCmeSegDD2u7_9TRfW3UokpvpcDW13hhUlnmcO0/s200/DSC_0023.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br />Bill Cooper 11/07<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Deer hunting one of southern Missouri’s vast wilderness areas has long been on my list of outdoor adventures to do. Last season I scratched that one off of my list. However, I added that adventure to the list again. Deer hunting in the Irish Wilderness proved to be an adventure that my wife, Dian, and I will long remember.<br /><br />At a foreboding 16,500 acres, the Irish Wilderness is the largest in Missouri. It is a rugged, forlorn place where an individual can still get lost if attention is not paid to detail.<br /><br />The Irish carries an aura of mysticism that makes it attractive to the adventure seeking outdoorsman. Former State park Director and wilderness advocate John Karel made this observation: “Solitary hikers report that powerful spirits inhabit the Irish Wilderness. It is claimed that these relate somehow to the moody water of the Eleven Point River on the west, to the shadow of the furtive animals only barely sensed, to the glimpse of swaying ridgetop pines in a gray November bluster, or even the lingering wraiths of Indian and Irish hunters.”<br /><br />The rugged, natural splendor of the Irish Wilderness, mixed with the haunting history of the area, alerts the superstitious senses of even the most experienced backcountry travelers. Add the fact that the area more than likely still looks like it did when the Osage Indians hunted there, and you have the perfect makings for a for a hair raising, watch your back kind of hunting trip.<br /><br />A Catholic priest named Father John J. Hogan and his Irish immigrants were the first recorded settlers in the wilderness in 1859. Father Hogan spoke of the attractiveness of the area: “The quiet solitariness of the place seemed to inspire devotion. Nowhere could the human soul so profoundly worship as in the depths of that leafy forest, beneath the swaying branches of the lofty oaks and pines, where solitude and the heart of man united in praise and wonder of the Great creator.”<br /><br />Father Hogan hoped to provide the security of family life for the Irish immigrants who had faced so many hardships in the new world. Unfortunately, the very place that provided solitude and spiritual freedom, turned against the colony with the advent of the Civil War. Father Hogan reasoned that his parishioners would be safe in the “no mans land’ of the wilderness. Indeed, the great armies of the north and south skirted the edges of the vast wilderness, but bushwhackers and murderers, who had no allegiance to any army, found the security of the rugged terrain to be to their advantage. Civilians fell easy prey to the brutal, bloody and relentless attacks of renegade marauders.<br /><br />Records only indicate that there was a settlement in the wilderness prior to the Civil War and that there was not after the war. What really happened to the settlers? Did they fall prey to the bushwhackers, or did the evil spirits of the Irish Wilderness overtake them? Those who travel the bowels of the area today, keep the remembrances of the Irish immigrants fresh in their minds.<br /><br />Father Hogan went on to a distinguished career as Bishop of Kansas City, but he left no record of the fate of his Irish Wilderness congregation.<br /><br />Dian peered at the towering bluffs along the Eleven Point River as I motored the boat downstream along the western border of the Irish Wilderness. A shiver ran down my spine and the hair stood up on the back of my neck as I, too, looked over the vast territory of the wilderness. A sense of the presence of ‘something else’ weighed on my mind as I continued downstream. The expression on Dian’s face indicated the sense as well.<br /><br />We pitched a very comfortable camp on the riverbank, at the edge of the wilderness. The murmuring river provided a sense of security from the unknowns of the interior.<br /><br />Just a month earlier, in October, I had spent a week on the river, camped in the same spot. I enjoyed several days of fishing, turkey hunting and exploring the Irish Wilderness. My discovery of a mile long scrape line atop a magnificent ridge, deep in the wilderness, and spotting of an enormous wilderness buck, had prompted my return.<br /><br />Satisfied with our camp home for the next few days, Dian and I pushed off in the boat to fish for the afternoon. The Eleven Point is home to Rainbow trout, smallmouth and largemouth bass, goggle-eye, chain pickerel, and walleye. We had our hearts set on a trout dinner. Too, Dian wanted to catch her first chain pickerel.<br /><br />We accomplished both feats. Too, Dian managed to catch a 22-inch pickerel, the largest I had ever seen, until I caught a 28-incher ten minutes later. It could have been a state record fish. However, I am not into records and was not about to take off of the river, and travel to Alton to have the fish officially weighed. My time on the river was more important.<br /><br />Friday morning, before the Saturday opener of deer season, Dian and I enjoyed a sumptuous breakfast of cinnamon apple pancakes, piled high with whipped cream, bacon, and steaming cups of coffee. I kicked the fire and we settled back into our camp chairs for awhile to enjoy the sights and the sounds of the river and to discuss our plans for the next morning’s hunt.<br /><br />Dian winced as I pointed out on the map where I had seen both the big buck and his scrape line a month earlier. “That looks steep and rough,” she said.<br /><br />“That is why that buck has grown to old age,” I responded.<br /><br />We packed water bottles and a few snacks, along with map and compass into a daypack and headed out. The wild canebrakes, found in the rich river bottom soils, quickly enveloped us. I told Dian stories about wild razorback hogs as we walked the narrow trail leading to a nearby ridge. The feeling that something watched us put the hair on my neck to full alert. Dian stayed on my heels.<br /><br />Upon breaking out of the canebreak, we faced a long slope of softball size rock rubble covered with slippery moss. At least we could see well ahead through the canopy of overhead oaks.<br /><br />Shortly, we broke into an open flat, commonly called a bench in the Ozarks. We paused to catch our breath and take a sip of water. Sweat trickled down my back.<br /><br />After our break, we headed up hill towards rock formations that resembled the rimrock of the box canyons out west. It was as if Mother Nature threw up a barrier to keep us out of the interior of the wilderness.<br /><br />We found a path through the rock wall and continued uphill. The terrain became steeper. Every 50-yards we pause to catch our breath again. My lungs and legs burned. Dian’s cheeks blushed with color. “This is rough,” she commented. “But, gosh, isn’t it just breathtaking.”<br /><br />I knew what she meant.<br /><br />Forty minutes after beginning our ascent, we cleared the last little rise and broke out onto the broad, flat top of an ancient ridge. Massive white oaks, which had escaped the saw and axe because of the rugged terrain, blanketed an open park like area. We could see to the south for what seemed like forever. We stood a long time, inspired, staring at the scene before us. We were not alone.<br /><br />I topped the crest of the ridge and dropped a few feet over the north side. I immediately found the scrape line I had discovered in October. I could see the next scrape, less than 30-yards away. Both scrapes approached the size of a car hood. The big buck still carried on his mission.<br /><br />Dian and I backed off the line, but continued our hike along the spine of the ridge. We paused often to take in another angle of the view to the south.<br /><br />A half mile down the ridge, we came to another ridge than connected from the north. Straight ahead, to the east, the main ridge dipped into a saddle. “Wow, this is a perfect setup spot for tomorrow morning,” I stated. “Every deer traveling these ridges will most likely pass this point sometime during the day.”<br /><br />After crossing the saddle, we hiked another half mile. The terrain broke into a broad flat covered with white oak and post oak. It too, appeared to be a perfect spot to set up for a morning of deer hunting. However, a glimpse at the map indicated that we were well over two miles from camp. We decided then and there that we would hunt the first spot where the ridge intersected from the north.<br /><br />The next morning, a noticeable chill hung over our river bottom camp. Coffee went down<br />easily. We opted to skip breakfast because of the hard climb ahead of us. We would snack on fruit and food bars once we settled in on top.<br /><br />The climb seemed a little easier. Perhaps our excitement pumped an extra shot of adrenalin into our systems.<br /><br />Daylight approached as we arrived at the junction of our ridge and the north ridge. We selected the largest white oak on the ridge as our stand site. Dian was along to watch. She had never deer hunted.<br /><br />I brushed the leaves away from the base of the colossal white oak and we made ourselves comfortable. We commented again about the beauty of this spectacular place.<br /><br />In less than three minutes, Dian said, “Do you hear that? Something is coming.”<br /><br />I saw the unmistakable form of a pursued doe before I heard it. The panting doe ran up to within 15 feet of us and paused to look over her back. “Shoot it, “Dian advised. “ You have a doe tag, too.”<br /><br />I paused. The doe bounded away. “Hear that?” Dian queried. “It’s a buck grunting like a pig.<br /><br />As I readied my rifle, the buck crossed the saddle to the east with its nose to the ground.<br />A ray of light gleamed from its polished antlers.<br /><br />When the buck reached 30 yards, I grunted with my voice. The buck never paused. At 25 yards, I yelled. The buck froze. I could see through the scope that it was not the monster, but it appeared to be a respectable 8-pointer. I squeezed the trigger.<br /><br />“You dropped him in his tracks,” Dian yelled.<br /><br />Upon reaching the downed buck, I frowned. “What’s wrong?” Dian asked.<br /><br />“Look,” I said. “It has points broken off. My Eleven Point 8-pointer is only a 5-pointer.<br /><br />Our hunt had only lasted 10 minutes. After field dressing the buck and pausing for a last look to the south, I hooked up the drag harness and began sliding the buck across the deep leaves towards camp. Shortly, I dropped off the side of the ridge. The deer slid easily down hill. I crossed a small flat to a creek that ran to the Eleven Point. I had parked our jetboat there before climbing the ridge. Hauling my buck back to camp by boat worked out much better than dragging.<br /><br />As we unloaded the buck at camp, Dian asked, “Do you get the feeling we are not alone?”<br /><br />“Everyone who comes here feels that way,” I offered. “Spirits, my dear, spirits of the Irish Wilderness.” </div></div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-68152920636060519762010-01-01T10:34:00.000-08:002010-01-01T11:07:46.259-08:00GIANT SMALLMOUTH BASS OF THE QUETICO WILDERNESS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdmjjR82UwSgiERJnOveYOwkNlyQdFclG9qDZvp11MN6xakzD5ZRJUbl9PI8iNGyJCjFNMN0z0rKvMmiVClc9JnZj_qEuwZ3hI3hPIB4fveaJlw77gnWhhO_zrdS5KQCc0Wp85PUHkT0/s1600-h/100_0231.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421850086193651570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdmjjR82UwSgiERJnOveYOwkNlyQdFclG9qDZvp11MN6xakzD5ZRJUbl9PI8iNGyJCjFNMN0z0rKvMmiVClc9JnZj_qEuwZ3hI3hPIB4fveaJlw77gnWhhO_zrdS5KQCc0Wp85PUHkT0/s200/100_0231.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi497FDELYRPoSgPynKzRcwAdQwXvkkJYqoc5M3hzqxEbfiJU3P0-wfsh1RUCn-qfQJ-fDAwMsUzV974B-efaGAhqii5xElgSzzmWn4PaRgc9eG5BeuT3R5pwUtzJjElmQGeu7HUdEW788/s1600-h/100_0264.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421849369132919762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi497FDELYRPoSgPynKzRcwAdQwXvkkJYqoc5M3hzqxEbfiJU3P0-wfsh1RUCn-qfQJ-fDAwMsUzV974B-efaGAhqii5xElgSzzmWn4PaRgc9eG5BeuT3R5pwUtzJjElmQGeu7HUdEW788/s320/100_0264.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63QtdoacKtEGQw71rSI4Qhyxz-VI4AC50ITl3E5dDAv4gk2mZsZ2wdgD81wPNkPa23DU4Rc37yLBamsnrQFH290_TfOQm70ep9iPy0CHnLT_X5_Em3kX2RNEh4kuEaUVBvwRhJC9kZmA/s1600-h/100_0192.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421847932770340402" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63QtdoacKtEGQw71rSI4Qhyxz-VI4AC50ITl3E5dDAv4gk2mZsZ2wdgD81wPNkPa23DU4Rc37yLBamsnrQFH290_TfOQm70ep9iPy0CHnLT_X5_Em3kX2RNEh4kuEaUVBvwRhJC9kZmA/s200/100_0192.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIpWb8ox0nmM-pl4iwWsz8fQjNLEzCSwVIZd4O5OoPHfDN_jaJ4d3PxoEVo-EuvzfzpNYw4DZDyOGQLV3TDeJo-OhsdrneQ4LhgYqnNdvT7Rzv0A80DhrEEtuwrRra1Z4L8nGyLE6JwQ/s1600-h/100_0184.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421847099620499858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIpWb8ox0nmM-pl4iwWsz8fQjNLEzCSwVIZd4O5OoPHfDN_jaJ4d3PxoEVo-EuvzfzpNYw4DZDyOGQLV3TDeJo-OhsdrneQ4LhgYqnNdvT7Rzv0A80DhrEEtuwrRra1Z4L8nGyLE6JwQ/s200/100_0184.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmwflz2LE-HnyKDYRYYeXdHPwcip-slB48O53B80-IQluZ7dBXrsUBa6rCqXQrV0g0ZdPVDVtKWXbStk17sog-Ruw9WoPa1X9imAZCSvsq-XSTFIXHReSS7yQYYrrRC8-xVYgT6dY9MQ/s1600-h/100_0146.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421845907762668626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmwflz2LE-HnyKDYRYYeXdHPwcip-slB48O53B80-IQluZ7dBXrsUBa6rCqXQrV0g0ZdPVDVtKWXbStk17sog-Ruw9WoPa1X9imAZCSvsq-XSTFIXHReSS7yQYYrrRC8-xVYgT6dY9MQ/s200/100_0146.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicinRFvUr-F_j3LU1UEDNQjOvBgLbiKG3MDJV4BZ24J6mmw92A0Yzjhr56SeuOW9X_JxYw5-32YTVcKuUJ-I2CndNjl1QuKPgDaHID5YHlJFfkun9PwzvpkSZoxwnqDlT4KxvLGuPxa3c/s1600-h/100_0116.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421845134199422978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicinRFvUr-F_j3LU1UEDNQjOvBgLbiKG3MDJV4BZ24J6mmw92A0Yzjhr56SeuOW9X_JxYw5-32YTVcKuUJ-I2CndNjl1QuKPgDaHID5YHlJFfkun9PwzvpkSZoxwnqDlT4KxvLGuPxa3c/s320/100_0116.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi_Ib7hcx5-Q03VSdeERtSnSfG5Dp3zujgbl1jxdiWujG-nzl9TVF-cDpPg-R5FBscsyELwWnEtV3kOPnz1HWj4u4oJddoZVDQwfIJr_A6favPA20sniclPyp4l-zFFUQ9wANOfYayvMs/s1600-h/100_0275.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421844697357499986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi_Ib7hcx5-Q03VSdeERtSnSfG5Dp3zujgbl1jxdiWujG-nzl9TVF-cDpPg-R5FBscsyELwWnEtV3kOPnz1HWj4u4oJddoZVDQwfIJr_A6favPA20sniclPyp4l-zFFUQ9wANOfYayvMs/s200/100_0275.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br />By Bill Cooper<br /><br />Over 1,000,000 acres of pristine wilderness, filled with hundreds of lakes full of giant smallmouth bass, await the adventurous angler in Canada’s Quetico Provincial Park, just across the US border from the Superior National Forest. The two areas combined are referred to as the Boundary Waters Canoe Area.<br /><br /><br />The very mention of Canada, in fishing circles, conjures up images of vast reaches of wild country where people are few and fish are plentiful. Many anglers have the notion that one must venture to the far reaches of Canada to enjoy world class fishing. Not so for smallmouth. Some of the best smallmouth bass fishing on the planet exists in the Quetico Provincial Park on the northern US border.<br />Created in 1913 by the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources, Quetico is a world class preserve. One legend says the word “Quetico” was borrowed from a Cree term describing a benevolent spirit, whose presence was felt strongly in places of great beauty. The meaning is a perfect fit for Quetico.<br />The Quetico Wilderness remained roadless until 1954, when one road was built into Dawson Trail Campground. All other entry points into the Quetico area are by water routes. The only travel routes in the interior of the park are portage trails established long ago by Native Americans.<br />Several species of fish may be caught in the Quetico region, including walleye, lake trout, Northern pike, crappie, perch, largemouth bass and smallmouth bass. Smallmouth bass have become the center of attention among anglers since the introduction of the species in the 1960’s.<br />Friends Justin and Greg Richardson joined me for a five day smallmouth fishing adventure into the bowels of Quetico. Both are avid smallmouth fishermen and canoers, but neither could realize what lay ahead.<br />Williams and Hall Outfitters hauled our gear and canoes from their lodge on Moose Lake, by boat, to the Prairie Portage entry point, where we cleared Canadian Customs. Williams and Hall have almost 30 years of outfitting experience. Blayne Hall mapped our route and wrote notes on our maps where the best smallmouth fishing could be found.<br />The magic of wild Canada enveloped us immediately. The remote Ranger Station at Prairie Portage quickly faded away to the strokes of our paddles as our party headed northwest out of Inlet Bay. We could have spent a day paddling up Moose Lake to the border crossing, but our anxieties to begin catching big smallmouth overruled excess paddling.<br />Clear, blue skies and hefty waves met us as we entered Bayley Bay on the eastern end of Basswood Lake. Determined to put miles between us and the entry point, we resisted the temptation to stop and fish. The broad expanse of Bayley Bay fell quickly to our paddles. Soon we approached our first portage at Burke Lake. We had selected this northern route to quickly remove us from Basswood Lake, one of the busiest in the entire Quetico Area. Having done our homework, we knew that only two parties per day were allowed to travel the route we had selected.<br />We held our rods until we reached the upper, narrow passage of Burke Lake. We soon began landing smallmouth bass in the 3-pound range. “This is incredible fishing; the best smallmouth I have ever caught,” Greg Richardson said. I casually informed him that much better fish lay ahead.<br />Resisting the urge to linger, I began paddling towards the next portage, which would put us into North Bay of Basswood Lake. Our planned goal was to reach Lost Bay, a small lake off the northwest corner of Basswood.<br />Rocky shorelines became more than I could stand. I had to start fishing. I tossed spinnerbaits and spider grubs to likely looking spots. The bite started slow. The wind picked up sharply making it difficult to hold the canoe. I switched to a pearl-colored Fluke and tossed it as the canoe drifted. Smallmouth attacked it with a vengeance. I marked the spot on my map.<br />Greg and Justin had paddled ahead, anxious to get a comfortable camp established. Greg served as camp boss. A division of labor paid off handsomely. Camp set-up proved a cinch.<br />The Richardson duo elected to explore Lost Bay. I paddled back two miles to pick up where I had left off, in spite of the wind blowing down North Bay.<br />I worked the leeward side of two islands to avoid the wind as much as possible. Strikes came at every cast of the Fluke. Smallmouth hid in the crevices between boulders, darting upwards to inhale the foundering Fluke. A slight twitch to make the bait dart and dive like a wounded minnow was all it took to entice strikes.<br />Clouds rolled in and dusk approached. I had to hug the western bank to paddle into a strong headwind. I lost ground every time I paused to cast. However, the extra paddling proved worth the effort. Smallmouth in the 3-to-4-pound range raced to the top of the whitecaps to snatch the Fluke.<br />A welcome break from the wind came when I turned the canoe into the western passage leading to Lost Bay. My partners had a cozy campfire going when I pulled ashore. Their excited voices crackled as they began telling their stories of the big smallmouth they had landed.<br />Rain began falling by the time we finished dinner. A steady downpour greeted us at dawn the next morning as well. We spent the next day and a half rushing out to fish during breaks in the weather. We were never disappointed in our catch, however.<br />The third day out produced the largest fish of the trip. All three of us kept our two biggest fish of the afternoon for photos. The legal limit is two fish per person per day to be used for meals. After photos, we released our smallmouth to fight another day. Of the six fish, none went under four pounds. Justin caught the largest smallmouth, a behemoth 27-inch fish. We estimated the brusier to weigh between 7 and 8 pounds.<br />“I never knew smallmouth got that big,” Justin said of his once in a lifetime trophy. “The Quetico area is an amazing fishery. Every smallmouth fisherman needs to make at least one trip here,” he added.<br />We kept thinking the fishing would slow, but smallmouth clobbered our baits everywhere we traveled. Flukes produced the majority of our fish, but other productive baits included Chompers, Booyah spinnerbaits, Rattlin’ Rogues, Sammy’s, Pop-R’s, Wood Choppers, Spit’n Images, Wiggle Warts and spoons.<br />Blayne Hall recommends planning a fishing trip to Quetico during the spawn. “That can occur anytime between the last week of May to the second week of June,” he said. “It all depends on water temperature, with 60 degrees being the magical number.<br />I have fished Quetico twice during the second week of June and experienced tremendous success. One advantage of fishing the spawn is being able to sight fish. I like using a flyrod during this time. Muddler Minnows, Clouser Minnows and streamers all produce fish.<br />Paddling out of Quetico on the last day of our trip cast a melancholy mood over our trio. We all wanted the adventure to last forever. “I will remember this trip for the rest of my life,” Greg stated, “especially the bear scare.”<br />“Ah, get over it, Greg,” I remarked. “It was only a charred, black stump.”<br />Planning a trip to Quetico Provincial Park may prove daunting to first timers. Utilizing the services of an outfitter is wise. Contact the Ely, Minnesota Chamber of Commerce for a list of outfitters. Or, if you want to begin planning your own trip, contact the permit reservation office at 888-668-7275. Permits may be acquired up to five months in advance. To acquire the route you want into Quetico, plan early. Only a limited number of people are allowed into the area each day.<br />If solitude, the rigors of wilderness canoe travel, incredible scenic beauty and big smallmouth bass appeal to you, the Quetico Provincial Park is a must for your destination list. Your paddle whispers. Your canoe glides. </div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-84169268191930369612010-01-01T08:51:00.000-08:002010-01-01T10:32:32.774-08:00BACKYARD BOWHUNT PROVIDES ADVENTURE<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGFKeZGPd9eBDlJ2AcaHrhKr_ZiA1pTRgYzwS9Z49WLM0qqnwQYEk1G31CI3kj5oZjNoDVv899JBByztpLnXGQCUK95kMcq1lL8gZdnv7X2tl-mANfNyqUGVcdu1g-EJCO-9T3dXCvvU4/s1600-h/DSC_1519.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 134px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421840778869363314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGFKeZGPd9eBDlJ2AcaHrhKr_ZiA1pTRgYzwS9Z49WLM0qqnwQYEk1G31CI3kj5oZjNoDVv899JBByztpLnXGQCUK95kMcq1lL8gZdnv7X2tl-mANfNyqUGVcdu1g-EJCO-9T3dXCvvU4/s200/DSC_1519.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBa-V0OkHVWqt3ZLFi19T7mWMAVstszcxc0uv87teEcAfEMNJZJ6weYtUPLAAtXrQUOuNntABM8_QsT3GGTJkr5-Rw7x7TFnE5hhhj8MZ2tqta55tVgNqDPjrkGPQHHeoPvhLfMe7Sk94/s1600-h/000_0240.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421838007515278706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBa-V0OkHVWqt3ZLFi19T7mWMAVstszcxc0uv87teEcAfEMNJZJ6weYtUPLAAtXrQUOuNntABM8_QsT3GGTJkr5-Rw7x7TFnE5hhhj8MZ2tqta55tVgNqDPjrkGPQHHeoPvhLfMe7Sk94/s200/000_0240.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpr0uSlCXAVhHGEUTmMBJlWiDbnOevBA16qtHsBZ3J1Y3zYiDZBZg22szZboGH1crHVTnLGCEaBZi3izBxY1c5fbD5EtTFvPBLmPtbfqidKjAzbj4qQpOIX1UDe4dJfh0lon3_ckVH8jc/s1600-h/scan0014.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 211px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421824261028526626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpr0uSlCXAVhHGEUTmMBJlWiDbnOevBA16qtHsBZ3J1Y3zYiDZBZg22szZboGH1crHVTnLGCEaBZi3izBxY1c5fbD5EtTFvPBLmPtbfqidKjAzbj4qQpOIX1UDe4dJfh0lon3_ckVH8jc/s320/scan0014.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><br />Bill Cooper<br /><br />10/06<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Bowhunting has been a favorite outdoor pursuit of mine for 40 years. However, as I have grown older, or rather, matured, I have lost the desire, or rather, the ability to chase whitetails with stick and string in the far from home places.<br /><br />In the last decade, I have been slowly developing a one-acre food plot 100 yards behind my home in the woods. The plot attracts a myriad of wildlife including deer, turkey, rabbits, squirrels, geese, doves, opossums, and skunks. Deer, however, are the main reason I created the food plot.<br /><br />Clover is the main ingredient of the plot, but additions of winter wheat, brassica, and turnips offer wildlife visitors a smorgasbord of palatable foods.<br /><br />The food plot is surrounded by oak-hickory forest. Acorns, hickory nuts, and an assortment of other plants, fruits, and berries make my acreage attractive to wildlife.<br /><br />The acorn crop in the Ozarks during the fall of 2005 proved to be the heaviest most people can remember. The large white oaks on my place produced acorns by the bushel. You could literally kneel in one spot and rake them up into piles with your hands. The bountiful crop not only made it very easy for deer to feed, but also made them difficult to hunt, because they did not have to travel far to find food.<br /><br />Even though acorns covered the forest floor, deer fed in my food plot late every afternoon. My years of hard work cutting firewood, pulling stumps, discing, liming and fertilizing, and seeding had paid off.<br /><br />Most often, I wait for the weather to cool considerably before I begin bowhunting. Last fall that philosophy cost me an easy shot at a buck.<br /><br />I was on my way to the woods just beyond the food plot to check on a ladder stand. The bow season had been in for a good week, but the warm temperatures were still uncomfortable.<br /><br />Two does stood in the food plot sizing me up as I approached. They quickly bounded away with their white flags swinging from side to side like a pair of Grandfather clocks whose chimes swung in unison. The sight is a familiar one to many hunters during deer season.<br /><br />I walked through the leaf litter, as bone dry leaves crunched under foot, making enough noise to alert the closest neighbors that I was walking the woods again. As I approached the stand, I heard other leaves rustling behind me<br /><br />A fat 6-point buck, with its nose to the ground, had just cleared the woodline across the food plot. I watched intently as the buck steadily walked across the food plot and entered the woods in my direction. It turned slightly to the west, obviously following the scent trail of the two does I had seen just minutes before.<br /><br />As the buck passed within 15 yards, I uttered a low grunt. The buck froze in place, unaware of my presence. It would have been an easy quartering away shot, but my bow still hung on the rack in the mudroom back at the house. I grinned as the buck continued its search for the does.<br /><br />A few days later I decided to make my first bow hunt of 2005 in spite of the heat. Dian wanted to tag along to watch. Within minutes I had a ladder stand tied securely to a white oak 10 feet from the white oak I would climb with my stand.<br /><br />Dian climbed cautiously to the seat of the stand 15-feet up. “This is spooky”, she whispered. She had never been in an elevated deer stand.<br /><br />Within 30 minutes of settling into our stands, I began to hear the sounds of deer crunching acorns in the woods west of my stand. Dian could hear deer to the east<br /><br />We sat patiently on the north side of the food plot. A soft breeze blew from the south. The setup was perfect. We expected to see deer entering the food plot at any moment.<br /><br />Forty-five minutes into the hunt I could still hear deer eating acorns. The crunchy sound added much anticipation to the hunt. My imagination ran wild as I strained to hear if any of the deer were coming closer to my position.<br /><br />Surprise brought my heart to my throat when I looked straight down from my stand and saw a yearling standing directly under my stand. My hearing is not what it used to be.<br /><br />The doe slowly fed 15-yards into the plot, giving the perfect shot. I prepared for the shot, but paused to make sure Dian was watching.<br /><br />When I turned my head in her direction, I gasped. Bored from the lack of excitement, she had stood up on her stand and was in the middle of the biggest stretch I had ever seen anyone perform while on a deer stand.<br /><br />I whispered, “Dian, Dian, Diaaaan”. She looked in my direction, saw the deer, and slapped her hand over her mouth, as if to say.” Ooooooooooooooh, I’m sorry!”<br />The doe had moved out to 25-yards, I thought. After settling the 25-yard pin behind her shoulder and touching my release, I watched in disbelief as my arrow sailed 3-inches over her back. I chuckled as I watched another tick-tock white flag waving as the doe bounded through the woods.<br /><br />“I am sorry I messed it up”, Dian apologized.<br /><br />“Just happy you got to see a deer your first time on a stand “, I replied.<br /><br />Within 30-minutes the sun began to slip low into the western sky. Dian had indicated earlier that she was still hearing deer eating acorns to the east. A grove of magnificent white oaks lay in the drainage in that direction. Deer could eat their fill of sweet, white oak acorns in a short time.<br /><br />Light faded quickly. A deer would have had to be within 30-yards to make a clean shot. I seldom take a shot over 20-yards. As I began letting my bow down from my stand I heard Dian whispering that a deer was close. Almost simultaneously, a buck stepped into the food plot, snorted, and spun to gain the cover of the woods. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.<br /><br />“I told you there was a deer right out there” Dian retorted.<br /><br />“Well, we have had a great afternoon”, I responded.<br /><br />The food plot had worked its magic. There would be many more wonderful afternoons to enjoy sitting on a deer stand at the edge of my food plot within sight of my home. </div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-49139229900143512292010-01-01T07:48:00.001-08:002010-01-01T08:43:12.259-08:00DUCKS, DOGS AND DONUTS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjWVD9pmhAzedqGKnnN3kSzWZ2vHfcJRguxPzYDbeLV1JPciUvz4Ldk9bQ0AkjKhs_sj76q3r3vKYlBvc1odjarklYkvpgnAhsumsIThQ5V5gYnSsLpMcavHgj-7NfvPmoyJ-JRQgFe_Q/s1600-h/100_1083.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421808774778287714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjWVD9pmhAzedqGKnnN3kSzWZ2vHfcJRguxPzYDbeLV1JPciUvz4Ldk9bQ0AkjKhs_sj76q3r3vKYlBvc1odjarklYkvpgnAhsumsIThQ5V5gYnSsLpMcavHgj-7NfvPmoyJ-JRQgFe_Q/s320/100_1083.JPG" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtU8Dqiyv1R3QHiVyKQQgahi0zy3Bt50PeVz8ug45Z1snZQ00Gk6xPHI2vnWlbDDk34Yj3GPA6qrR4gYy2v_kVeaXCPAe18RxYEM4WDeDhk1KZqHXubjYMRZV0ebRGDiXQU08LRKmU6oo/s1600-h/100_1080_1.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421807831396197826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtU8Dqiyv1R3QHiVyKQQgahi0zy3Bt50PeVz8ug45Z1snZQ00Gk6xPHI2vnWlbDDk34Yj3GPA6qrR4gYy2v_kVeaXCPAe18RxYEM4WDeDhk1KZqHXubjYMRZV0ebRGDiXQU08LRKmU6oo/s200/100_1080_1.JPG" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg90pLTiEc0gKt6Zyjmobzu5SZdGaLIdbTw7ODAX-hbt1UgTS4fWw2TCjWZuvt9QpyW4cTQ60pGfWdDDLoVzbpIBxs13Oz8Nl3SMTKz2MZfCVjQI1RZxfkw8556FdUXC-IaShpxpNf06l8/s1600-h/100_1077.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421806444467721154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg90pLTiEc0gKt6Zyjmobzu5SZdGaLIdbTw7ODAX-hbt1UgTS4fWw2TCjWZuvt9QpyW4cTQ60pGfWdDDLoVzbpIBxs13Oz8Nl3SMTKz2MZfCVjQI1RZxfkw8556FdUXC-IaShpxpNf06l8/s200/100_1077.JPG" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cphh5nr9B6Yv7eiwu08w5KoUKkQwlgwhTfxUyG3GQCA_HibVKVctbWLvFAt-jsF4JAfH0RZlaU3-ByrOmLYy_yBaMl2ir7EUbvvFNWctXwUi_rxYo5fBPMgAymbELZLDG7LvA1g84QE/s1600-h/100_1024.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421805566668801618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cphh5nr9B6Yv7eiwu08w5KoUKkQwlgwhTfxUyG3GQCA_HibVKVctbWLvFAt-jsF4JAfH0RZlaU3-ByrOmLYy_yBaMl2ir7EUbvvFNWctXwUi_rxYo5fBPMgAymbELZLDG7LvA1g84QE/s320/100_1024.JPG" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA15zg6t_NVc0O464so76n-Av9WfhpCncfDp500f-hj0GBUIl0udE51qLq0MHxP_fF8Qo8-xw6-o1f-CdB_xt7bnqWGGt2H4f_zDj14KgzP4ViRHCjOG7OHTg67_lLYrk6S1hgX08OIgE/s1600-h/100_1083.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 7px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 4px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421804452681032306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA15zg6t_NVc0O464so76n-Av9WfhpCncfDp500f-hj0GBUIl0udE51qLq0MHxP_fF8Qo8-xw6-o1f-CdB_xt7bnqWGGt2H4f_zDj14KgzP4ViRHCjOG7OHTg67_lLYrk6S1hgX08OIgE/s400/100_1083.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />A RECIPE FOR A DUCK HUNT<br /><br /><br />Bill Cooper<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />“Sit down Pete! Dang it, somebody stepped on the donut bag,” I lamented.<br />Sounds of rustling paper and the muffled quivering of a cold, wet nose carried through the frigid, damp darkness. It then occurred to me that I had been talking to the wrong end of Pete. He faced south. For some reason in the pitch black of 4:30 a.m., I thought he was facing north.<br /><br />Pete is my Yellow Lab. He is a wonderful companion, an excellent hunting animal, and an endless source of fun and astounding entertainment. But, at times, he is downright disgusting!<br /><br />You, too, can enjoy the unrivaled enjoyment of such oddities. Take up waterfowl hunting. You will need a valid hunting permit, a migratory bird card, and a federal duck stamp. The permit and bird card can be purchased at most sporting goods stores, while the duck stamp usually may only be purchased at a U.S. Post Office.<br /><br />Duck season looks very promising according to Missouri Department of Conservation resource scientist Dave Graber. He said that the region in the north-central United States and southern Canada that produces the ducks that migrate through Missouri had a fairly good number of ponds this year. As a result of increased habitat, several duck species posted significant gains in populations this year.<br /><br />Mallards are the ducks that waterfowlers revere the most. Their numbers are up 8 percent from last year. However, numbers are 3 percent below the long term average.<br /><br />Gadwalls showed the biggest increase, with a 30 percent rise in the number of breeding birds and a 67 percent increase from the long term average. Gadwalls are much easier to decoy than mallards, making them a prime target for beginners. This may be the year to introduce a youngster to duck hunting.<br /><br />Northern pintails, which are highly esteemed by hunters, are up 32 percent from last year, but 18 percent below the long term average. Therefore, the limit remains at one pintail.<br /><br />Redheads and canvasbacks gained 55 and 33 percent respectively, but remain 47 and 23 percent below the long term average. Scaup are at record low numbers for the second year in a row, and the daily limit has been dropped to two. Loss of habitat is the cause for the decline.<br /><br />The number of breeding ducks counted this summer was up 9 percent from the long term average. However, the numbers are still 16 percent below the superb numbers of 1999. Experts predict a fall flight of 9.8 million mallards, enough to produce excellent hunting conditions.<br /><br />The daily limit is six ducks, including no more than four mallards (no more than 2 females), two scaup, two redheads, two wood ducks, two hooded mergansers, one black duck, one pintail and one canvasback. Other species may be taken in any number up to the daily limit. The possession limit for ducks is twice the daily limit.<br /><br />Identification of species is an important issue when hunting ducks. Outdoor Empire Publishing prints a ‘Wildlife Identification Pocket Guide’ for the Missouri Department of Conservation Hunter Education Program. The company is located at 511 Eastlake Avenue, E., Seattle, Washington, 98109.<br /><br />Pete knows his place in the duck boat. He sits stoically on the bottom of my short-walled boat, blending in with the assortment of camo cloth that covers the craft. He backs up to the steering console, which provides the perfect camo backdrop. The only problem is the fact that I often stash goodies, such as donuts, in the open space under the console. Pete knows that. If, per chance, goodies get trampled, which spreads their aroma, he looses his self control and makes a fool of himself, all for a squished donut.<br /><br />My hunting companions for the day laughed heartily. At least they had a sense of humor in the wee hours of the morning.<br /><br />Rev. Don Carson and his 14-year-old son, “Coot”, (there is a story in that name) joined me for Aaron’s debut duck hunt. He garnered an education about the finer points of duck hunting before the first rays of sunlight blessed the Eastern sky.<br /><br />Our 75 decoys bobbed in the choppy waters of Little Prairie Lake, just outside of Rolla, Missouri. We caught glimpses of the ghostly figures by the pale light of the moon. The morning scene appeared a bit spooky, but added a touch of adventure to the experience.<br /><br />“Ducks on the eastern horizon”, I whispered to Don, Aaron, and Pete. Pete perked up; the increased light revealed the donut crumbs in Pete’s whiskers.<br /><br />“It is still 20 minutes until legal shooting time”, I explained. “But, enjoy the drama that is about to unfold right in front of us”.<br /><br />Moments later, the sound of whirring wings buzzed overhead. The silhouettes of approaching ducks appeared outside the decoys. On their second pass, a half dozen ducks committed and plopped into the hole in the middle of the decoy set.<br /><br />Pete heard the birds and sat at full alert, but looked a little unprofessional with the donut crumbs on his face. I was not about to tell him.<br /><br />Ten minutes needed to lapse before we could begin shooting. Those last few minutes before legal hours can be the longest of the day.<br /><br />The ducks flushed out of the decoy set much to Pete’s chagrin. He stared at me as if to say, “Why did you let them get away?”<br /><br />I instructed Don and Aaron to load their shotguns. Shooting hours were only two minutes away and several groups of ducks circled the lake. I was guiding and would do all of the calling.<br /><br />“Don’t hesitate to shoot, but make sure you have a safe shot and be sure the ducks are over or inside the decoy set,” I said. “If they are outside the decoys, they are too far away to kill with steel shot.”<br /><br />My hail calls echoed across the lake. One of the biggest thrills to a waterfowl hunter is to see birds respond to his calls. Several groups had already turned to circle our set. We all fidgeted in the boat, anxious for the moment to begin shooting.<br /><br />“Ducks left”, I yelled. Fifteen birds dropped from the sky at the left end of the set, with their wings cupped.<br /><br />Aaron swung on the descending birds and fired once, then a second time. The surprised ducks recovered quickly and sped away with all their feathers intact.<br /><br />“I can’t believe I missed,” Aaron gasped.<br /><br />“A common error, especially among beginners, is to shoot at the heads of descending ducks,” I told him. “Shoot below their feet. They drop fast.”<br /><br />I continued the chatter on my Tru-Tone call. “Watch the group coming from the North,” I muttered between chuckles. “Let ‘em pass. They will come closer on each swing. Bluebills. They are fast and most likely will not try to land in the decoys. Get ready – shoot ‘em!”<br /><br />Shots rang out. Don and Aaron both fired. The birds sped away unscathed. “Fast, huh?” I digged.<br /><br />The ducks were flying very well. I knew more opportunities would come shortly.<br /><br />“Hey, hey, hey”, I whispered. “More ducks coming from the north. Get ready.” I quacked through the call. The mixed group of birds turned towards our decoys and swept trough the hole in the dekes. Guns reported and three ducks tumbled into the water.<br /><br />Don and Aaron traded high fives as Pete took the command “fetch” and leapt off the landing board into the water.<br /><br />I recognized two of the ducks as bluebills or scaup. I could not identify the third bird, but Pete retrieved it first.<br /><br />I stared in disbelief as Pete hit the landing board. He had a Redhead in his mouth. In my forty years of duck hunting, I have never taken a Redhead.<br /><br />Aaron quickly claimed the bird, his first duck, ever! “Had I been shooting, I would have claimed that bird”, I exclaimed.<br /><br />Aaron was as proud as a peacock. “Dad, can we get it mounted?” he asked<br /><br />The morning proved magical as the ducks poured into Little Prairie. The father and son team harvested several more ducks, creating a memory that will last forever.<br /><br />Little Prairie Lake is located just east of Rolla, off Interstate 44. The 75-acre Community Lake is one of two in the state open to waterfowl hunting. When I first came to the area 35 years ago, no one waterfowl hunted there. After I publicized the area, a few hunters began to show up. That is OK. I have made some wonderful friends there.<br /><br />Other waterfowling opportunities exist nearby. Hunting the rivers of the Ozarks is an enjoyable and different way to pursue ducks.<br /><br />The Gasconade, in Phelps and Pulaski counties, and the Current in Dent and Shannon counties are two of my favorites. Both attract fair numbers of ducks during the fall migration.<br /><br />Greg Richardson, of Rolla, hunts ducks on the small rivers. “Caution, is the first order of business”, he instructs. “I will never forget the first time I shot at a duck from a canoe. I concentrated on the bird, giving no thought to the balance of the boat. I brought my center of gravity a little too high and almost rolled the canoe over. Boy, did my heart skip a beat. A dunk in the river during cold weather wasn’t a part of my plans.”<br /><br />Hunting the rivers is simple, but does take some organization. Take only a few decoys and hunt the sloughs, bays and slack water areas. Use the buddy system. One should handle the canoe while the other does the shooting. The canoe will stay right side up that way.<br /><br />One last thought. On my last trip, I packed the donuts in a metal ammo box. Just when I thought I had Pete outsmarted, he hiked his leg on the box!Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-34240868109684352902009-12-31T05:12:00.000-08:002009-12-31T06:18:28.487-08:00COLD WEATHER RIVER CAMPING<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzAfehTiaWu0SP6HKRdkYcpJ0tU9gW4Im6VjY2L-SbURQLppwAjywUp9095W1YL7zQ1W4VnVzX9oHpf9vWr-wyldDMF0wk056NRv9YOMWC5yBX4Kkv9Ny00erlpRK81ECK06B_SilUg-0/s1600-h/camping+004.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 136px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzAfehTiaWu0SP6HKRdkYcpJ0tU9gW4Im6VjY2L-SbURQLppwAjywUp9095W1YL7zQ1W4VnVzX9oHpf9vWr-wyldDMF0wk056NRv9YOMWC5yBX4Kkv9Ny00erlpRK81ECK06B_SilUg-0/s200/camping+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421404470639697186" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbba8WX4sEWTx8anDHrZGcqhd5DioSz-Je2K-gJ33-kr4MqyyISpoohKL5Igm6OY8yBspKWGMa5g_TiQHkZGIdyX-NL6Swt9us3DthsEqrMcxqCIrSN9Zm-uV1f4QibQqeikeuK8gL7qg/s1600-h/000_0056.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbba8WX4sEWTx8anDHrZGcqhd5DioSz-Je2K-gJ33-kr4MqyyISpoohKL5Igm6OY8yBspKWGMa5g_TiQHkZGIdyX-NL6Swt9us3DthsEqrMcxqCIrSN9Zm-uV1f4QibQqeikeuK8gL7qg/s400/000_0056.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421403576420980562" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRphAz5K8ckYzSIsa8RJyawUuEVrYeU4rqEGLidnC8UIqcOVbeT7JEzX0F8T__Lbr5O3uvfro0W4BaEKISCOjQPHEEEg2HxRr932cwsaeC04vt1R_WA7QE8hYws2fiomJPhA8FmRnBg7Q/s1600-h/camping.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRphAz5K8ckYzSIsa8RJyawUuEVrYeU4rqEGLidnC8UIqcOVbeT7JEzX0F8T__Lbr5O3uvfro0W4BaEKISCOjQPHEEEg2HxRr932cwsaeC04vt1R_WA7QE8hYws2fiomJPhA8FmRnBg7Q/s320/camping.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421400974878693314" /></a><br />Bill Cooper<br /><br />Far too many campers are fair weather campers, especially river campers. Our Ozark streams area a national treasure and attract thousands of floaters and campers during the three summer months. Numbers drop dramatically by September. October brings out the fall color enthusiasts. However, during the winter months Ozark streams are almost void of floaters and campers.<br /><br />What a shame. The winter months provide the avid outdoorsman with a much sought after ingredient for floating and camping trips – solitude.<br /><br />After the leaves fall, whole new vistas appear that warm weather float campers miss. Bluffs, caves, springs, rock shelters and outcroppings, and other interesting geologic features become more visible allowing for extra exploratory adventure.<br /><br />Too, after the human traffic slows, nature seems to come out of hiding. Bald Eagles hunt for prey along river corridors. Mink, otters, muskrats, and raccoons are seen more often and the Great Blue Herons seem easier to approach.<br /><br />It is not uncommon to float near a whitetail deer crossing a stream or feeding on watercress. They seem to have forgotten about the hordes of canoes that were present during the summer. The assembly call of wild turkey hens rounding up their poults can often be heard in the fields and forest bordering the river. And, the lucky cold weather floater may get a glimpse of these majestic birds.<br /><br />One of my favorite surprises is to round a bend and flush colorful Wood Ducks from an eddy or slough. Mallards and Blue-Winged Teal may be seen during the cold months as well.<br /><br />Those are a few of the benefits of floating and camping during cold weather, now let’s take a look at some of the essentials for a safe and comfortable cold weather float and camp trip.<br /><br />The first and most essential element of such an adventure is the desire to go. Make a trip with an experienced person first, if you can. They can save you light years of experimenting with equipment and food and certainly help you to begin to enjoy the excursions quicker.<br />Preparations and planning are half the fun. Make lists of what you intend to take along and check it twice. Leaving an essential item at home in the summer may not be devastating, but in cold weather months, that could be a serious mistake.<br /><br />Research is an important part of the planning process. Find out which river you want to float, where access and take-out points are. Collect maps that point out areas of interest and aide in planning side trips and routes of escape in emergencies.<br /><br />The Current River, south of Salem, is a part of the Ozark National Scenic Riverways. Access and take-out points are plentiful as are canoe livery operations. Akers Ferry Canoe Rental offers year round service. 1-800-365-2537.<br /><br />The Eleven Point River, near Alton, is part of the Wild and Scenic Rivers System administered by the U.S. Forest Service. It is my personal favorite of all our Ozark Stream. It is remote, wild, and spectacular views are the norm. The Eleven Point Canoe Rental in Alton is open year round. Owner Brian Sloss also runs a drift boat, and provides excellent flyfishing trips.<br /><br />Planning a cold weather trip takes extra care. Hypothermia is a real threat on such trips. Proper clothing, food and shelter will minimize the threat, however.<br /><br />Sporting catalogs are full of excellent cold weather clothing choices. Polypropylene underwear is still hard to beat. The lightweight material adds warmth while whisking moisture away from the skin. Light weight wool pants and shirts are superb insulators. Top those with GoreTex or some comparable wind and waterproof garment and you can remain comfortable in very cold temperatures. Warm gloves and hats are necessary as well.<br /><br />Always dress in layers during cold weather so that layers can be taken off or added as needed. A quality set of rainwear as a top layer is the best way to go. Getting caught in a cold rain or snow without protection is very hazardous.<br /><br />Tents and sleeping bags are a matter of choice, but good gear will be much appreciated on cold nights. Coleman makes some high quality tents at an affordable price. Sleeping should be rated near zero. Packing a sheet or fleece liner is added insurance.<br /><br />Most women are rather old natured. Dian has a trick that works wonders on cold nights. She packs a few of the HotHands packs for cold nights. She drops one to the bottom of her sleeping bag. Her toes stay toasty all night.<br /><br />Foods that provide quick energy keep cold weather campers warm and energized. Hot meals warm not only the tummy, but the spirit as well. Giving attention to details and keeping morale and physical strength at peak levels aides’ endurance.<br /><br />Choice of cooking gear is a highly personal matter. However, cooking meals in a Dutch oven over an open fire turns meal times into highlights of any trip.<br /><br /><br />Camps can be as elaborate as imagination and finances allow. Camp cots, chairs, tables, grill grates, lanterns, coolers, and heaters all add comfort to a cold weather camp.<br /><br />Canoeing is a fun way to go for a cold weather float and camp trip. I have enjoyed paddling a canoe on such trips for over three decades. However, as I have grown older and endured an arm surgery, I rely more on a small jetboat I can still enjoy floating along quietly, but have the option of using the motor to get me where I need to go with less physical effort. Too, the boat is comforting to have should weather turn bad or an emergency arise.<br /><br />Too, the 18-foot by 3-foot boat allows me to carry more equipment, which means a more comfortable camp. I enjoy staying in one camping spot for a longer period of time than I did years ago. It is convenient to not have to move camp everyday. A jetboat makes that possible.<br /><br />As I pen this article, the stars of the cold November sky shine overhead. The campfire warms my body and soul. The howls of coyotes echo through the hills. Barred Owls sound off down the river. The smells of a peach gobbler cooking in the Dutch oven over a bed of coals teases my olfactory lobes. The peacefulness of this cold weather river camp I enjoy alone. Far too many people are sitting at home watching TV.Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-40024686636774358372009-12-30T04:50:00.000-08:002010-01-01T07:44:06.392-08:00PREPARING FOR SPRING TURKEYS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwSqMTQBLqtt5yduTiH1zFNaXX4NgivBbPzRx6xzQEz4ny_t19ptYXq__VzlAfrzWdUDosBlxNaUy7JB0FJcqEhvLbPc4qVvQIjlJSxSLOVxnvI9gclEe1HhmtG24rXbcOqq_k7L74r4k/s1600-h/100_2985.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421019382742433490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwSqMTQBLqtt5yduTiH1zFNaXX4NgivBbPzRx6xzQEz4ny_t19ptYXq__VzlAfrzWdUDosBlxNaUy7JB0FJcqEhvLbPc4qVvQIjlJSxSLOVxnvI9gclEe1HhmtG24rXbcOqq_k7L74r4k/s200/100_2985.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOxZTnKlQXkVs8SzENwQ1pI_YY90jE1pUEiKIxlDEZdWrSp2bdowXdaEd0B9IK_gvFVBVUX5jsze9OcCgEC3NGjBg3DjfLrwgXYsI1K4LKFtIzxfopg_CPfJWS9yuNEhxY3maR1SFcBmc/s1600-h/scan0002.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 160px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421015548578335218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOxZTnKlQXkVs8SzENwQ1pI_YY90jE1pUEiKIxlDEZdWrSp2bdowXdaEd0B9IK_gvFVBVUX5jsze9OcCgEC3NGjBg3DjfLrwgXYsI1K4LKFtIzxfopg_CPfJWS9yuNEhxY3maR1SFcBmc/s200/scan0002.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPSgFotxYwTrHCm7T9OA7FVoy0QcF40esIeR9tXdt-_K6ZFnMGW3LlTbjJ0pImry5gK8BSLIJysrzttq7LmTJSuK03bI1PxBq0A1GF2hPUGd_m9fkAnFrzKWjeIr8rE4ZaKhlgczIyCsY/s1600-h/coop.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421014465738540594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPSgFotxYwTrHCm7T9OA7FVoy0QcF40esIeR9tXdt-_K6ZFnMGW3LlTbjJ0pImry5gK8BSLIJysrzttq7LmTJSuK03bI1PxBq0A1GF2hPUGd_m9fkAnFrzKWjeIr8rE4ZaKhlgczIyCsY/s400/coop.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><br />Bill Cooper<br /><br /><br />Turkey hunting experts were few and far between when I began hunting in 1972. My earliest efforts at gobbler chasing provided hours of enjoyment, but little meat for the table. Early advancements in my turkey hunting tactics came from experience in the woods and trial and error.<br /><br />Newcomers to the sport of turkey hunting have more information at their disposal than ever before. The first step hunters should take is to enroll in a hunter education course. They are available in every state through fish and game departments.<br /><br />Light years of mistakes can be evaded by educating oneself about wild turkeys and the techniques used to harvest them. Mark and Terry Drury of Drury Outdoors produce the best turkey hunting DVD’s and videos on the market. Their productions cover turkey hunting from the very basics to extremely advanced techniques. Grab your calls and learn to duplicate what you hear.<br /><br />Camo, guns and gear are largely a matter of personal choice. Camo should match the vegetation of the area in which you will be hunting. Most hunters use a 12-gauge shotgun loaded with 3-inch magnums. Tons of gadgets are available, but remember you have to carry that stuff in and out of the woods. Don’t over do it. Buy the basics and add to your equipment list as you deem necessary. Visiting with an experienced hunter will save you a lot of headaches.<br /><br />Finding a place to hunt wild turkeys is not a problem these days. Thanks to professional wildlife biologists and the work of the National Wild Turkey Federation turkeys are plentiful these days.<br /><br />Missouri boasts almost 700,000 turkeys. The Show-me state also is home to 1.5 million acres of National Forest lands, mostly in the southern third of the state. If a hunter will stretch his legs, he can find turkeys here that have never heard a turkey call. </div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-89020639716711938402009-12-29T18:30:00.001-08:002009-12-29T18:56:57.237-08:00WORDS WITH THE BARK ON THEM<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9CA8bANyXG8LaKSgXQJRlHyW3td88ast6IyugSaA1Ds4hQ1zJ1XCeAFzWmzHHfMHiQ-hjAoSsYX1O3iMAH35BuyxwYmL0o0tNbKHa1WAMmaXJEDfPUG4VTJZIGjXsDxG_uz5Kll_tlAI/s1600-h/DSC_0019.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 134px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420857761000787570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9CA8bANyXG8LaKSgXQJRlHyW3td88ast6IyugSaA1Ds4hQ1zJ1XCeAFzWmzHHfMHiQ-hjAoSsYX1O3iMAH35BuyxwYmL0o0tNbKHa1WAMmaXJEDfPUG4VTJZIGjXsDxG_uz5Kll_tlAI/s200/DSC_0019.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0X0gAPXd9shkTuUNfT_WwNW2z-xfYzBD1BT34tO1VLKI9W7UGw_ip63Z_6d_wpL4JF7ZOdfaZfnBwtUFQEO6Oq3Wu5tOwBqAeCJ5v9D7_9NRmFjfV30IpIsDMSuzgWXrw5k4ATEXnITk/s1600-h/DSC_0009.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 134px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420856863728173074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0X0gAPXd9shkTuUNfT_WwNW2z-xfYzBD1BT34tO1VLKI9W7UGw_ip63Z_6d_wpL4JF7ZOdfaZfnBwtUFQEO6Oq3Wu5tOwBqAeCJ5v9D7_9NRmFjfV30IpIsDMSuzgWXrw5k4ATEXnITk/s200/DSC_0009.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVzzfyrgYm7VNqcCh1td-rhiP5Jx5fTRoDowKE_US8vqJjoGBijDqJV_S2pE1No2Bz-_gPYkOukzZ039JE_wiGjGedGIA97ImVb0YStM2zUizVQcCIhGAKINYi7G3pyRJgSZ9QQ2nVSJo/s1600-h/DSC_0015.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420855833287729906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVzzfyrgYm7VNqcCh1td-rhiP5Jx5fTRoDowKE_US8vqJjoGBijDqJV_S2pE1No2Bz-_gPYkOukzZ039JE_wiGjGedGIA97ImVb0YStM2zUizVQcCIhGAKINYi7G3pyRJgSZ9QQ2nVSJo/s400/DSC_0015.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>Bill Cooper<br /><br /><br /><br />There is a hand polished walnut replica of an outsized Ozark wood tick hanging on his living room wall. That, in and of itself, speaks volumes about the unusual, one-of-a-kind, love affair, emotional attachment, and deep understanding of the Ozarks – its people and its places – that only Mitch Jayne has.<br /><br />The first time I read one of Jayne’s stories, in the Missouri Conservationist, I read it again, and again, and again…….<br /><br />I wondered who this outlandish scribe of the bowels of the Ozarks was. Why had I not read him before? It was as if he appeared like a ghost.<br /><br />Then he disappeared – at least from the pages of the Missouri Conservationist. Seems the new Director of the Missouri Department of Conservation thought Jayne’s’ writings made fun of the Ozark hillbillies.<br /><br />As Jayne put, “Nobody made more fun of the hillbillies than they themselves. The hill folks were an independent lot, quite capable of eking out a living where most people would flat starve. And in the process, they somehow created one of the most unique societies ever to exist on the face of the earth. And they certainly had a canny sense of humor about themselves and the lives they lived.”<br /><br />Mitch Jayne perches in my mind as the most incredibly unique human being I have ever met. I do believe in ghosts. He may be one. Maybe it is the white pants, shoes, and turtleneck that he wears. His white hair adds a glowing aura to his being. Not spooky – just captivating.<br /><br />Then there is his voice. Smooth, fluid, eloquent. Could fit into a choir of angels. He wouldn’t agree, though.<br /><br />Born in Indiana in 1928, Jayne didn’t stay there long. “About 15 minutes,” he said. His family lived in Cahokia, Missouri near the Iowa line.<br /><br />After a stint in the Navy, Jayne took advantage of the GI Bill to attend the State Teachers College in Kirksville. While there, he fell in love with the voice of lovely girl from Eminence who was attending school in Columbia. “I had never heard anyone talk the way she did. She used some unusual words with very different pronunciations. This girl was pretty, but the place she was from was beauuuutiful.”<br /><br />“There are all manner of reasons to marry someone,” Jayne surmised. “And humans use up most of them. I think it was words I fell in love with enough to actually get married.”<br /><br />Jayne had listened to the girl’s descriptions of rivers as clear as gin and blue springs one could sink a church in. She told of everyone’s musical talents, play parties and square dances. Everyone was neighborly, the old folks told stories, and everybody hunted wild game all the time and gigged fish at night. And moonshine whiskey still flowed.<br /><br />Jayne aspired to move among those people, live the way they did, and maybe make a living writing wonderful stories about the adventures he discovered. Writing was his passion and words his path. He wanted to learn, firsthand, what all the words this girl used meant.<br /><br />Jayne married, fulfilling part of his dream. Lady luck favored him. Soon he gained employment as a teacher of the Cross School in Dent County. His mother-in-law, Mae Deatherage, a former one-room school teacher, warned Jayne of the perils of the job. She warned of the lack of money, the politics of school boards who preferred to hire a relative, the extra work of building fires in the winter, and killing copperhead snakes in the summertime. She told of teaching country boys twice her size and being “mean with it,” as she said. She talked of rough Ozark families who “fit, shot and throwed hatchets, and blackguarded at the dinner-table.” She warned that those people could make a teacher’s life miserable. Jayne figured he could handle it, as long as they didn’t set fire to the school.<br /><br />Jayne acquired the last schoolmaster position available. Superintendent Walter Jenkins explained the situation. “Now it’ back in the jillikins,” he warned, “and it’s a very poor deestrict. Not many chirren for scholars.”<br /><br />“Lord, I didn’t care about that,” Jayne explained. “I’d already heard four old fashioned Ozark words in one sentence and made a mental note to jot them down the minute I got back to the car.”<br /><br />Jayne’s own Ozark education began on the first day of school.<br /><br />“After everyone took their seats,” Jayne began, “I pointed at one of the first graders, a little girl all dressed up for her first day of school in a clean pinafore, shiny pigtails, and shiny plastic shoes. I asked her if she’d tell me her name and when I was sure I had it right, Glenda Faye, I asked her what her folks names were and what her daddy did for a living. She knew her parents names fine, but when it came to occupation, she thought about it, and said, ‘He principally farms.’”<br /><br />“Now that stunned me.” I had never heard many people use the word principally except school teachers, but here it was out of the mouth of a six year old who had, so far anyway, never spent a day in school.”<br /><br />“But, this child wasn’t done with me. She’d gotten to where she trusted my motives, I guess, and thought I deserved more. “But when he ain’t farmin,’” she added, ‘he mostly sets on the porch and plays the fiddle to beguile the time.’”<br /><br />“Beguile? Beguile the time? I couldn’t believe my ears. Except for poetry or Shakespeare, I’d never heard anyone use the word beguile in my 21 years and here was a child using it as comfortably as an Elizabethan courtier.”<br /><br />Jayne discovered that day a tip of an iceberg that had underlaid the Ozarks for nearly 300 years. He continued to secretly jot down (so as not to embarrass the children) archaic words they flung around in their daily speech.<br /><br />He wanted to give the very best education he could. Yet, he struggled with the knowledge that in so doing he would replace their obsolete but beautiful language with one that would serve them better in a modernizing world.<br /><br />“I had to do something about words that would get them laughed at anywhere outside of the Ozarks. For example, their pronunciation of any word ending in st. To my students nests were nestes, posts were postes and floor joist were joistes. This odd addition of an extra ‘es’ sound was even added to wasps, which for some reason came out ‘wastes’ an desks, which came out ‘deskes’. These words were so natural they were hard to fix at school, because all the kid’s parents used them. I was introduced to one of the kid’s uncles at a school ‘doin’s’ whose name, he said was ‘Noey, after the feller that put all the beastes in the ark.”<br /><br />One room school houses and the “Mother Tongue”, a form of Middle English speech, had little time remaining. Jayne taught until consolidation closed the doors of his second one-room school.<br /><br />He continued to love and admire Ozarks people, and spent as much time among them as possible. From festivals and singins’ to deer camp fires, Jayne gathered the words of these wonderful people. Jayne wrote stories and dialogues for his well known radio program which aired from Salem. He eventually made it to Hollywood with the Dillards. He wrote material for Dick Clark Productions and appeared a number of times with his group as “The Darling Boys” on the Andy Griffith Show<br /><br />Today, Mitch Jayne and his lovely wife, Dianna, reside in the heart of Eminence, right in the middle of the people they love most.<br /><br />I sat and reminisced with Mitch on his front porch. He broke out a half-gallon jug of wine. “Smells good,” I commented.<br /><br />“Don’t know if it is any good,” Jayne replied. “I just liked the picture on the side.”<br /><br />He turned the bottle to display a colorful fox hound bounding across a field.<br /><br />Seven hours and an empty wine bottle later, an old beagle yodeled up the hill. “I just love to hear that dog howl as he chases that rabbit. I listen to them about this time everyday. That old dog never will catch that rabbit, but he doesn’t seem to mind.”<br /><br />Now, that is words with the bark on them.<br /><br />Mitch Jayne’s fabulous book about the Ozarks and its people (A FIDDLER'S GHOST) can be ordered from Wildstone Media. <a href="http://www.wildstonemedia.com/">http://www.wildstonemedia.com/</a>.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6396316589536809494.post-58937770544018380772009-12-29T18:07:00.000-08:002009-12-29T18:14:47.802-08:00BOYS, BEAGLES AND BUNNIES<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehCVSysaatrcJBTFWVTC7N49IeFib-RvMC5Yynoi82CY16lk7YN_6mVAVtDXhpIQ3ZbxyeN-11COJRKet6PA3nuNZZYefxet3qK0WGM_kPadFLwbgvc2AwEIkXBzDQAZYpOUUv9GiB9o/s1600-h/scan0040.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420846880618307538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehCVSysaatrcJBTFWVTC7N49IeFib-RvMC5Yynoi82CY16lk7YN_6mVAVtDXhpIQ3ZbxyeN-11COJRKet6PA3nuNZZYefxet3qK0WGM_kPadFLwbgvc2AwEIkXBzDQAZYpOUUv9GiB9o/s400/scan0040.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5SWuIv0LVWqcfVSfV_2RGwrCj-5-BreZqHMZ74cMbg6TI-aU2Wy8UGBtyz2MhZT26kRyUB-wD3iwsjMWxLBgt-x1wqX9qfJGfCz7vlbpPEcImHs2PrjS4bMy6PwRG_wyxqXvEchClfn0/s1600-h/scan0041.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 215px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420846203957190850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5SWuIv0LVWqcfVSfV_2RGwrCj-5-BreZqHMZ74cMbg6TI-aU2Wy8UGBtyz2MhZT26kRyUB-wD3iwsjMWxLBgt-x1wqX9qfJGfCz7vlbpPEcImHs2PrjS4bMy6PwRG_wyxqXvEchClfn0/s320/scan0041.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Bill Cooper</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Rabbits were once the most sought after game animals in Missouri. Every farm house that had a boy or two in it, along with a couple of lop-eared beagle hounds, was sure to be the sight of Saturday morning bunny hunts. Boys that cringed at the thought of rolling out of bed during the week for school, clamored into the cold, winter darkness, by the thousands and had their bands of beagles howling merrily in the barnyard behind the farm house by first light, much to the chagrin of farm house moms. Saturday morning sleep-ins weren’t in fashion yet for moms, so they always met their half-frozen, red-faced, bunny hunting boys at the back door with steaming cups of hot chocolate and listened intently to the tales of their boys’ hunt.<br /><br />Sound like a fairy tale? No, such scenes played out regularly up through the 1960’s. By then, however, farm life had begun to change. Farms grew larger. Farmers grew fewer. Clean row farming techniques eliminated lots of cover and food for rabbits and other wildlife. Fencerows were cleared to allow for a little more ground to till or more space for fescue. And rabbit hunters grew scarce as the rabbitat and rabbit populations dwindled. Deer and turkey populations were beginning to explode and many bunny hunters turned their attention to larger game.<br /><br />Rabbit hunting is a social sport, and old habits die hard for some folks. The memories of frosty mornings, friends and families gathered around the tailgate of a pickup for coffee and stories and the magical ingredient, yodeling beagles, was more than some could sacrifice in the name of progress. A few beagle owning rabbit hunters have kept the traditions alive to pass on to the next generation.<br /><br />My first rabbit hunt of the 1988 season proved a real bust. It occurred the day after Christmas.<br />The outside world had become entombed in a sparkling chrysalis of ice during the night. It was not exactly perfect rabbit hunting conditions, but I had enticed my nine year old son, Jayson with stories about my rabbit hunting adventures as a boy on the family farm. I began carrying a .410 shotgun at age ten. Jayson, therefore, reasoned that he needed some practice with his BB-gun.<br /><br />A couple of other ingredients of a successful rabbit hunt had shown up at our house over Christmas. Chad Hegwood, my ten-year-old nephew, had flown in from Colorado to spend the holidays. And Santa Claus had delivered two new beagle pups to our dog pens. Santa was so brilliant back then.<br /><br />By mid-afternoon, temperatures had climbed in the 20’s, and the sun had popped out. Laughing, giggling, and wrestling the whole time, the boys helped me load the necessary equipment and the new puppies into the pickup. Fifteen minutes later we pulled into a harvested soybean field on a friend’s farm near Vichy. The grain and cattle farm had historically been a rabbit haven. One corner of the farm harbored an almost impenetrable tangle of sassafras, blackberry, multiflora rose, and honeysuckle vines.<br /><br />Andy Spurgeon, the farm owner, assured us of the presence of rabbits, and Marge, his wife invited us into the old farm house and offered coffee and hot chocolate. Memories flooded my mind.<br /><br />Andy pointed us in the right direction and insisted that we take Lady, his old farm beagle along. Lady had a regular habit of giving chase to the farm yard bunnies for an hour or so everyday.<br /><br />Electricity filled the cold, crisp air as boys and beagles piled out of the truck to begin the hunt. Lady, Andy’s old dog, immediately poked her way slowly through a honeysuckle tangle. Stubbie and Bagles, the pups, ran a few laps around us to work off some of their excess puppy energy. In short order they joined Lady to see what was so interesting about all that tangled-up stuff she was rooting through. Rabbit hunting school had begun.<br /><br />I pumped the boys to near hyper-tension, as I told them every couple of minutes that the dogs were going to jump a rabbit any second. I remember my Dad saying that. Young eyes scanned the vegetation like x-ray. Thirty minutes later doubt became the better part of valor. The boys quite openly expressed their concern for both the sanity of me and the dogs. Lady obviously doubted the sanity of crawling through the tangled mass of frozen vegetation. She promptly trotted home to the comforts of her warm dog house.<br /><br /><br />While driving home and trying to ignore the powerful odors emanating from wet dogs and wetter boys drying from the heater fan running on high, I began laying plans for the next hunt. It was going to have to be a good one to resurrect my reputation. However, I knew as the season waned rabbits would become harder to find.<br /><br />Late season rabbits are experts at survival. Remaining bunnies have already eluded hounds, men, hawks, foxes, coyotes, bad weather, and food shortages. The fast little fur balls learn quickly and have powerful instincts to live to continue the species. In a nutshell, Jayson, and I, and two green, beagle puppies were going to be facing the toughest rabbits around.<br /><br />An old home site on the corner of a neighbor’s grape vineyard looked like the perfect spot for our next hunt. Piles of old boards, intertwined with discarded wire and rocks, all overgrown with an assortment of grasses and herbaceous cover, mad the site excellent rabbitat.<br /><br />Four inches of snow fell over New Years, followed by extremely low temperatures. Rabbits often hole up to sit out such weather conditions. All we needed was a sunny day with rising temperatures. Milder weather would bring the bunnies out of hiding in search of food, as well as for preening sessions in the warming rays.<br /><br />The cold snap broke. The sun shined brightly in the winter sky. I phoned my neighbor for permission to hunt. No sooner had I hung up the phone, than Jayson began currying around collecting long johns, bots, shells, and the pups, Bagels and Stubbie.<br /><br />Five minutes later we pulled into an old dirt road that ran right by the dilapidated old farm house. Bingo! We could see rabbit tracks from the truck. Reluctantly, I assured Jayson that the dogs would be chasing rabbits within minutes.<br /><br />The pups bailed out of the truck and began their usual puppy races. Jayson and I began kicking and stomping the nearest woodpile to scare out any hiding rabbits. A maze of rabbit tracks weaved in and out of every available source of cover. Fried rabbit would certainly be in our future.<br /><br />The pups picked up so many rabbit trails they didn’t know which way to go. They slowly worked through the maze of weeds, brush and wood piles. A woodcock flitted up and went back down 20-yards away. Ten minutes later, a covey of quail flushed and sailed to the next rise. The pups ignored the birds. Their nostrils burned with fresh rabbit scent.<br /><br />The first rabbit of the day exploded from a clump of weeds under my feet. Startled, I turned to fire at the speeding bunny. The report of my 20-gauge shotgun only quickened its pace. Jayson missed the excitement, and closed the gap between us.<br /><br />The dogs howled on a hot trail, not far away. A rabbit darted through the weeds. I missed. Then another. I missed, again. Jayson made some snide remark about my shooting abilities.<br /><br />The pups’ barking grew frantic. They obviously were sight running a bunny. I spotted an escaping rabbit. It stood upright to check the location of the trailing beagles. Perfect shot. Jayson gave me a high five as we retrieved our prize.<br /><br />Jayson desperately wanted to get his first bunny with his pellet gun. I spotted a rabbit hunkered under a clump of thick weeds. It was a great demonstration of protective coloration in the wild. The animal blended perfectly with the weedy cover, so much so, that Jayson could not spot the rabbit, even though it hid less than 10-feet away.<br /><br />Jayson strained to see the rabbit, bending left then right to change the angle of his view. Long minutes later, he saw an eye, then an ear. Only then did the whole rabbit take shape. Jayson raised his pellet gun, to ready for the shot just like he had done at hundreds of tin cans. When he clicked the safety off, the rabbit had endured enough and bounded from its hide, darting through Jayson’s snow covered feet to make its getaway.<br /><br />After harvesting three bunnies, we called it a day. Jayson knew we could legally take three more. I explained that it was not necessary to take a full limit of game every time. Three would be more than enough for a fine meal for our family. The greatest reward of being with boy, beagles and bunnies had already been enjoyed. But, the best was yet to come. My wife later told me that Jayson had confided in her, “Mom, I will always have to go rabbit hunting with Dad, because he just can’t see those rabbits like me.”<br /></div></div>Bill Cooperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07866028873077731790noreply@blogger.com0