A River Trip

Dennis Whiteside with the buck we found dead in the river. 
It happens often that deer are found in the river, 
as they seek water when they are wounded. 
We found an even larger buck last year upriver from this one.

We slid the canoe into the river just at first light, and pulled through a shallow shoal, listening to a group of turkeys on a roost just downriver. They make a great racket at dawn when they are a little nervous about something, putting, chirping, and cackling just before they fly down from the roost.

We drifted past them in deeper water, without a sound. But they knew we were there. You could see a half-dozen different turkeys on sycamore limbs, silhouetted against the sky. Surprisingly, there was a pair of eagles perched in the limbs of another sycamore, close by.

One or two gobblers began to gobble back up on a ridge above them, and they gobbled a dozen times or so, just like it was spring. They all made a heck of a racket coming down through the limbs, and then they were quiet.

But as they became still, three or four coyotes began yodeling along the hillside just downstream. It wasn’t exactly a howling, more like a shrill, high-pitched wailing. We floated downstream, right up on one, which was foraging along beside a log at the stream’s edge. The coyote figured out that something wasn’t right, and he hot-footed it up over the hillside in a hurry. A woodrat could be found elsewhere, I suppose.

The sun was nearly up when we drifted upon a young otter, and when we got close, he lifted himself up out of the water all the way above his front feet, so that his neck looked something like that of a serpent. He was uncertain as to what we were, and began a short snorting, coughing sound, as if he were disgusted to see us there. I could hear him thinking, “that’s why fish are so hard to find anymore, too many of those darned humans on the river!”

He was comical looking, with that long neck sticking up so high out of water, but there is no more deadly river killer than he and his cousin, the mink. They devastate our fish populations in small ponds and in rivers which men have altered so greatly, reducing the cover and deep water fish need to survive. An otter will catch and eat almost anything he can, including very young fawns, turkeys, muskrats, even a young beaver on occasion.

There were a number of eagles along the river, some with white heads and tails, others in the drab plumage marking birds less than two years of age. They too are efficient predators, but they do not mind eating carrion. In winter especially, all birds of prey will eat carrion when it is easy to find. About midday we came upon a dead doe on a gravel point jutting out into the river and five eagles were feeding on the deer.

A day or so before, Dennis Whiteside, my hunting companion that day, had floated the river by himself and seen two different spike bucks, one crossing on a shoal, another bedded down on a wooded high bank. He had filled his doe tag that afternoon with a young doe. So on that day toward the end of the season, he was paddling for me, and we drifted slowly down the stream hunting deer, like we so often hunt ducks in the winter, and even turkeys in the fall.

As we did, I thought back to a time many years ago when I had come home from college and my dad paddled me down an Ozark river in November, hunting ducks and deer from a wooden johnboat. We had hunted ducks that way since I was very small, but never deer. I didn’t even have a deer rifle, so I had borrowed one from a young teacher I worked with in M.U.’s archeology department. It was a 30-30 lever action Marlin, and he hadn’t fired it in years, he said.

I didn’t fire it either. I got home late on Friday night and we were on the river at daylight the next morning. Floating along that morning, with an oak and sycamore blind on the bow of the boat, we drifted into a flock of mallards and I killed a couple with my old pump shotgun. Just a few minutes later, a doe jumped into the river followed by a nice buck, maybe an eight pointer or so. I excitedly put down the shotgun, picked up the rifle and waited as Dad paddled me closer, and the deer waded slowly across the stream. They climbed out onto the bank as we drifted to distance of only 40 or 50 yards, and I put the sights on the buck’s heart as he stood broadside. I squeezed the trigger expecting to hear the roar of the rifle, only to hear the dull metallic ‘thunk” the hammer hitting a broken firing pin. Carbines will not fire with a broken firing pin! The rifle’s owner recalled that a friend had “dry-fired” it a time or two, but didn’t know that would break the firing pin. I figure that buck had to have grown old and grey-muzzled with that kind of luck.

Dennis and I didn’t see a deer that day last week. That happens on occasion. But we did find a dead buck floating in the river, one with a heavy set of antlers and eleven points, if you count three small ones only a couple of inches long. Last year we found a dead 9-pointer on the bank only a mile or so from this one. Wounded deer always go to water, and you find them on the river, a testament to inefficient, or inexperienced hunters who lack the ability to trail a deer which doesn’t drop right away.

Our favorite deer season is to come, however, and we will float the river again in December with muzzle-loaders, maybe hunting some ducks at the same time.

If there was enough space here, I would tell you about Sondra Gray’s first deer hunt. Sondra is the editor of my magazine, The Lightnin’ Ridge Outdoor Journal. She proved herself to be a very good fisherman last spring and summer, and wanted to try deer hunting. You can read about that in this column next week, and trust me, it is a story you have to hear.

In the meantime, we just received the Christmas issue of our magazine, and if you would like to get a copy, just send five dollars to LROJ, Box 22, Bolivar, Mo. 65613. They are also sold in magazine racks at many Wal-Mart stores, or you can call our office to find out where our magazines are found closest to you. That number is 417-777-5227. Our Christmas issue is 80 pages long, instead of the usual 72, and it has some great stories in it, with lots of nostalgia, and humor. It is our 29th issue and if you haven’t seen the magazine, you have missed some very good reading by excellent Ozark writers like Jim Spencer, Keith Sutton, Monte Burch and others.

On December 6th I will be helping to organize a Common Sense Conservation chapter at Lamar Missouri. The meeting will be at 7:00 pm at the Memorial hall beside the fire department. If you live near Lamar, please try to attend. Then on December 14th I will be in Salem, MO. helping to organize a chapter there. You can get all the information about these meetings and see the cover of the Christmas magazine on my website, www.larrydablemontoutdoors.blogspot.com. E-mail me at lightninridge@windstream.net or write to me at Box 22, Bolivar, Mo. 65613.

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WATERFOWL HUNTING CAN BE A KILLER

The birds cup their wings and drop down out of the overcast sky. They are coming right into the decoys. The excited call of a female mallard that Charlie is making encourages the birds to drop closer.

Charlie shouts “Take em” and we rise to shoot. That is where all goes wrong. The boat tips and Charlie is toppled into the cold water. Suddenly the ducks are forgotten as the mad scramble to pull Charlie out of the water takes over. It must be done before he gets hypothermia.

Many waterfowl hunters do not consider themselves to be boaters and therefore do not pay attention to on-the-water safety programs and recommendations.

Some studies show that more hunters are victims of boating accidents than are to gun shot wounds.

Cold weather means fewer people on the water. If the hunter ends up in the water, his chance of someone being close enough to rescue him decline with the onset of cold weather and cold water.

The most important aspect of water safety for the hunter is to wear a Personal Flotation Device (PFD.) National statistics show that eighty percent of boating deaths come from drowning. If the hunter can keep from drowning, his chance of surviving a boating accident increases dramatically.

The same PFD that one wears in summer will not necessary fit in winter with all the extra clothing that a waterfowler might be wearing. The extra expense of buying one that is much larger to fit over hunting clothes is worth the money.

Waterfowlers are usually wearing a lot of clothing, unlike summer anglers. If they fall out the boat while picking up decoys, then the clothing becomes a hindrance to movement in the water. Recent developments of clothing that floats will help a great deal. Another way to avoid such accidents is to use a grappling hook to retrieve decoys so that the hunter does not lean over the side of the boat.

Another way to avoid toppling out of a boat while waterfowl hunting is to not stand up when shooting. By being able to shoot from a kneeling or sitting position, ones center of gravity is lower and he is less likely to fall or tip over the boat.

During pre-season one could practice by shooting off a bucket or bench from a sitting position. It would then come naturally while on the water. Additionally practice with life jacket on also makes it easier to shoot when out hunting. Others might laugh but it could save lives. No duck or goose is worth your life.

Be aware of the weight of ALL the people and things in your boat. If only two hunters are going hunting, they often do not think of the extra weight they are carrying in terms of guns, cooker, heaters, decoys, camo netting, etc. The extra thing can quickly over weigh the capacity of the boat and get one in trouble.

Changes in weather can be sudden and threatening during the hunting season. It is important that you not only have a boat that is not overloaded but also an engine that is adequate for the boat. The motor might have to be able to get you through heavy waves if the wind should suddenly come up or a storm blow in on you.

Whitecaps can capsize a boat and it is possible to become entangled in camo netting and expend a great deal of energy that is needed for warmth. It is vital to get to dry land and get dried out immediately.

If you capsize, it is recommended that you not try to get back to the dock. Get to the nearest dry land and build a fire to dry out. The fire will also help those looking for you to find your position. You might have to spend an uncomfortable night around the fire swapping hunting stories. But, that is better than trying to get back home and dying from exposure or hypothermia.

If you have left a message with someone as to where you will be hunting and when you plan to return, they will send help when you do not arrive home at a reasonable time. Your chances of being rescued in a timely fashion are immensely increased.

Other information you might leave with someone is your vehicle description, license number, where you plan to put the boat in the water, etc. All these things give rescuers a better chance of narrowing the search to the area you plan to hunt.

Cell phones are a boom to the waterfowler. If you are going to change your plans then call the person with whom you left the information. Maybe you decide to hunt the other side of the lake from your original plan or perhaps you decide to stop for eats on the way home instead of going directly home. All this helps anyone looking for you from wasting efforts that might be needed to save your, or someone else’s life.

It is important to have the boat motor in good working condition. Pre-season checking of waterfowl hunting equipment must include the boat and motor. Out on the water in freezing temperatures is a lousy time to be doing boat or motor repairs.

If you are getting ready to call it a day and then discover that the main lake water has whitecaps three feet high, it is time to stay put. It is better to spend the night around a campfire in a cove and a little hungry than to be wet or worse on the main lake. A little gas from your motor and some driftwood on the shore will keep you alive in cold wet conditions. It is important to use some common sense and stay alive.

Common sense and preparation can keep waterfowl hunters out of trouble on the water.

                                                         Don Gasaway - The Upland Hunter
                                                         http://www.dongasaway.wordpress.com/

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The Turkey Shoot

Happy Thanksgiving from Lightnin' Ridge!

It was cool but sunny and calm, another perfect Sunday afternoon. It seemed to always be that way for the big shooting match the weekend before Thanksgiving. There were pickups parked all around and a crowd was gathering after church in the field behind Venable’s store where the 1954 Thanksgiving turkey shoot would be held.

The Smithson boy was there with his grandpa Lute, whom everyone seemed to know. One fellow came by and slapped him on the back and asked him if he was going to let the boy shoot at one of the splatterboards. “Not this year,” he laughed, “but maybe next year he’ll be ready.”

Splatterboard shooting would come later in the afternoon, and it was just a matter of luck and long barrels. Twelve or fifteen shooters paid their dollar and signed up to fire once at a “splatterboard” set up 45 yards distant. A white paper target with an X at the center was tacked on for each shooter, and whoever placed one shot from a shotgun shell in the center of the X won a ham or a turkey. A tie required another round of shooting until there was a clear winner. It took no skill whatsoever, just a tight shot pattern.

But the first part of the afternoon was for the real shotgunners. Bales of hay were set up, and behind them was Mr. Venable's trap-thrower, which sailed clay disc targets out across the field like a flying quail. Shooters had to pay a dollar each, and then buy Winchester or Remington shells from Mr. Venable’s shell table when they signed up. You could buy any number you wanted, at 6 cents apiece, and choose your shot size. By using the same shotshell loads everyone had an equal chance with no ammunition advantage.

When any shotgunner would miss, he would drop out and as the number of shooters dwindled they had to step back five yards farther on their next round. The last successful shooter won the ham or turkey prize.

Lute Smithson knew them all, the men who showed up each year for those first contests were the best wingshots in the county. There was Clem Sutterfield, a local farmer who owned a lot of land and cattle, and had some fine bird dogs. He hunted quail, and was a better close range shot than he was at a distance.

And Shorty Evans was there, wearing his cowboy hat, smiling around that big cigar he always smoked and telling stories about some big bass he had caught during the fall. Shorty was a businessman, one of the wealthiest guys in town, but also one of the most admired and well-liked. His long barreled trap gun probably cost more than any shotgun there. The young guy, Farrell Dablemont was there with his dad, the Big Piney johnboat builder and fisherman.

Tall and slender and quick, he had that pipe in the corner of his mouth and that old long barreled ’97 Winchester in the crook of his arm. He and his father floated the river and hunted ducks. He was good with that pump-gun, and had dropped many a woodduck or mallard at fifty yards.

But then again, Lute Smithson was fairly well known as a long-range shooter himself, one who always shot in the first contests. You could only win two hams or turkeys, so that lots of people could be successful before the afternoon was over. The men who weren’t such good shooters waited until the good shots finished to compete, later in the afternoon.

The new guy didn’t know that. The boy and his grandfather watched him pay his dollar in small change, and then buy only eight shells for fifty cents. He wasn’t smiling, he looked thin and haggard. His old pickup had rusted fenders, and the paint was faded. One side was banged up pretty badly. His wife sat in the front seat with a small child in her arms, and a boy tagged at his father’s heels, his eyes big with the wonderment of this well-attended turkey shoot.

“That’s the new boy in school Grandpa, he don’t ever say much.” The Smithson boy said.
Claude Miller said he knew the man a little… “They moved in from Oklahoma last summer,” he said. “Got him a job at the factory, three or four kids… they’re rentin’ the old Beason place down on Brushy Creek. Nice fellow I think, but poor. They keep to themselves, don’t go to church, so they ain’t well known around just yet.”

The shooting began just after one p.m. and a dozen men started it off. By the time they had stepped back to thirty yards, there were only five shooters remaining, and the stranger was one of them. He shouldered an old single-shot long-tom 12 gauge, old as the hills, the blueing worn on that long barrel, the stock taped and the forearm cracked. But he shot it well. He stepped up to the mark and quietly said, “pull”. The trap thrower thumped behind the bails of hay and a clay pigeon sailed out over the broam sedge. The stranger’s shotgun roared and the clay target shattered before it had gained twenty yards.

Lute Smithson followed suit, and his grandson was proud of him. “You’re the best shot out here Grandpa,” he said his face beaming. His grandfather didn’t pay much attention, he was watching the new man, noting he didn’t seem to be enjoying this much. He also knew he only had half his shells left.

In little time, there were only four men left, shooting from thirty yards back. And he knew just by watching that this stranger was there because that turkey was more important to him perhaps, than anyone else. No one noticed when he stood up to shoot his 6th shell, that Lute Smithson had called the other two remaining shooters to his side. Shorty Evans and Farrell Dablemont were listening intently to what he said. The younger of the two didn’t seem too happy with what he was hearing, but he nodded his head reluctantly in agreement. When it came his turn, he laid his pipe on the shooters table, shouldered the old ‘97 and missed the target clean. The crowd reacted, and when Shorty Evans followed with a miss himself, some oohs and ahs went up around them.
Everyone figured the match would last awhile.

The stranger blasted his target out of the air, and Lute Smithson came up, hoping his clay target would at least sail away low and at an angle. He got his wish. No one knew he missed it intentionally. The winner was the stranger, who smiled just a little, and his worried face relaxed. He had won a turkey for his family's Thanksgiving dinner.

The boy wasn’t happy, but he had it figured out. “Grandpa,” he said as he tugged at his grandfather’s sleeve to get his attention… “You missed a’purpose!”

The grandfather smiled down at him and nodded.

“Yes boy, I missed a’purpose! But the afternoon ain’t over, and I won’t miss a’purpose any more.”

Then he kneeled down and looked his grandson in the eye. “Sometimes losing is winning. But I know that’s hard to understand at your age. You’ll figure it out in years to come.”

He looked toward the old pickup where the young stranger was reaching through the window to hug his wife. “Now boy, I want you to go in the store there and find your mother and tell her I want to see her in a hurry. We have got some people to get to know, and I’m thinking we may have to plan a bigger thanksgiving dinner than we figured on. And you take this dollar and buy some candy bars and bring them back to me without eating them.

Someone hollered, “Hey Smithson, you gonna shoot this next round? It’s for a ham, and we need one more man!”

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YOURS MAY BE BIG ENOUGH

You shot that big monster that has managed to avoid all the hunters for so many years in your favorite woods or grain field. He may be record book material. But, for most record books there is a 90 day waiting period before it can be scored. The time has come to score it.

Among some hunters the hunting for a trophy rack is offensive. To each his own. In defense of record keeping, it does provide a data base for hunters to judge what a mature animal is and what is too young to take.

Specialty record books are becoming a part of the hunting scene.

You scouted the patterns of that big buck throughout the summer, and spend endless hours finding the perfect location of a stand. Many hours were spent in practice with your weapon of choice and the related equipment necessary to take him. Not to mention the hours spent in the rain or cold waiting for a chance to get a shot. Finally, you were successful and you now have a freezer full of tasty venison and a big rack.

It is the big rack that has the attention of many hunters this time of year. The compulsory drying time has usually passed and it is time for the official scoring to take place.

Regardless of whether the scoring is for the archery, firearm or blackpowder record book, it is essentially done in the same manner. Each organization keeping records maintains a list of certified official measurers. These are trained volunteers. Official measurers from the Boone and Crockett Club are allowed to score for the other two books. Those books are the Pope and Young Club for archery and the Longhunter Muzzleloading Big Game Record Book for blackpowder hunters.

Minimum scores for inclusion in the record books vary from one organization to another.

A scoring from is completed by the official measurer; the appropriate forms should be completed and forwarded to the organization that maintains the records.

Scorers can be located by contacting the organization that maintains the records. These can be The Boone & Crockett Club (firearms), Pope & Young Club (archery), The Longhunter Society (muzzleloaders) and Safari Club International (all weapons). Except for Safari Club International one does not have to be a member for a trophy to be entered in the records.

Each of these organizations has a web presence and lists of scorers. Most wildlife agencies also have a list of scorers in their areas.

                                                       Don Gasaway - The Upland Hunter
                                                       http://www.dongasaway.wordpress.com/

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The Wind in the Oaks…

Stepping lightly amongst newly fallen oak leaves, the hat-rack buck only
comes by when I am napping.

The opening of deer season was only a few hours away. It was pitch black outside and the wind was roaring through the oaks up here on Lightnin’ Ridge. “Shucks” I thought to myself as I lay there in bed listening to that wind. “There won’t be a leaf left on my oak trees!”

I am sensitive about such things. I had watched those oak leaves bud out on the big white oak beside my back porch, only a few months ago it seems. First there were the tassels hanging down, shedding a yellow-green pollen all over my porch, a thick dusting of it that got in the house somehow and caused me to sneeze. How wonderful spring was, if I can remember right. But finally those squirrel-ear sized leaves began to pop out and it was easy to see summer was on its way. In no time, they were fully formed and bright green and it was great to sleep at night with the windows open and hear the rain dripping through that thick canopy. What wonderful shade it gave in July, when I would sit out there and coax the sun into setting over the distant river, late in the day.

In September, I abruptly awakened to the sound of acorns bouncing off my roof. I smiled to myself knowing that those first acorns meant the bass would be smashing buzz-baits and topwater lures on the river not far from Lightnin’ Ridge. In no time, you could hardly sleep at night for the sound of bouncing acorns. It was one of those Octobers where you had to sweep the porch every couple of hours.

October grew old and the sun began to set earlier and earlier, those beautiful green leaves began to turn color, a little brown, and yellow, and gold and red. In the last days of that wonderful short month, I began to sweep leaves off the porch with the acorns.

And finally it was mid-November. My daughter had come to spend the night, looking forward to hunting with me. But for some reason my dear, deer-hunting daughter, determined to outdo dad come dawn in the deer-woods, dozed deeply in the dark in my den, and didn’t hear the darned wind. But I did, and so I turned off the alarm clock and went back to sleep as best I could, waking after it began to get light, and it was still very windy. While we were eating breakfast the wind began to die down a little, and so we quickly filled our pockets with ammo and our packs with snacks and water, and headed for the woods. I walked Christy to the tree stand I put up for her a couple of years ago, saw to it she had her harness on and her rifle loaded, and declined to join her. I left her for another spot where I could lean up against a tree and nap.

There are thousands of oak trees all over Missouri and Arkansas that I have ‘leaned up against’, waiting for a deer or a turkey. Most oak trees have very uncomfortable rocks cropping up where I sit to keep me about half miserable. They were smaller when I was younger.

A good oak without rocks at its base is hard to find. It took me several years to come up with the idea of bringing along a cushion. I hate to do that. I have worried, in past years that one of my readers might see me with that cushion and question my grizzled old outdoorsmanship.

I tried several oak trees last Saturday. A doe and a yearling came by and woke me up at my first spot, but I didn’t see any hat-rack bucks, so I went to another place and two more does came by at a trot, a little more intent on being harder targets. I may shoot a doe later, but not on the day I am hunting with my daughter. I am just there on such a day to help her take care of her deer when she gets one.

In the past four years, Christy has killed four, two-year-old fork-horned bucks, each with one broken antler. I was still leaning up against an oak tree at eleven that morning, wondering if she would ever shoot. Before I left her, I laughingly reminded her to take a two-year-old buck with one broken antler. I didn’t know it, but she had seen seven does and yearlings before a buck came by. And she just couldn’t shoot a doe with its half-grown kid, or two half-grown kids, tagging along behind it!

Shortly after eleven, an antlered deer walked up through the woods, and she cocked her 30-30 Winchester carbine and dropped him in his tracks.

When I got there, (and I know this is going to be hard to believe)… he was laying there dead. And I swear folks, this is the truth…as I am holding my right hand up and my left hand over my heart while I type this… it was a young fork-horned buck with about two inches broken off of the end of one antler. That makes five broken antlered deer in five years.

That evening, as Christy and her mother were fixing some loin steaks back at the little house beneath the oak trees up on Lightnin’ Ridge, I headed back out to the woods and found myself another nice oak tree, thinking maybe that hat-rack buck would stumble across me and wake me up. I saw seven or eight more does, and thought of a half dozen good reasons not to shoot one. I watched the setting sun shine through a black oak still full of beautiful gold and crimson leaves, and wondered how in the world so many of them remained after the wind we had experienced in the night.

Ten or fifteen years ago I would have likely shot one of those does and perhaps would have noticed those sunlit crimson leaves a great deal less. For some reason, it is different now that rocks are harder to sit on. I gaze through the woodlands before me, at squirrels busily gathering the acorns they so willingly ignored when hickory nuts were plentiful, and I can see, in my minds eye, the first skiff of snow, and hear some distant church bells ringing out a Christmas carol, as deer season is forgotten.

I can feel the cold mornings of January, and see falling snow that gets deep enough to make for good rabbit hunting. Even beyond that, I gaze into the future and imagine the coming of longer, warmer days and those first oak stamens which will make me sneeze in April, just when some long-bearded, gobbling tom is easing through the woods, scratching at old dead leaves which were bright green a month or so ago.

It just feels so good to be in these quiet woods, no matter the season and no matter the reason, waiting and listening and thinking. There will be many more oak trees to sit against, I hope. I think I’ll keep bringing that old camouflaged boat cushion with me to soften the rocks. Make no mistake about it, it will not soften me any! And make no mistake about it, I’ll get that hat-rack buck yet, sometime before all of today’s oak leaves become tomorrow’s forest carpet. I’ll get him or one of his sons. Maybe.

Write to me at Box 22, Bolivar, Mo. 65613 or e-mail lightninridge@windstream.net. The website is larrydablemontoutdoors.blogspot.com

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CONQUERING CACKLERS WITH BALCK POWDER GUNS

An explosion of vividly colored feathers rises from the grass. A cackle is emitted as if to say, “You can’t get me!” A report from my gun and the air is fills with smoke. I peer through the smoke to see if I have taken one of our favorite game birds.

There is something about the cackle of a pheasant that gets the juices flowing in the most jaded of upland game hunters. Combine that with a weapon from the past. It is a way to maintain contact with the old way of hunting in our modern high tech world.

Smoke pole pheasant hunters usually prefer to hunt over dogs that work close. At the approach of danger, pheasants can drop their head and tail to the ground and sneak off. They disappear even in the thinnest of cover. Pressured by a dog that works far out, pheasants can be seen zipping down a fence row like road runners.

In addition to hunting close to the dogs, it is advisable to work slowly and stop often. Pheasants are nervous birds and if you stop, they seem to think they have been spotted. These kings of the prairie just can’t stand to sit tight if they think they have been spotted.

An advantage of hunting pheasants with a muzzle loader is the lack of recoil. Due to the relatively slow burning of the black powder or Pyrodex, the recoil is significantly reduced.

Problems can appear when hunting with other partners. There is the rib about the amount of time it takes to reload, even though it is just a matter in minutes. Using speed loaders, one can reload rather quickly, but still not as fast as with shotgun shells.

Another problem is with the amount of smoke emitted by the muzzle loader. Like most hunters I like to see if I hit the bird and where he lands. On a windy day the smoke disperses more quickly. But on quiet days it can be a nuisance. On windy days I find that shooting into the wind requires keeping my mouth shut. The smoke tastes terrible.

Modern muzzle loaders add a new dimension to pheasant hunting. Hunting pheasants with my Cabela’s 10 gauge, double-barrel muzzle loader is great fun. The factory installed choke tubes work well on all kinds of small game hunting. Finding the right shot pattern and load for a black powder weapon is not difficult. It just takes a little time.

The three chokes that come with the gun are: Extra-full, Modified, and Improved Cylinder. Other chokes are available on order from the company. Having various chokes can present a problem in that one sometimes has to develop a different load for each choke. Each choke presents a different pattern with the same load.

Patterning a shotgun goes a long way toward hunting success. It allows me to know where the shot is going to hit. Patterning is a simple and inexpensive way to make sure that the gun is shooting where I aim.

What I use in addition to the gun, powder and shot, is a sheet of plywood, some large target faces, safety glasses, and hearing protection. A bench rest, or sandbags, is helpful in being consistent from one shot to another. Target faces should be about 3 foot square so as to help see where all the shot is going.

The mix of pellets from different sizes and different chokes quickly become apparent. If I aim at the center of the target and the bulk of the shot is consistently hitting off to the side, then perhaps the fit of the gun is off. A gunsmith can quickly fix that problem.

If the bulk of the shot is just a little off from center, then I can adjust my point of aim to compensate. Although a few pellets can kill a pheasant, the goal is to deliver the bulk of the shot in a pattern that will humanely down the bird.

By experimenting with the various chokes, I can see quickly which choke delivers a pattern I desire. For example, an Extra-full choke works very well when hunting turkeys. But, it is not as effective on pheasants. Extra-full chokes have a .040 constriction of the barrel and is good for 55 yard shots. Improved-modified has a .015 constriction and is most effective at 30 yards. The Improved cylinder has a .010 constriction and is for shots at fewer than 25 yards, which are frequently encountered in hunting upland birds.

A good combination for the double-barrel shotgun shooting could be the Improved cylinder in the first barrel and Extra-full choke in the second. In that way, the close shot can be taken at the rising pheasant and more time can be taken in aiming for the second shot at a greater distance.

In patterning, I pattern the barrel with my chosen choke at the distance mentioned above. Each choke/barrel combination can be shot with varying loads of powder and shot. Every gun comes with charts of recommended loads of shot and powder in a range. There are differences between black powder and Pyrodex data. For instance the 10 gauge with Pyrodex might be recommended with 1 ½ ounces of lead or steel shot and 88 grains of powder. The same gun using black powder and the same amount of shot might require 110 grains of powder.

My muzzle loaders are percussion guns. The ignition of the powder is achieved by the hammer coming down on a percussion cap mounted on a nipple. The resulting fire passes through the nipple into the barrel of the gun causing the powder to ignite. The resulting explosion forces the shot up the barrel and out the muzzle. With my double-barrel guns there is a slight problem with the cap on the second barrel often falling off the nipple by the recoil of the first shot. I solve by slightly squeezing the caps before mounting them on the nipples. The slightly tighter fit helps keep the cap in place.

Modern muzzle loading shotguns allow me to take birds for the table and still enjoy the romance of using a weapon from the past.

                                                               Don Gasaway - The Upland Hunter
                                                               http://www.dongasaway.wordpress.com/

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A Very Tragic Outdoor Story

It is hard to decide what to do sometimes, when you are an outdoorsman who likes to hunt and fish and a fall day is pretty close to perfect. Rich Abdoler and I were faced with that problem in late October… should we fish for bass or hunt turkeys. We decided to do both.

Along one stretch of river there are wild turkeys that roost in the big sycamores just after sundown, and in the river itself, there are big bass. In a situation like that you take your shotgun and some shells and a turkey call, dress in camouflage clothing, and then add a tackle box and your rod and reel.

There are always problems to deal with while fishing the river in October. Fall leaves lie along the surface, and gather in the quiet spots where deep water promises awaiting bass; hard-hitting, hungry fish fattening up to get through the winter. It isn’t exactly the same as hibernation, I don’t reckon, but something similar. Those fish will move to deep water in the dead of winter and snooze a lot, waking up on occasion, yawning, looking around for something to eat, just to get them by until spring. And so you can catch them in the winter, we all know that. You just have to fish for them when they decide to eat something, and it is hard to know when that is.   You have to fish for them when they are awake, just after they have yawned and stretched and said to each other.. “Boy wouldn’t a nice crawdad taste good!”

You can do that on occasion if you aren’t too miserable, sitting there in your boat, bobbing around in a cold wind, thinking about how good the duck hunting might be, or wondering if you wouldn’t be happier deer hunting. So the time to catch the big bass is in the fall, when they aren’t as interested in sleeping, and more likely to be eating most of the day. I know it is that way, because when I am home in late October, I have an urge to eat everything in the refrigerator and then go to McDonalds and get a couple of cheeseburgers and some French fries. It is my body telling me that I need to fatten up for the winter.

I know my theory may not pass any scientific analysis, but I figure fish are like we are. They have to sleep on occasion, or they wouldn’t have eyelids! It seems to me that under a warm rock in deep water is a good place to sleep when it is January, and the river is froze over. Anyway, when it’s cold I am always hunting, so what would I know about it.

When it is October, there are all those leaves on the water to contend with, and it is so exasperating to make a good cast and hook two or three sycamore leaves with the spinner bait. That’s what kept happening to me, as I looked up at the timber-line, wondering how many turkeys might be in the woods. About that time Rich caught a big Kentucky bass, also known as a spotted bass. This one fought all around the boat, and when Rich finally landed him, he was fat as a groundhog, probably the crawdad population in that area’s biggest problem for most of October.

Kentuckies do not often get much bigger than two or three pounds, but that one would have made four pounds I believe. Rich decided to take him home and eat him, making life easier on the crawdads, and creating less competition for smallmouth bass in the river. It is a good thing to do, releasing the smallmouths, and eating the Kentucky bass, which are every bit as good to eat as a big crappie.

Eventually, as the afternoon wore on and I kept catching leaves, the woods around the river began to look too inviting, and I figured I might do better hunting turkeys. So we tied the boat up to a maple tree root and made a little foray out into the forest to look for turkey sign. That sounds poetic doesn’t it.. a forest foray?

What I found on that forest foray to find feathers was, a little oxbow slough a little ways from the river that looked like it might have been a scene from an old time postcard. Huge oaks and sycamores and maples surrounded it, the water was green and filled with logs which appeared to be the home of all sizes of bass and crappie and bluegill and catfish. The sinking sun backlighted the yellow and red and orange leaves in the still branches, and there were very few leaves on the surface of that still green slough. I forgot my shotgun and went back to the boat to get my rod and reel and spinner bait.

Rich and I fished that slough for about 30 or 40 minutes, pulling those spinner baits up over logs and stumps, just knowing that any minute some monstrous bass with a mouth the size of an Alabama cantaloupe would engulf one of them and break our line. But it never happened. There must be something big and ominous living there in that deep green slough, like an alligator or the creature from the black lagoon, which has wiped out all the fish.

So we explored a little more, and found a couple of buck scrapes under some low hanging maple limbs, where a nice buck had chewed the twigs and pawed out a washtub-sized bare spot in the dirt beneath it. In a little pocket of water just off the slough, several woodducks flushed, with one old hen crying pitifully the way they do when they take to flight. You’ve heard them yourself I am sure, if you are a grizzled old veteran outdoorsman like Rich and me.

It was a place I hated to leave, as I love to explore wild and unaltered woodlands.  There were some wild turkey dusting spots and feathers here and there. I thought it might be smart to go back and get my turkey call and shotgun, and Rich agreed. So we headed back to my boat as the sun sank to just a few feet above the horizon, sitting low in the western woods, peeking through the big trees.

And I know there are some of you folks out there who aren’t going to believe this, as some outdoor writers are prone to make up stuff so they have something to write about.  But I am not one of them. Most of you who have been reading this column for many years will vouch for my almost complete honesty, and I am telling you this with my hand up and crossing my heart, hoping to never to eat wild turkey again if I am lying… Two wild turkeys flushed from the underbrush before us not 25 feet from the boat, one in front of Rich and one in front of me. They flew across the river as I aimed my fishing rod at them and wondered why in the world my shotgun was in the boat!

Sometimes it just don’t pay to get up in the morning!Rich ate bass that night and I had a boloney and cheese sandwich.

Write to me with any sympathies you might want to express, Box 22, Bolivar, Mo 65613 or e-mail lightninridge@windstream.net. The website is www.larrydablemontoutdoors.blogspot.com.

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CHOOSING A TAXIDERMIST

You have had a great hunt and took some beautiful birds. Want to have one or two mounted by a taxidermist? Who do you trust with your prize?

Great taxidermy can be expensive causing some hunters go bargain hunting. It is one way to get burned. There is a big difference between a taxidermist and a great taxidermist.

Visit all the taxidermy shops in your area. The more mounts you view the more discriminating you become. Good taxidermy work is done by a person dedicated to producing quality mounts. Some will specialize in certain types of work i.e. deer heads, duck mounts, small game, etc.

Good mounts must be: 1) researched, 2) mechanically sound, 3) of good materials, and 4) anatomically sound.

To be mechanically sound, good quality forms must be used. Inferior forms are available but they are usually not anatomically correct. The use of a quality form does not guarantee success but the use of poor quality forms generally will mean a poor quality mount.

Good taxidermists think for themselves. They do not blindly use only forms from one company without making some changes. The person doing quality work changes the form to make it even more life like. He uses experience and observations from time in the field observing the bird alive and in its natural habitat. Taxidermists are naturalists at heart.

A perfect form will not in itself produce and acceptable mount unless the skin is properly applied. Proficiency requires considerable practice.

Any skin can be sewn onto any regular or irregular shape with finesse if the person is good at sewing. The fact that a skin fits a form gives no creditability to the mount. It only proves the form is approximately the same size in surface area. The artist will change the commercial form to fit the trophy and not the trophy to fit the available form.

Other factors are the use of quality eyes. Domestic made eyes are not generally as high quality as those imported.

Once the eyes are in place and form sculpted to the correct shape, the taxidermist must consider the hide. Battle scars and shot holes must be repaired by the skillful. Injuries to the hide and feathers disappear in the hands of a skillful taxidermist.

Once the skin is applied to the form it is important that it adheres to all parts of the form.

Details of the eyes and nose are epoxyed and waxed. Using paper mache and putty in these areas lessens the quality of the mount and tends to make it less life like. Color is added with paint. The quality of the application also is a sign of quality work.

The bottom line centers on the use of quality methods and workmanship of the highest caliber.

Patience in selecting a taxidermist can pay a lifetime of enjoyment. If you already have the bird but have not done your homework in selecting a taxidermist, it probably would be a good idea to keep it frozen in the freezer while shopping around. Wrap it in cloth to prevent freezer burn.

Any bird worth taking is worth preserving correctly and naturally. If not then perhaps it should not have been taken at all.

                                                          Don Gasaway - The Upland Hunter
                                                          http://www.dongasaway.wordpress.com/

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Relevance

It is easy to see this buck has four points on one side, as the photographer is only 25 yards away with a telephoto lens... but it's not so easy to seethat if you are using open sights on a rifle at 80 yards.  In fact, it is impossible to be sure at that range if the buck is moving, and you have only 10 or 15 seconds to take the shot.

I sat in the office of the Missouri Department of Conservation’s Enforcement Chief, Larry Yamnitz, and told him about all the situations I had learned about over the past couple of years when I thought innocent people had been targeted by conservation agents, and given citations for technical, meaningless offenses.

He wrote a word on a piece of paper and handed it to me. The word was “relevance”. He said it was the one thing he stressed to agents, that their work be “relevant”. And it is a good word for conservation agents to remember. Some do, some do not.

If we do not have competent, efficient, and conscientious agents, our wildlife will suffer in the long run. It is hard work, intercepting and arresting the criminal element in the outdoors. Those are the spotlighters, the people who keep over their limit of fish, the people who will bait deer and turkey, who will flagrantly disobey the game and fish laws without thought of anyone but themselves. When an agent works hard to apprehend those people, he has little time to worry about finding and persecuting those who are guilty of some meaningless technical violation.

I am sure Yamnitz knows all about those technical violations which are not at all relevant. He rose through the ranks after years of field work as an agent himself.  But I am not at all sure he can do much about some of what has been going on which is completely and totally irrelevant. For instance, the situation recently where a conservation agent broke the law, and was not even disciplined for it, but instead given a promotion to a supervisory position. Yamnitz cannot even talk about it. Part of a million dollar settlement which the MDC had to pay includes the stipulation that no one can even speak of it. The MDC is protected by that, news of it has scarcely been mentioned in the press. Few Missourians know a thing about it. But it is a million dollars, and involves an agent who flagrantly disregarded the rights of an innocent person, yet was not punished in anyway for breaking the law.  Is that “relevant”.

Despite the fact that he is enforcement chief, Yamnitz could not discipline nor fire that agent, because there are those above him who made the decisions which he cannot question. During that interview we talked about bringing cases to his attention, and Yamnitz states he wants to know when there are situations where agents may be targeting innocent people. We discussed a situation where an agent confiscated a deer head and antlers of significant size from a hunter on a technical violation, then either sold it or gave away, (the agent says he gave it away). Yamnitz says the agent was “reprimanded”.

Many feel an agent who uses his job for his own benefit in such a manner should be fired. There are more situations involving valuable deer heads, perhaps worth thousands, being confiscated by an agent and disappearing. In one case, the hunter was found innocent in court, but his mount disappeared and was never accounted for. Many of these things need to be looked into.

I believe Yamnitz is an honest person who would indeed like to see some things change with what today’s conservation agents are doing. I don’t know if he can do much if there are those above him who do not feel that way. But he says he will listen, and I am in the process of bringing some of the cases to him which I have written about in this column. The most important thing we can do as conservationists, outdoorsmen, hunters and fishermen, is to try to see to it that actual violators are found and prosecuted, while those who are innocent have a voice.

Two ‘Common Sense Conservation’ groups have been formed already, one in El Dorado Springs, and another in Warsaw. Their numbers are growing, and they are pooling their money to represent those who want to go to court and try to prove their innocence.  It involves finding a local attorney who will agree to represent those folks at a reasonable charge.

In the past it has impossible to actually go to court and be heard without spending several hundred dollars. The fine which you have to pay may be a couple of hundred dollars, and therefore, you just pay it, because there is no sense in paying many hundreds more to be found innocent.

If such an organization grows to include chapters in dozens of other areas, conservation agents will begin to note that their activities draws public attention, and things will change. The MDC has thrived from knowing that most of what they do will never be known by the general public. The agency is tremendously rich and powerful, and the news media of the state never criticizes them. Much of that is because the knowledge of what they are doing never comes to light. 

The deer season approaches, and the four-point restriction which the MDC has imposed on the upper two-thirds of the state, in an effort to increase the number of “trophy-sized” antlers, would be opposed by a five-to-one vote if all deer hunters in those counties were allowed to voice their opinions. There isn’t space here to discuss why the regulation was adopted, but it has nothing to do with common sense management of the deer herd, but rather the economics of “trophy hunting”. It requires hunters to be certain that one side of the bucks antlers have four points in order to be legal.

Yamnitz and I talked about that, and since he too is a hunter, I have no doubt that he knows how ridiculous it is to assume that most deer-hunters can easily discern the number of points on a moving buck at 60 to 100 yards. He told me that he does not want to see a buck killed accidentally and left in the woods, as in one case I observed last year. He states that if you felt the buck was legal and after killing it, sees that it was not, you should contact an agent and tell him what happened. In most cases where it is obvious the deer could have been mistakenly thought to have four points on one side, an agent will allow you to tag and keep the deer so it won’t be wasted.

This is nothing more than a concession that this four-point rule is only occasionally feasible. So remember that if you make an honest mistake, you should not allow the deer to be wasted. But by all means, call an agent. Don’t bring it in from the woods until you talk to someone with the MDC.

One of these days, that ridiculous regulation will be rescinded. As it is, many, many hunters have ignored it, because so many know ways to get around it. As all of us who hunt and fish know, it is fairly easy to intentionally break the laws and get away with it. If you believe in doing things right, if you believe in wildlife conservation, you don’t! But there comes a time when all of us can be arrested on some technicality.

There are many good agents out there who are not interested in technicalities, but are working hard to find the intentional violator we all detest. Unfortunately the MDC has a large number of agents who are just looking for an easy ticket to write.  We need to stop them, and we can. Yamnitz is right, it is a matter of relevance.

If you want to start a Common Sense Conservation chapter in your area, contact me.  The address is Box 22, Bolivar, Mo. 65613. E-mail me at lightninridge@windstream.net.  My website is www.larrydablemontoutdoors.blogspot.com. The phone number at our offices is 417-777-5227.

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