Today was the opening day of the Early Antlerless season in southern Michigan. I made it out to the woods for an evening sit that was quite eventful.
I reached the hunting area and survey the land. Nothing has changed, not really anyway, since I started hunting here about 20 years ago. That's good, change is bad. Would likely mean the land was sold and I couldn't hunt there anymore. The front field is still standing corn.
I have always thought it would be cool to hunt standing corn, stalking on the deer that live in it while it stands. The corn appeared tall enough. It was still nice and green so it would not sound like walking on crisp tater chips. So it was on. Name of the game was Cornfield Stalking for Deer.
I took about three slow, cautious steps into the corn. Each step got louder and louder. I slowed down but it still sounded like I was rubbing a tater chip bag against my body. Turns out the lower half of every stalk was dried out already. Game over. Deer 1, Nimrod 0.
I slowly worked my way back to the wood line. Not sure why I was going slow. The noise was the same whether or not I took my time. I might as well had been singing a tune at the top of my lungs. I finally made it to the wood line after the noisy walk and busting countless spider webs with my face.
Since I have been hunting and roaming this small wood lot since I was knee high to a grasshopper, I have no idea how the deer act on it. They seem to wander around aimlessly, sometimes coming in front of my while I am hunting. During this time of year I do know that they use the lot to go between the cornfields. And I know there is a creek they must cross to get to one of the fields. I found no less than four nice paths they have been using to cross.
While deciding which trail the deer wouldn't take tonight, I somehow flushed a turkey from a nearby thicket. I guess he thought I was figuring out a way to make him dinner. To bad I didn't see him and the season open isn't open yet. I choose a trail that I could sit on and watch most of the other crossings, giving me a chance to learn for next time, unless I forget before next time.
Not an hour after I sat down, a doe deer crossed the trail the furthest from me. I had chosen right. Then a little bit later a tree rat started playing around, jumping from tree to tree. Might have been more than one, but the understory I was under was too thick to get a good look. Still wonder how an animal that size can sound like an elephant knocking trees over.
I was taking in the nice cool, beautiful evening when I caught some motion out of the corner of the eye. It was close and was moving. I slowly glanced over to see a black critter crawling on the other bank of the creek. I was about ten feet from the beast and boy was it mean looking. Stood about 4 inches at the shoulder, about 20 inches long, jet black body and a brown tail. First I thought it was a black tree rat, but then realized I was dealing with an elusive beast. I watched and my mink friend hung out for a lil bit and then left off on a hunt of his own. I wished him luck, knowing I had pizza waiting for me at home, and he would go hungry if he failed on his hunt.
The night moved on and the tree rats, song birds and crows kept the wood from being quiet. Actually the darn things were so loud I couldn't hear if a deer had walked up behind me making moose antlers with its hooves.
I tried ever trick I could think of. I stood up to stretch, leaving my bow, I took drinks of pop, I sat is positions I could not have shot my bow from. Everything short of eating a candy bar to get the deer to come out. They had worked in the past, but nothing worked tonight. I am really starting to doubt that you can lure deer in like some claim. But like most things, nothing works all the time.
Slowly the darkness took over and I got up to leave. I slowly worked out to the field line, thinking maybe a deer would be doing the same toward me. Turns out there was a deer nearby doing the same as me. We meet up and the darn thing turned and ran like I had bad breath. I stood still for a few seconds, and it sounded like she had decided I wasn't as bad ans she first thought so she would come back out. After a few seconds I realized I was hearing the noise of her walking further away, not coming back to me. Figures. Like women, deer make a split second decision based on the smell of someone and never come back.
No worries. It was the first hunt of many for the 2009 season and I had seen more deer than most of last season combined! I think ole Nimrod just may be getting the hang of deer hunting.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Oar Ordeal
This entry is another fishing trip for Mud and I. It was planned a long time in advance, ya know two days before Mud said “Hey Nimrod want to go out to Grumpy Lake on Saturday?”
My response was sure, a nice day on the lake would be relaxing. We were pressed for time as I had gotten off from work early that morning and we had to be at a family fish fry by 1pm. No sweat, the lake was close to base ops and it was not big. A sure thing that was certain to have us on the good side of Yoop and Book.
We drove the ole Rusty Chevrolet to base ops, loaded up the boat, our rods/tackle, the troller motor and the battery. A quick good by to the youngin's and off we went. We had to take the Rusty Chevrolet today cause Grumpy lake doesn't have much for a launch, and the Mud machine didn't stand a chance to make it to the lake. No sweat I have a small tank for a reason, goes places a big tank can't!
On the way to the lake, Mud and I caught up on old times. It had been about two weeks since we had seen each other. Its amazing what can change in two weeks. Arriving at the lake, we shoehorned the Rusty Chevrolet down the launch and put the boat in the lake. While I parked the Rusty Chevrolet, Mud did what it is he does while I park the Rusty Chevrolet... best left for him to know and the rest of the world not to know.
We positioned the boat in the water, had Mud hopped in and I pushed off to the lake. I looked at Mud, thinking he was going to row us thru the shore weeds. He looked at me like why are you not rowing out past these weeds so we can put the troller motor in the water and do some fishin'.
All the while Murph was in the middle of the boat with a grin ear to ear. At about the same time Mud and I realized what had happened. Murph must have tossed the oars out of the boat going down the road. Cause I would never, never, ever would forget the oars. And since I taught Mud nothing he knows about fishing I know he wouldn't forget them either.
I dropped the troller motor into the water and hooked up the battery. I checked the cables again and noticed the wires were hooked up backwards, again. That Murph is a sneaky one. Quick too. I turned on the motor and the boat started going no where. Ok it didn't start not going no where, it stayed going no where.
Without saying anything, Mud and I looked around looking for something that would get us past the weeds and into some fishable water. Then Mud had the second most brilliant idea ever. The idea of the decade. Only falling short of the all time ideas like gunpowder, internal combustion engines and kegerators (just to name very few). He grabbed Gray Beards old fish net and began to use it as an oar. BRILLIANT!!!!
After about 30 minutes of rowing with an aluminum hoop surrounded by nylon mesh with rather large holes we were out of the lily pads and reeds and into the water. It worked well, especially once the net was filled with all the loose weeds floating on the surface. I did what I could to help Mud. I crawled on top of Murph in the center of the boat, and grabbed reeds just below the water and pulled us along. Not sure I really helped, but it sure seemed to be helping, at least to me.
Mud had never been to Grumpy Lake. Its kind of an odd lake, very clear with a quite a few weeds. It holds a variety of fish. We began working the shoreline, and the break. I landed a few decent sized blue gills. Nice ones that were big enough to be used as bait if needed. Mud fished his can off but didn't land much of anything. As we rounded the far side of the lake, I worked to reposition the boat to make the most of the wind that was blowing. I finally gave up resorting to a mix of drifting and then using the motor to move the boat where I wanted it to be.
The battery Gray Beard has for the troller motor is one out of an ole Rusty Chevrolet. The energy cell is about six years old. It is not a deep cycle marine battery. Its just a normal car battery converted for use as a troller motor battery. The tip of this diary entry is how to convert a normal car battery into a marine battery. Please pay close attention, if you miss a step it will not work. First remove the battery from the car. Then put the car battery into a plastic marine box (or what ever you store our current marine battery in.) Viola! You have converted a car battery to a marine battery. Depending on whose car you take the battery out of you may need to practice ahead of time. It may seem simple but running from someone while carrying your soon to be marine battery is not as easy as it sounds.
Where was I? Oh yea, Mud and I had just began to work the east side of Grumpy Lake. Again working the shore weeds and the break. The bite got better, but we still weren't catching anything. After working the east side for about ten feet I noticed the troller wasn't as loud as it had been a few minutes earlier. Then I realized were we not moving at the same rate we had before. I checked the connections to the battery and found them to be secure. I checked the prop for weeds and it was not clogged.
I then realized that the the battery was about dead. Nothing to sweat about. I will just row ... ummm wait a second. Murph tossed the oars out on the way to the lake.. We had a pretty stiff head wind we had to fight also. I acted quickly to minimize our drag in the water. I pulled the fish basket out of the water. Now that I had that done, I started to contemplate what I may need to do to ensure Mud and I make it to the family fish fry on time. I checked the time and we had 30 minutes to get off the lake,b ack to base ops, drop the fishin' suff and get to the family fish fry which is about 15 minutes from base ops.
Ole Nimrod is no matheigician. But I knew we had lots of time going about ½ mile per hour on the lake. I just hoped the battery would hold out and we gained enough momentum to glide past the shore weeds. I was givin' her all we got and once we got to the shore weed edge, I pulled up the motor and we slid into the weeds. Muds end of the boat made it to the weeds. Yet the rest of the boat was still in the lake. Mud picked up the fish net and got to rowing again. Worked better off the bat this time... all the weeds were still in the net.
After some more work the boat was in the Rusty Chevrolet, and Mud and I were on the way back to base ops. It was now about 1:30. T plus 30 minutes. We got to base ops, dropped the fishing stuff, put the fish in some fresh water and headed out to the family fish fry. My Rusty Chevrolet doesn't move quick. Well it prolly could, but it sucks gas like a skeeter sucking blood as it is. I don't think it would be entertaining to watch the gas gauge move any faster than it does now, at least if your the one filling the tank.
We made it to the family fish fry about 2pm. T plus 60 minutes. Not bad considering the predicament Murph put us in with the oar ordeal. We got there before anyone had gone for seconds so really we were there from the beginning. Most the family got a kick out of the story but no one was willing to take Murph. If your wondering I left Murph at the launch at Grumpy Lake. I told him we would be back for him, but may be in a different car. My hopes are he will find his way home with someone else. Small game season starts today and a variety of deer season open real soon. I sure as biscuits don't need Murph around for another hunting season.
My response was sure, a nice day on the lake would be relaxing. We were pressed for time as I had gotten off from work early that morning and we had to be at a family fish fry by 1pm. No sweat, the lake was close to base ops and it was not big. A sure thing that was certain to have us on the good side of Yoop and Book.
We drove the ole Rusty Chevrolet to base ops, loaded up the boat, our rods/tackle, the troller motor and the battery. A quick good by to the youngin's and off we went. We had to take the Rusty Chevrolet today cause Grumpy lake doesn't have much for a launch, and the Mud machine didn't stand a chance to make it to the lake. No sweat I have a small tank for a reason, goes places a big tank can't!
On the way to the lake, Mud and I caught up on old times. It had been about two weeks since we had seen each other. Its amazing what can change in two weeks. Arriving at the lake, we shoehorned the Rusty Chevrolet down the launch and put the boat in the lake. While I parked the Rusty Chevrolet, Mud did what it is he does while I park the Rusty Chevrolet... best left for him to know and the rest of the world not to know.
We positioned the boat in the water, had Mud hopped in and I pushed off to the lake. I looked at Mud, thinking he was going to row us thru the shore weeds. He looked at me like why are you not rowing out past these weeds so we can put the troller motor in the water and do some fishin'.
All the while Murph was in the middle of the boat with a grin ear to ear. At about the same time Mud and I realized what had happened. Murph must have tossed the oars out of the boat going down the road. Cause I would never, never, ever would forget the oars. And since I taught Mud nothing he knows about fishing I know he wouldn't forget them either.
I dropped the troller motor into the water and hooked up the battery. I checked the cables again and noticed the wires were hooked up backwards, again. That Murph is a sneaky one. Quick too. I turned on the motor and the boat started going no where. Ok it didn't start not going no where, it stayed going no where.
Without saying anything, Mud and I looked around looking for something that would get us past the weeds and into some fishable water. Then Mud had the second most brilliant idea ever. The idea of the decade. Only falling short of the all time ideas like gunpowder, internal combustion engines and kegerators (just to name very few). He grabbed Gray Beards old fish net and began to use it as an oar. BRILLIANT!!!!
After about 30 minutes of rowing with an aluminum hoop surrounded by nylon mesh with rather large holes we were out of the lily pads and reeds and into the water. It worked well, especially once the net was filled with all the loose weeds floating on the surface. I did what I could to help Mud. I crawled on top of Murph in the center of the boat, and grabbed reeds just below the water and pulled us along. Not sure I really helped, but it sure seemed to be helping, at least to me.
Mud had never been to Grumpy Lake. Its kind of an odd lake, very clear with a quite a few weeds. It holds a variety of fish. We began working the shoreline, and the break. I landed a few decent sized blue gills. Nice ones that were big enough to be used as bait if needed. Mud fished his can off but didn't land much of anything. As we rounded the far side of the lake, I worked to reposition the boat to make the most of the wind that was blowing. I finally gave up resorting to a mix of drifting and then using the motor to move the boat where I wanted it to be.
The battery Gray Beard has for the troller motor is one out of an ole Rusty Chevrolet. The energy cell is about six years old. It is not a deep cycle marine battery. Its just a normal car battery converted for use as a troller motor battery. The tip of this diary entry is how to convert a normal car battery into a marine battery. Please pay close attention, if you miss a step it will not work. First remove the battery from the car. Then put the car battery into a plastic marine box (or what ever you store our current marine battery in.) Viola! You have converted a car battery to a marine battery. Depending on whose car you take the battery out of you may need to practice ahead of time. It may seem simple but running from someone while carrying your soon to be marine battery is not as easy as it sounds.
Where was I? Oh yea, Mud and I had just began to work the east side of Grumpy Lake. Again working the shore weeds and the break. The bite got better, but we still weren't catching anything. After working the east side for about ten feet I noticed the troller wasn't as loud as it had been a few minutes earlier. Then I realized were we not moving at the same rate we had before. I checked the connections to the battery and found them to be secure. I checked the prop for weeds and it was not clogged.
I then realized that the the battery was about dead. Nothing to sweat about. I will just row ... ummm wait a second. Murph tossed the oars out on the way to the lake.. We had a pretty stiff head wind we had to fight also. I acted quickly to minimize our drag in the water. I pulled the fish basket out of the water. Now that I had that done, I started to contemplate what I may need to do to ensure Mud and I make it to the family fish fry on time. I checked the time and we had 30 minutes to get off the lake,b ack to base ops, drop the fishin' suff and get to the family fish fry which is about 15 minutes from base ops.
Ole Nimrod is no matheigician. But I knew we had lots of time going about ½ mile per hour on the lake. I just hoped the battery would hold out and we gained enough momentum to glide past the shore weeds. I was givin' her all we got and once we got to the shore weed edge, I pulled up the motor and we slid into the weeds. Muds end of the boat made it to the weeds. Yet the rest of the boat was still in the lake. Mud picked up the fish net and got to rowing again. Worked better off the bat this time... all the weeds were still in the net.
After some more work the boat was in the Rusty Chevrolet, and Mud and I were on the way back to base ops. It was now about 1:30. T plus 30 minutes. We got to base ops, dropped the fishing stuff, put the fish in some fresh water and headed out to the family fish fry. My Rusty Chevrolet doesn't move quick. Well it prolly could, but it sucks gas like a skeeter sucking blood as it is. I don't think it would be entertaining to watch the gas gauge move any faster than it does now, at least if your the one filling the tank.
We made it to the family fish fry about 2pm. T plus 60 minutes. Not bad considering the predicament Murph put us in with the oar ordeal. We got there before anyone had gone for seconds so really we were there from the beginning. Most the family got a kick out of the story but no one was willing to take Murph. If your wondering I left Murph at the launch at Grumpy Lake. I told him we would be back for him, but may be in a different car. My hopes are he will find his way home with someone else. Small game season starts today and a variety of deer season open real soon. I sure as biscuits don't need Murph around for another hunting season.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Of Hog Hunting and Ants
Greetings all. Sorry for the delay between entries into the diaries. Life keeps on a movin' and if you don't take time to jot things down, it doesn't get done.
Today I am gonna talk about a hunt and a good friend from the Army and I took several years back. The hunt is an archery hunt for feral hogs on public land. I don't recall the name of the place, but I do recall the lovely warmth of the Texas summer.
Dudeman and I became quick friends while being assigned to the same unit. Both loved to hunt, especially bow hunt. We put this little hunt together on the fly. Split the gas, I packed in lunch and we were ready.
Dudeman drove, and on arrival, we found a parking area near a some really hot locations. At least the folks Dudeman had spoken to said they were hot. This intel came from a guy who on his first ever bow hunt, parked, walked a few hundred yards and shot a pig. Going off this we just knew this pig hunting thing would be a cake walk.
Dudeman and I walked around the immediate area. We then walked further, and further, and further. Darn near around the entire hunting area. Nary a sight, sound or impression pigs lived in the area were found. Never discouraged, we sat down briefly for some water and lunch.
Nothing is better on a super hot Texas summer day than some warm bologna sandwiches, and stale chips. Man they missed the spot in our stomachs. After consuming our body weight in water, we started to grab our gear for the second half of the day. I was checking out an area across the lake for any pig sign, when I noticed Dudeman dancing around. Knowing him, and knowing Tequila was not consumed during our break, I instantly became concerned.
He danced, screamed and yelled like a white man on hot coals, dancing to the latest hip hop song. I listened closely but did not hear any music from anywhere. Then he threw off his back pack, dropped his bow and jumped into the lake. Holding back a gut busting laugh, I politely asked him if he was OK. He quickly told me, in very short terms, he had sat his pack on a fire ant hill while we ate. I questioned the intelligence of doing so, and Dudeman quickly questioned if I like my face the way it was.
Once the humor, or pain (depending on your viewpoint), of the situation was over. I helped Dudeman get the little critters of hell off his gear. Our adventure led us back to the parking area. Since we had not seen anything stalking together, we decided it would be best to try and split up and make our way to the truck.
I worked and area along the lake shore, that was a thick mess of tangled heaven. As I approached the base of a point that jutted out into the lake, I heard the tell tale sound of a pig rooting at the other end of the point. I knew what a rooting pig sounded like because, who doesn't know what a rooting pig sounds like?
It was game on. I pulled on the game face and began a slow meticulous approach to the last 75 yards. About a minute later, I was with in 20 yards of the rooting pig noise. The ground cover in between us was so thick, I still could not see the beast. Not wanting to leave Dudeman at the truck too long, I decided to make a final approach with the wind at my back. As I crept around the last bush between me and the beast, I came to full draw. I move slowly around the bush... then came face to face with the beast of beasts.
Growing up in Michigan, I am accustom to certain things in the woods. Squirrels, rabbits, an occasional grouse taking flight under your foot. But none of that prepared me for what I was facing at about 8 yards, at full draw, in the unbearable Texas sun.
There are times in life where you have to make split second decisions. Decisions that can be life or death, or embarrassment or heroism. This was one of them. Facing the beast at spitting distance created a few set of problems I needed to solve and right now. First and foremost was whether I should wet my pants or hold it in. Then I had to decide if what I was looking at was legal game for me to take with the licenses I had in my pocket.
In hindsight, I think I made good decisions in the spur of the moment. I did not wet myself, so the ride home in Dudemans truck was not at all a problem. And I decided the beast was not legal game for me to take. So I thanked God for letting me experience such a close encounter with one of the Texas road bumps, aka armadillo. I am just glad the beast didn't decide to run me over like a tank.
Today I am gonna talk about a hunt and a good friend from the Army and I took several years back. The hunt is an archery hunt for feral hogs on public land. I don't recall the name of the place, but I do recall the lovely warmth of the Texas summer.
Dudeman and I became quick friends while being assigned to the same unit. Both loved to hunt, especially bow hunt. We put this little hunt together on the fly. Split the gas, I packed in lunch and we were ready.
Dudeman drove, and on arrival, we found a parking area near a some really hot locations. At least the folks Dudeman had spoken to said they were hot. This intel came from a guy who on his first ever bow hunt, parked, walked a few hundred yards and shot a pig. Going off this we just knew this pig hunting thing would be a cake walk.
Dudeman and I walked around the immediate area. We then walked further, and further, and further. Darn near around the entire hunting area. Nary a sight, sound or impression pigs lived in the area were found. Never discouraged, we sat down briefly for some water and lunch.
Nothing is better on a super hot Texas summer day than some warm bologna sandwiches, and stale chips. Man they missed the spot in our stomachs. After consuming our body weight in water, we started to grab our gear for the second half of the day. I was checking out an area across the lake for any pig sign, when I noticed Dudeman dancing around. Knowing him, and knowing Tequila was not consumed during our break, I instantly became concerned.
He danced, screamed and yelled like a white man on hot coals, dancing to the latest hip hop song. I listened closely but did not hear any music from anywhere. Then he threw off his back pack, dropped his bow and jumped into the lake. Holding back a gut busting laugh, I politely asked him if he was OK. He quickly told me, in very short terms, he had sat his pack on a fire ant hill while we ate. I questioned the intelligence of doing so, and Dudeman quickly questioned if I like my face the way it was.
Once the humor, or pain (depending on your viewpoint), of the situation was over. I helped Dudeman get the little critters of hell off his gear. Our adventure led us back to the parking area. Since we had not seen anything stalking together, we decided it would be best to try and split up and make our way to the truck.
I worked and area along the lake shore, that was a thick mess of tangled heaven. As I approached the base of a point that jutted out into the lake, I heard the tell tale sound of a pig rooting at the other end of the point. I knew what a rooting pig sounded like because, who doesn't know what a rooting pig sounds like?
It was game on. I pulled on the game face and began a slow meticulous approach to the last 75 yards. About a minute later, I was with in 20 yards of the rooting pig noise. The ground cover in between us was so thick, I still could not see the beast. Not wanting to leave Dudeman at the truck too long, I decided to make a final approach with the wind at my back. As I crept around the last bush between me and the beast, I came to full draw. I move slowly around the bush... then came face to face with the beast of beasts.
Growing up in Michigan, I am accustom to certain things in the woods. Squirrels, rabbits, an occasional grouse taking flight under your foot. But none of that prepared me for what I was facing at about 8 yards, at full draw, in the unbearable Texas sun.
There are times in life where you have to make split second decisions. Decisions that can be life or death, or embarrassment or heroism. This was one of them. Facing the beast at spitting distance created a few set of problems I needed to solve and right now. First and foremost was whether I should wet my pants or hold it in. Then I had to decide if what I was looking at was legal game for me to take with the licenses I had in my pocket.
In hindsight, I think I made good decisions in the spur of the moment. I did not wet myself, so the ride home in Dudemans truck was not at all a problem. And I decided the beast was not legal game for me to take. So I thanked God for letting me experience such a close encounter with one of the Texas road bumps, aka armadillo. I am just glad the beast didn't decide to run me over like a tank.
Friday, August 14, 2009
The Pawning of Murph
Greetings everyone. Glad to know everyone keeps coming back for more edge of your seat nothingness here. So everyone sit down, shut up and hang on for the latest ride in the diaries.
Mud got a 4 day weekend from work and he and the fam came out for the weekend. They spent Friday at the Zoo with Red and Tough Enough. Then they spent Saturday morning at the local car museum for their anniversary. Not sure how he swung that one, but I have to give him a thumbs up for one of the coolest ways to spend your anniversary!
Friday night, Mud and I snuck in a fishing trip to the same lake we spent 4th of July on with Fidge. The weather was perfect, if you were a duck or inside. It was raining and raining. A check of the RADAR showed it was going to be raining most the night. But we don't get out that often, and the sunny days certainly weren't proving very successful so why not go out in the rain and play ducks?
On the way to the lake, Mud was complaining about how I sent Murph home with him after their last visit. I thought it was a wonderful idea to pack him in the Mud Machine when no one was looking. I had a great week with out him around. Sounds like he behaved himself most the week. Fool gave himself away though, when Mud was packing up the fishing stuff for the weekend, Murph hid a few things from Mud. But Mud, being the ever vigilant man he is, did a second check of the fishing gear and noticed the missing items.
We got to the lake, launched with no problems, motor started with no problems. There were a couple redneck yachts racing around the lake, but they mostly stayed away from us. It was fun watching them trying to pull a redneck on a tube, and barely moving them. But we had bigger fish to fry... err rather catch.
It rained steady for the first hour or so. Between the redneck water sports and a rather good crappie bite, we barely noticed. We were pulling up halfway decent crappie every few minutes. I should say Mud was pulling up decent crappie every few minutes. I was getting skunked pretty bad. Then I had the hit of all hits. A monster. The gargantuan beast took my green/yellow grub on a 1/16th ounce jig like a semi hitting a deer in its headlights. My super stiff ultra light rod bent in half and the fight was on!
A few seconds later we landed the whale and got it safely into the boat. I was exhausted by the long fight, but knew I had to make sure it was a legal fish. I brought out the ole De-Liar scale/tape combo. Man if that thing could talk. Countless stories of all the big ole fish ole Nimrod has measured with it. I bet it could have its own BLOG diary. I stretched it out to the legal 14 inches and compared it to the whale in my hand. I took a double, then a triple take. I looked at Mud and then back at the fish.
She was just a hair shy of 14 inches, I mean like 13 inches and about 99/100ths. Just a hair short of being legal. I about cried. I then recalled some of the Yooper tricks Yoop talked of from her youth. I tried but nothing gave that fish the extra oopmh it needed to be legal. With tears welling up in my eyes, I put the fish back in the water. Maybe they weren't tears, it was raining ya know, nonetheless I was not happy to put back the Goliath.
We fished on. Mud continued his assault on my manhood, amassing about 6 fish in the basket before I had my first keeper. However, I did get the biggest, and the smallest fish of the day.
We received a call from Book who asked if it was raining. Dumbfounded Mud said yes and ended the call. A few minutes later it was Grey Beard calling. Again asking if it was raining. Grey Beard confirmed the RADAR indicated it was going to be raining for a while. News flashes even when we're on the water! But not five minutes after Mud disconnected with Grey Beard, the rain stopped and did not start again.
By time we pulled anchor and went toward the boat launch, I had started a comeback on the creel. Since numbers really don't matter, I won't bore you with those details. Lets just say Mud and I had out best day of the season. Not saying much, but at least we are moving forward not backward.
Looking back I realized we somehow had left Murph at baseops when we left. I am certainly not complaining but Mud and I each found out later Murph was not happy with us. On their return trip, Mud and family experienced an odd situation with the Mud Machine. They were cruising down the road when they heard what they first thought was a backfire. Turns out Murph had rigged the Mud Machine so a large amount of gas vapors got trapped in the muffler and at a set point ignited. Making a pretty spectacular boom. Blowing the Mud Machines muffler to pieces. Wish I could have been there, it sounds like it was a blast!
A few days later, I was putting new brakes on the Yoop machine. Got the corner in the air, tire off. I got up to go get some stands and tools, I walked about five feet and Murph jumped out of the bush, gave the Yoop machine a big ole push right off the jack onto the ground. I stood dumbfounded at first. I couldn't believe my eyes. When all was said and done, and simple 45 minute job turned into a 2 hour ordeal. I'll be damned if I am gonna let Murph keep me down.
Back to the drawing board. I thought I had pawned Murph off on Mud. I expected Mud to pawn him off somewhere far far away from me. But NOOOOO... he brings him back to my house. I had it all planned out and then the joke is on me. I will get rid of him one day, soon I hope there are only 48 days left until bow season, and I really don't want Murph as a hunting partner again this year.
Mud got a 4 day weekend from work and he and the fam came out for the weekend. They spent Friday at the Zoo with Red and Tough Enough. Then they spent Saturday morning at the local car museum for their anniversary. Not sure how he swung that one, but I have to give him a thumbs up for one of the coolest ways to spend your anniversary!
Friday night, Mud and I snuck in a fishing trip to the same lake we spent 4th of July on with Fidge. The weather was perfect, if you were a duck or inside. It was raining and raining. A check of the RADAR showed it was going to be raining most the night. But we don't get out that often, and the sunny days certainly weren't proving very successful so why not go out in the rain and play ducks?
On the way to the lake, Mud was complaining about how I sent Murph home with him after their last visit. I thought it was a wonderful idea to pack him in the Mud Machine when no one was looking. I had a great week with out him around. Sounds like he behaved himself most the week. Fool gave himself away though, when Mud was packing up the fishing stuff for the weekend, Murph hid a few things from Mud. But Mud, being the ever vigilant man he is, did a second check of the fishing gear and noticed the missing items.
We got to the lake, launched with no problems, motor started with no problems. There were a couple redneck yachts racing around the lake, but they mostly stayed away from us. It was fun watching them trying to pull a redneck on a tube, and barely moving them. But we had bigger fish to fry... err rather catch.
It rained steady for the first hour or so. Between the redneck water sports and a rather good crappie bite, we barely noticed. We were pulling up halfway decent crappie every few minutes. I should say Mud was pulling up decent crappie every few minutes. I was getting skunked pretty bad. Then I had the hit of all hits. A monster. The gargantuan beast took my green/yellow grub on a 1/16th ounce jig like a semi hitting a deer in its headlights. My super stiff ultra light rod bent in half and the fight was on!
A few seconds later we landed the whale and got it safely into the boat. I was exhausted by the long fight, but knew I had to make sure it was a legal fish. I brought out the ole De-Liar scale/tape combo. Man if that thing could talk. Countless stories of all the big ole fish ole Nimrod has measured with it. I bet it could have its own BLOG diary. I stretched it out to the legal 14 inches and compared it to the whale in my hand. I took a double, then a triple take. I looked at Mud and then back at the fish.
She was just a hair shy of 14 inches, I mean like 13 inches and about 99/100ths. Just a hair short of being legal. I about cried. I then recalled some of the Yooper tricks Yoop talked of from her youth. I tried but nothing gave that fish the extra oopmh it needed to be legal. With tears welling up in my eyes, I put the fish back in the water. Maybe they weren't tears, it was raining ya know, nonetheless I was not happy to put back the Goliath.
We fished on. Mud continued his assault on my manhood, amassing about 6 fish in the basket before I had my first keeper. However, I did get the biggest, and the smallest fish of the day.
We received a call from Book who asked if it was raining. Dumbfounded Mud said yes and ended the call. A few minutes later it was Grey Beard calling. Again asking if it was raining. Grey Beard confirmed the RADAR indicated it was going to be raining for a while. News flashes even when we're on the water! But not five minutes after Mud disconnected with Grey Beard, the rain stopped and did not start again.
By time we pulled anchor and went toward the boat launch, I had started a comeback on the creel. Since numbers really don't matter, I won't bore you with those details. Lets just say Mud and I had out best day of the season. Not saying much, but at least we are moving forward not backward.
Looking back I realized we somehow had left Murph at baseops when we left. I am certainly not complaining but Mud and I each found out later Murph was not happy with us. On their return trip, Mud and family experienced an odd situation with the Mud Machine. They were cruising down the road when they heard what they first thought was a backfire. Turns out Murph had rigged the Mud Machine so a large amount of gas vapors got trapped in the muffler and at a set point ignited. Making a pretty spectacular boom. Blowing the Mud Machines muffler to pieces. Wish I could have been there, it sounds like it was a blast!
A few days later, I was putting new brakes on the Yoop machine. Got the corner in the air, tire off. I got up to go get some stands and tools, I walked about five feet and Murph jumped out of the bush, gave the Yoop machine a big ole push right off the jack onto the ground. I stood dumbfounded at first. I couldn't believe my eyes. When all was said and done, and simple 45 minute job turned into a 2 hour ordeal. I'll be damned if I am gonna let Murph keep me down.
Back to the drawing board. I thought I had pawned Murph off on Mud. I expected Mud to pawn him off somewhere far far away from me. But NOOOOO... he brings him back to my house. I had it all planned out and then the joke is on me. I will get rid of him one day, soon I hope there are only 48 days left until bow season, and I really don't want Murph as a hunting partner again this year.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Rainy Day Bath
I know everyone is on the edge of their seats waiting to hear the latest adventure of ole Nimrod and his friends. Well wait no more, the latest entry to the diaries is upon us. This adventure was from the past weekend. Mud and family were over. I had asked him for some help clearing a few trees outta the front yard, eat a fancy dinner off the grill, hit a local fishing hole and have a campfire for the kids.
As usual Murphy was right by my side from the get go. We visited for a while and decided we should get the trees done so we could get on with the rest of the day. We step outside and it is a nice soaking rain. Not pouring, but the kind of rain you love for a garden, just not to work outside in. Mud and I dropped the trees to the ground, surprisingly causing no damage to anything but the trees. Murph must have been on a toilet break or something.
The 3 of us took a short break to fill up the saws and dry off a little. I grabbed the bottle of bar oil, and put the last few drops in the saw. I looked at Mud and laughed. Stuck my head in the door and told Yoop and Book we would be back in a few, had to run to the hardware store for some bar oil. I think Murph put it in the engine of the old Chevy, but I don't have proof.
A minor set back in my world and we were back in business. I had left Murph at the hardware store, hoping he would go home with someone else. We scooted back, minus one, and in a short time we had the trees cut into family sized portions. No problems at all.
Mud and Red stacked it all nice and neat while I cut it into proper portions. Then they both help drag the brush out back for rabbit and bird piles. Again no problems at all. I was now praying Murph would not find his way back. There was a nice old couple there he was talking with I think they took him home feeling sorry for him.
The next few hours went well. Cooked up the wieners and brats, warmed up some baked beans, and opened the bags of tater chips. Dinner fit for a king. We ate them down, and sat around talking about whether or not the clearing of the rain would hold up long enough to get some fishing in. Since we were already soaked from the tree cutting, we decided to give it a whorl.
Packed everything up in Muds beast and set off for a little lake down the road. I had taken Monkey to this lake for some shore fishing earlier in the year. It is off a campground and only a few miles from the house. We got there, located the launch amongst all the twists and turns of the campground. As we pulled up, I noticed the sign, in big BOLD letters... “No motors allowed. Gas or Electric.” Strike one.
After about 30 minutes we found our way out of the labyrinth of the campground back out to the road. Another few miles down the road were two other lakes, nearly twins that are supposed to hold decent fish. The map of the area showed they had public launch sites also. I navigated Mud to the first, drove down the road a few times, right were the map should the public launch but I'll be damned if it hadn't disappeared. Right off the face of the earth. Strike two.
We slid down the road to the twin lake, and found the launch... I think the township should invest in some signs to mark them though. As we approached I studied the old, worn out sign. Only thing I could make out was the lake name. Nothing prominent stating other restrictions. As we got closer I noticed the next issue.
Turns out the people Murph went home with lived on Lake twin #2. He beat us to the launch and turned the launch area into a muddy, soupy mess. Being Mud's truck is a big ole heavy 2 wheel drive Goliath. I quickly pointed the launch out to Mud. I said well I guess we can fish for a little bit from shore. Strike 3???
He stated “We can just carry the boat to the water.”
My first thought was “ummm... no.” But then I figured why not. What could really go wrong with carrying the boat from the trailer, through a few feet of muck into the water. I have done worse things for less money. Ball 1.
Mud backed the trailer up to the edge of the mud. We unstrapped everything, organized it a little and started rolling it off the trailer. So far so good. She was a tad heavy, not real cooperative, but we were getting the job done.
Just as the stern was in water, not mud, we started to get into it nearly knee deep. It wasn't mud, but nice thick, sticky, stinky, sucky, squishy muck. The kind that critters you don't want on your skin live in. But we were almost there. We could see the nice soft, sand just a few feet away.
We got ready for one last push out of the muck, when my sandal got sucked in and came off my foot. Not being one to see the obvious signs that come from basic things, I dug out the sandal and put it back on my foot. We readied for the push again and once our momentum was moving toward the lake, Murph jumped out from behind a bush, forced my foot to the bottom of the muck and pushed me by the shoulders into the muck. He could have waited until I was in the clean water, but nope. He felt the need to make sure I was covered in the nice stinky muck from my ankle to my elbow.
We were in a little Podunk town, but I don't think Yoop would have liked me seeing if the local female population at the bar liked the smell of fresh lake muck. I bet they would have been all over me though. Anywho, after a long little laugh we got the boat in the water, I cleaned up a little in the lake and off we went.
It was a windy day and the fish seemed to be holed up waiting for the Pocono race to come on the next day. Mud and I found a few small pan fish at the windward side of the lake. We were really into them.. Instead of catching a limit of nice fish it turned into a contest of who could catch the smallest fish. I was a tight race, but I think Mud won. The clouds started to roll back in and we made the trek across the lake back to the launch.
As you can imagine, getting the boat back on the trailer was not easiest thing in the world. Not nearly as hard as putting it in, but it certainly not the funniest thing. Mud has Red at the hand crank of the mini winch. Mud and I each took a side and we slid her up through the muck, onto the trailer.
Things to remember if you are on a fishing adventure with me and we face something out of the norm. Get back in the truck and drive home. Don't come up with a plan to overcome anything. Just cut your loss and head home to some cold beer and hot dogs.
Oh and by the time we got back to the house, it was raining to hard for the campfire for the kids.
As usual Murphy was right by my side from the get go. We visited for a while and decided we should get the trees done so we could get on with the rest of the day. We step outside and it is a nice soaking rain. Not pouring, but the kind of rain you love for a garden, just not to work outside in. Mud and I dropped the trees to the ground, surprisingly causing no damage to anything but the trees. Murph must have been on a toilet break or something.
The 3 of us took a short break to fill up the saws and dry off a little. I grabbed the bottle of bar oil, and put the last few drops in the saw. I looked at Mud and laughed. Stuck my head in the door and told Yoop and Book we would be back in a few, had to run to the hardware store for some bar oil. I think Murph put it in the engine of the old Chevy, but I don't have proof.
A minor set back in my world and we were back in business. I had left Murph at the hardware store, hoping he would go home with someone else. We scooted back, minus one, and in a short time we had the trees cut into family sized portions. No problems at all.
Mud and Red stacked it all nice and neat while I cut it into proper portions. Then they both help drag the brush out back for rabbit and bird piles. Again no problems at all. I was now praying Murph would not find his way back. There was a nice old couple there he was talking with I think they took him home feeling sorry for him.
The next few hours went well. Cooked up the wieners and brats, warmed up some baked beans, and opened the bags of tater chips. Dinner fit for a king. We ate them down, and sat around talking about whether or not the clearing of the rain would hold up long enough to get some fishing in. Since we were already soaked from the tree cutting, we decided to give it a whorl.
Packed everything up in Muds beast and set off for a little lake down the road. I had taken Monkey to this lake for some shore fishing earlier in the year. It is off a campground and only a few miles from the house. We got there, located the launch amongst all the twists and turns of the campground. As we pulled up, I noticed the sign, in big BOLD letters... “No motors allowed. Gas or Electric.” Strike one.
After about 30 minutes we found our way out of the labyrinth of the campground back out to the road. Another few miles down the road were two other lakes, nearly twins that are supposed to hold decent fish. The map of the area showed they had public launch sites also. I navigated Mud to the first, drove down the road a few times, right were the map should the public launch but I'll be damned if it hadn't disappeared. Right off the face of the earth. Strike two.
We slid down the road to the twin lake, and found the launch... I think the township should invest in some signs to mark them though. As we approached I studied the old, worn out sign. Only thing I could make out was the lake name. Nothing prominent stating other restrictions. As we got closer I noticed the next issue.
Turns out the people Murph went home with lived on Lake twin #2. He beat us to the launch and turned the launch area into a muddy, soupy mess. Being Mud's truck is a big ole heavy 2 wheel drive Goliath. I quickly pointed the launch out to Mud. I said well I guess we can fish for a little bit from shore. Strike 3???
He stated “We can just carry the boat to the water.”
My first thought was “ummm... no.” But then I figured why not. What could really go wrong with carrying the boat from the trailer, through a few feet of muck into the water. I have done worse things for less money. Ball 1.
Mud backed the trailer up to the edge of the mud. We unstrapped everything, organized it a little and started rolling it off the trailer. So far so good. She was a tad heavy, not real cooperative, but we were getting the job done.
Just as the stern was in water, not mud, we started to get into it nearly knee deep. It wasn't mud, but nice thick, sticky, stinky, sucky, squishy muck. The kind that critters you don't want on your skin live in. But we were almost there. We could see the nice soft, sand just a few feet away.
We got ready for one last push out of the muck, when my sandal got sucked in and came off my foot. Not being one to see the obvious signs that come from basic things, I dug out the sandal and put it back on my foot. We readied for the push again and once our momentum was moving toward the lake, Murph jumped out from behind a bush, forced my foot to the bottom of the muck and pushed me by the shoulders into the muck. He could have waited until I was in the clean water, but nope. He felt the need to make sure I was covered in the nice stinky muck from my ankle to my elbow.
We were in a little Podunk town, but I don't think Yoop would have liked me seeing if the local female population at the bar liked the smell of fresh lake muck. I bet they would have been all over me though. Anywho, after a long little laugh we got the boat in the water, I cleaned up a little in the lake and off we went.
It was a windy day and the fish seemed to be holed up waiting for the Pocono race to come on the next day. Mud and I found a few small pan fish at the windward side of the lake. We were really into them.. Instead of catching a limit of nice fish it turned into a contest of who could catch the smallest fish. I was a tight race, but I think Mud won. The clouds started to roll back in and we made the trek across the lake back to the launch.
As you can imagine, getting the boat back on the trailer was not easiest thing in the world. Not nearly as hard as putting it in, but it certainly not the funniest thing. Mud has Red at the hand crank of the mini winch. Mud and I each took a side and we slid her up through the muck, onto the trailer.
Things to remember if you are on a fishing adventure with me and we face something out of the norm. Get back in the truck and drive home. Don't come up with a plan to overcome anything. Just cut your loss and head home to some cold beer and hot dogs.
Oh and by the time we got back to the house, it was raining to hard for the campfire for the kids.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Rotten Stand
Work and life have been keeping me busy the past few weeks. Hate to leave y'all hanging out there, itching for another great adventure with ole Nimrod. So I go back in the archives to keep you all hooked on the great reading here at the Diaries.
A few seasons back, I was hunting the family land. I was having a great season, saw no deer but that's not what is all about. I decided to take to the air and lugged my climbing tree stand to the woods. I was in a hurry since I had left late. Dusk was running the final stretch. Murphy really wanted to come with me that night, but I told him no, because I did not have anytime for his antics. After a short debate, he came along anyway.
Ever notice how anywhere there is great deer sign there are no trees to climb. The ones that are there are either too far or are too skinny. As we all know deer are smart critters. I am getting close to uncovering proof that deer hold conferences and have advanced tracking of hunters, and a very sophisticated means of relaying the information to other deer. Including, proof that deer put GPS tracking chips into hunters while they are napping in the woods. Call me crazy but there is no other way they can avoid such a savvy hunter like me, without advanced technology. The report will be coming soon and you will be the first to hear.
Anywho... back to the adventure. I had checked the area before and found a tree that was actually climbable and with in bow range of where I wanted the deer to be. I hooked everything up and scooted to shooting height. There was a cold front coming in, time for the deer to be moving. Wind was picking up in front of the pressure system and made for a rather noisy day in the woods.
Heights and I don't get along. Its not really the height that gets to me, but the chance of falling and then the sudden stop at the end. Hunting out of a tree stand is not my favorite way to hunt. Not cause it is unfair or unsporting, its just the thought of suddenly stopping at the ground if I should fall. That night was the worst time to be in a tree. Strong winds had me waving back and forth in the stand like a flag on the ocean.
After about an hour or so, I relaxed my bear hug on the tree enough to breath again. This seemed to help my ears work better cause it was then I heard the eerie creaking of the tree. It was not a normal sound of a tree creaking in the wind. First I wasn't sure what it was but I was certain it was not good. I glanced up the tree and noticed all the leaves were gone. Looking around no other trees were found missing their leaves. Glancing up the tree again, I realized the bark was also falling off the tree. I knocked on the tree with my release and heard the tell tale sound of a rotten tree.
Being a Michigan man, I am not scared of many things. I quickly made my climb down the tree, knees knocking the whole way, hoping my weight didn't off set the rotten old tree enough to send it crashing to the ground. Dusk was nearly on me, but my never say die attitude kicked in and I quickly climbed a tree I had spent many days in before. It was out of range of any deer trail, didn't provide much cover and was down wind of where the deer should have come from.
Once back in the air, I quickly readied everything and settled back in. I put the bow in the holder, put my release back on my wrist and reached for an arrow out of the quiver. Since my quiver was still on the ground I was not able to reach the arrow from 15 feet above. I said a few cuss words and saw Ole Murph run away toward the truck. I climbed back down the solid tree, and sat the last few rays of daylight out at the base of the tree. Nothing came by.
I later determined the reason I had seen nothing that night had nothing to do with the amount of noise and cussing I made. It was a result of the weather. The wind had been so strong, the deer stayed inside their house, waiting it out. Everyone knows deer don't come out to play or eat when it is windy, or when they may get rained on. If you didn't know that, stay tuned to the Diaries for my report on how deer track hunters and other useless information you probably all ready know.
A few seasons back, I was hunting the family land. I was having a great season, saw no deer but that's not what is all about. I decided to take to the air and lugged my climbing tree stand to the woods. I was in a hurry since I had left late. Dusk was running the final stretch. Murphy really wanted to come with me that night, but I told him no, because I did not have anytime for his antics. After a short debate, he came along anyway.
Ever notice how anywhere there is great deer sign there are no trees to climb. The ones that are there are either too far or are too skinny. As we all know deer are smart critters. I am getting close to uncovering proof that deer hold conferences and have advanced tracking of hunters, and a very sophisticated means of relaying the information to other deer. Including, proof that deer put GPS tracking chips into hunters while they are napping in the woods. Call me crazy but there is no other way they can avoid such a savvy hunter like me, without advanced technology. The report will be coming soon and you will be the first to hear.
Anywho... back to the adventure. I had checked the area before and found a tree that was actually climbable and with in bow range of where I wanted the deer to be. I hooked everything up and scooted to shooting height. There was a cold front coming in, time for the deer to be moving. Wind was picking up in front of the pressure system and made for a rather noisy day in the woods.
Heights and I don't get along. Its not really the height that gets to me, but the chance of falling and then the sudden stop at the end. Hunting out of a tree stand is not my favorite way to hunt. Not cause it is unfair or unsporting, its just the thought of suddenly stopping at the ground if I should fall. That night was the worst time to be in a tree. Strong winds had me waving back and forth in the stand like a flag on the ocean.
After about an hour or so, I relaxed my bear hug on the tree enough to breath again. This seemed to help my ears work better cause it was then I heard the eerie creaking of the tree. It was not a normal sound of a tree creaking in the wind. First I wasn't sure what it was but I was certain it was not good. I glanced up the tree and noticed all the leaves were gone. Looking around no other trees were found missing their leaves. Glancing up the tree again, I realized the bark was also falling off the tree. I knocked on the tree with my release and heard the tell tale sound of a rotten tree.
Being a Michigan man, I am not scared of many things. I quickly made my climb down the tree, knees knocking the whole way, hoping my weight didn't off set the rotten old tree enough to send it crashing to the ground. Dusk was nearly on me, but my never say die attitude kicked in and I quickly climbed a tree I had spent many days in before. It was out of range of any deer trail, didn't provide much cover and was down wind of where the deer should have come from.
Once back in the air, I quickly readied everything and settled back in. I put the bow in the holder, put my release back on my wrist and reached for an arrow out of the quiver. Since my quiver was still on the ground I was not able to reach the arrow from 15 feet above. I said a few cuss words and saw Ole Murph run away toward the truck. I climbed back down the solid tree, and sat the last few rays of daylight out at the base of the tree. Nothing came by.
I later determined the reason I had seen nothing that night had nothing to do with the amount of noise and cussing I made. It was a result of the weather. The wind had been so strong, the deer stayed inside their house, waiting it out. Everyone knows deer don't come out to play or eat when it is windy, or when they may get rained on. If you didn't know that, stay tuned to the Diaries for my report on how deer track hunters and other useless information you probably all ready know.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Murphy, Murphy, Murphy
I am starting to feel like I am bashing on Mud here at the diaries. Not my intent. He is good people. I figured I will tell an adventure that he was not involved in to prove, it is not always the problem.
Toward the end of last deer season, the weather was cold and we had a lot of snow. This is Michigan and all but we had A LOT of snow, even for around here. It had a nice little 2 inch ice covering over all of it. Most spots anyhow, I could take about 3 steps before breaking through and being thigh deep in the glorious white stuff. If you have never been out in snow like this, check it out. Makes great exercise as long as you don't mind spooking every deer for a few miles out of the area.
I was wandering around the land across the street, it is most open in the dead of winter, except for all the scrub oak bushes everywhere. As I crunched along, I remember why it is not good to drink a lot of pop before you go out hunting. I held off the calling as long as I could and decided to write my name in the snow.
This hunt I had my Fred Bear Archery Grizzly recurve with me, and had my side quiver slung across the back. Once I found a good spot to water the dead grass under all the snow, I shouldered the bow and did what I needed to do. A few seconds later I heard a loud tang. The bow jumped off my shoulder and I jumped messing up the “m” in Nimrod.
I looked behind me thinking someone had pulled some sort or prank, you know the old candid camera/rigging up the recurve bow to bounce off the shoulder trick. Its a classic but not so funny when it happens to you.
Giving up on the writing lesson for the day, I walked over to the bow. The thing jumped and had to have sprung some mini wings and rocket boosters. It went from my shoulder to nice place under a tall Pine tree 30 feet away. I picked it up, checked her over but found no evidence of the wings or boosters. My old friend Murphy mustta played the trick on me. He is a quick one that ole Murph.
Inspecting the situation further, the bow string had a nice straight cut across it. First thing I believed was Murph had snuck Yoops scissors from the house, but then I remembered I keep them all dry and squeaky. Never know when Yoop might come after the winter hunting beard. I start it in Spring and keep it around all year. Never know when a good huntin' beard will come in handy.
Anywho, back to dissecting Murphy's trick. . . I then realized that the only other sharp thing near the bow string was on of my super duper, razor like, so sharp the deer just give up at the site of them broadheads. Not being a nimrod Nimrod, I noticed one of the heads was sticking out just ever so slightly from the quiver. It had to have been ole Murph damn it. There is no way I would have left that arrow sticking out. Absolutely not. Each and everytime I go out hunting, or fishing, or anything, I check, re check and then check again to ensure everything is covered. Only once ever other adventure do I not perform the check, re check and check again. Well I do it once or twice a season.
But it doesn't matter. Murph caused me to end my hunt early. It went from a nice, noisy, crunchy mid winter stalk to a noisy crunchy, mid winter walk in the woods. If I can come across a deer that was deaf, blind and sleeping, I just may have gotten a shot. But noooooo, Murph has to play his dumb little trick and I am left walking thru the woods like some tree hugger. I really need to find a new friend.
Toward the end of last deer season, the weather was cold and we had a lot of snow. This is Michigan and all but we had A LOT of snow, even for around here. It had a nice little 2 inch ice covering over all of it. Most spots anyhow, I could take about 3 steps before breaking through and being thigh deep in the glorious white stuff. If you have never been out in snow like this, check it out. Makes great exercise as long as you don't mind spooking every deer for a few miles out of the area.
I was wandering around the land across the street, it is most open in the dead of winter, except for all the scrub oak bushes everywhere. As I crunched along, I remember why it is not good to drink a lot of pop before you go out hunting. I held off the calling as long as I could and decided to write my name in the snow.
This hunt I had my Fred Bear Archery Grizzly recurve with me, and had my side quiver slung across the back. Once I found a good spot to water the dead grass under all the snow, I shouldered the bow and did what I needed to do. A few seconds later I heard a loud tang. The bow jumped off my shoulder and I jumped messing up the “m” in Nimrod.
I looked behind me thinking someone had pulled some sort or prank, you know the old candid camera/rigging up the recurve bow to bounce off the shoulder trick. Its a classic but not so funny when it happens to you.
Giving up on the writing lesson for the day, I walked over to the bow. The thing jumped and had to have sprung some mini wings and rocket boosters. It went from my shoulder to nice place under a tall Pine tree 30 feet away. I picked it up, checked her over but found no evidence of the wings or boosters. My old friend Murphy mustta played the trick on me. He is a quick one that ole Murph.
Inspecting the situation further, the bow string had a nice straight cut across it. First thing I believed was Murph had snuck Yoops scissors from the house, but then I remembered I keep them all dry and squeaky. Never know when Yoop might come after the winter hunting beard. I start it in Spring and keep it around all year. Never know when a good huntin' beard will come in handy.
Anywho, back to dissecting Murphy's trick. . . I then realized that the only other sharp thing near the bow string was on of my super duper, razor like, so sharp the deer just give up at the site of them broadheads. Not being a nimrod Nimrod, I noticed one of the heads was sticking out just ever so slightly from the quiver. It had to have been ole Murph damn it. There is no way I would have left that arrow sticking out. Absolutely not. Each and everytime I go out hunting, or fishing, or anything, I check, re check and then check again to ensure everything is covered. Only once ever other adventure do I not perform the check, re check and check again. Well I do it once or twice a season.
But it doesn't matter. Murph caused me to end my hunt early. It went from a nice, noisy, crunchy mid winter stalk to a noisy crunchy, mid winter walk in the woods. If I can come across a deer that was deaf, blind and sleeping, I just may have gotten a shot. But noooooo, Murph has to play his dumb little trick and I am left walking thru the woods like some tree hugger. I really need to find a new friend.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)