Date/Subject

12/06/2000 Medico Interuptum Non Huntum (Cont'd)

12/10/2000 Test Hunt (3rd AMDH)

12/31/2000 Tying Off 2000

03/28/2001 Sumter, Revisited

04/20/2001 In Further Evidence

06/20/2001 Building And Rebuilding

07/15/2001 Building Up And Scouting

08/24/2001 Now It Begins

09/15/2001 *Statement*

09/21/2001 NC Season Beginnings

09/30/2001 Next! Inbetweens

10/30/2001 Seasons Change And Progress

Entry, Dec 06, 2000

Medico Interuptum Non Huntum (Cont'd)

Well, it is later, Dec. 4th to be exact. Later and a new page besides. (I didn't want to start another until after the New year but the previous one got unwieldy.) I'm getting back to some degree of normalcy and we had the daughter and her daughters over for a delayed Thanksgiving Dinner yesterday. We had a little eggnog toast and Onesty made it, a nice one directed towards being together and having Poppa (that's yours truly) back home. "Better Late Than Never", particularly applies at times like these. I go back to see my surgeon tomorrow and I think reports will be favorable. (Note: They were - do whatever I feel I can, except no lifting for six weeks.)

Now, where was I? Ah yes, the brothers. While I was "in" that short stay to check the ticker before settling on the real culprit, one day two men were ushered into my room and towards the vacant bed. One to be the patient, the other his brother. I took in their fashionably wrinkled cotton clothes of the type now favored by fly fisherman and other outdoorsy types, their close beards and mustaches, billed caps (covering less than hairy heads), and wind/sun weathered faces, with their easy relaxed air. "My gosh," I thought, "it is a couple of Flip Pallott's brethren. Later Dee, the brother, admitted he didn't know Flip but it surprised him since he admitted he does know most of those types in the Florida Keys. Richard the, patient wasn't sure but he had other things on his mind. For those of you who might not know, Flip Pallot was a big time successful bank executive who went on fishing trips to The Keys. The trips became more important to his life then the work until finally he realized his true calling. He chucked his old business-suit life and became a Florida Keys fly-fishing guide, promoter, video producer/director, and finally (rightly so) TV Star on the outdoors circuit - also author I believe. You can't help but like his shows and his attitude towards fishing, fish, conservation, and friendships. A very enthusiastic and personable man, intelligent and well read, yet natural is Ol' Flip. These brothers could have been his brothers. I overheard Richard had received, "his cabbage," (a term new to me but apparently commonly used among heart by-pass patients) a few years earlier and had felt like he was having symptoms that might indicate a relapse or new trouble. Nothing to mess with and he would undergo all the same testing I was getting. In fact we went together for a couple of them.

As soon as they got settled in I asked the question I already felt I knew the answer to. "What were, you guys boating down the Inland Waterway?" They were and Dee's boat was now docked in the Beaufort Harbor, also no surprise. We hit it off right from the start and, I think, made each other's stay and Dee's visits a little easier and more pleasant. Dee was having to thumb rides back and forth from the boat to the hospital so he made up a sign like colege kids do. It said, "Hospital" on one side and, "Beaufort City Docks," on the other. We kidded him a lot about it , which my family and some of the nurses got in on, but it worked for him. We had hunting and fly-fishing in common, among other things. It seemed that Dee buys an old but sound sailing boat about every year or so, reworks it to a fair-thee-well, and then sails it down to the Florida Keys to sell at a tidy little profit. He had impressed Richard into service as his First Mate this year. Unfortunately it had turned out to be more stress than Richard was ready for. Richard was released the night before me on the condition he fly back to his wife and his family doctor in California. I've since found out he is doing well - and likes my web site, the guy can't be all-bad. Dee would pick up another mate and sail on to Florida before returning to his home in the upper part of Michigan. Lucky (read smart) dog has land and waters up there to make any old hunter/fisherman's mouth water. My daughter, Lois had offered to take Richard to Jacksonville to make his flight so he wouldn't have to hire a cab in a strange area to take him to a stranger area that he also didn't know. He is family oriented and was more than pleased. He also made it well worth her while, which was great since with her I know (under normal financial circumstances) she would have been more than happy to do it for little more then gas money. It came in handy for her and the girls. Thank you, Richard. You sometimes meet the nicest, most interesting folks while you are just sort of hanging around, even in hospitals.

When they did release me it was just for a couple days and then back in for a scope job down the old gullet to ascertain what had gone wrong there. Then right back in the following day for corrective/reconstructive surgery. However I was grossly misinformed about the fact of getting out the day after my surgery - major breakdown in communications. It actually took about a week and a half before I was released. The surgery and recovery all went well thanks to Dr.(s), Nurses, Nurses Aids, roommates, and family and friends visits. There was one little glitch when an unexpected cough caused a spasm in my chest piping somehow that almost took me out of the contest and did send me back to ICU for one day. I think it was just to remind me I'm not invincible (I thought I was doing great) and that "Shit Happens!" It was scary but I was back on the mend again the next day.

The following is a message I sent out the evening I was released from the hospital. It got posted on one of the My Family sites and the response in general was that folks were happy to see my sense of humor was not one of the things that got removed. It kind of ties up the loose ends of this story so I think it fits here.

Hello my dear friends, neighbors, and relatives. Just a quickie to let all know I am "back in the saddle again" and feeling pretty good for an old hacked up piece of meat. My "Remodeling and Interior Decorating" type surgery has been accomplished and I returned from the hospital today about noon. Now about all I have to be concerned with is the healing of the stomach muscles that needed to be incised to give them room to haul out the old throw-away furniture and replace it with the new, improved models. Last time ('83) that took about a year but in many ways I am in better shape and more active now than I was then so perhaps it won't take as long. I have to wait awhile before starting any really constructive work on the muscles to prevent possible hernias of course. I'll find out more about rehab, etc. during the next couple of weeks when I have my recall appointments with my surgeon and family Drs, Hogg and Nutz (both great by the way, in spite of the funny names). I wish to express my heartfelt thanks for all the thoughts, prayers, cards/e-mail msgs, etc. and especially our dear friend, Kat for keeping the closest of you up to date during my absence. Many of you also expressed your thanks for that and it meant a lot to her. I know your interest and support made things easier and better for me, and now I'll try to get back to "Normal" (as I ever am) as quick as I can and quit bugging you with my trials and tribulations. OK, everyone back into the pool and/or back to the party. Love and thanks to all of you, Bernie and Rose.

Please allow me one final point of interest to this posting. My last and lengthiest roommate was a special young man in this day and age. Shortly after they transferred me back down from my unplanned stay in ICU Jimmy was brought in as my roommate. He was the only victim of a car accident that my wife, Rose and Lois, my daughter had just been telling me they had passed on their way to visit me. He was not one of the drivers and in fact didn't even see it happen as he was turned towards the back seat, playing with his friend's baby. The impact and his seat belt joined forces and tried their best to make two Jimmies out of him. He had four fractured ribs, two cracks in his spine, a lacerated liver, and was in intense pain. The doctors had him under close observation, as there was great potential for any or all of those problems to go south on the thirty-year-old patient. Fortunately he was young, strong, and most important (I think) of good attitude and humor. He also had a circle of relatives and friends for the darnedest support group (outside of mine) anyone could ask for. Nice, considerate, intelligent, down to earth people - all of them. I expressed the old adage, "Birds of a feather flock together." many times during that next week. I am happy to say, Jimmy got to go home a couple days or so after me and was doing fine, thank God.

Jimmy's sense of humor is a match for mine and we had a lot of good conversations and jokes - It only hurts when we laugh, Nurse. It was no wonder he has so many nice friends. That very first day, while he was still in bad pain, after introductions from his family (some got there before him) he waited for a quiet moment and then called my name around the curtain.

"Bernie?"

"Yeah, Jimmy?"

"Do you like The Simpsons, Bernie?"

I laughed at this out of context question (I figured it was the pain medicine talking) but told him I'd never really gotten into them, however I had been exposed to them as my daughter and her daughters liked and watched them.

He replied, " Well, they come on tonight at 10:30," he paused and then added, "I just wanted you to know that, just in case, you know?" I could almost see the wink that would have gone with it if he could've managed it. Laughter is the best medicine, and it served to relieve the tension in all of his anxious friends and relatives standing in the room. Jimmy was back, they seemed to feel. A little later, while nurses were in doing nursey things with hospital torture devices, an admin type came in and had to ask the customary questions for the records. To one query he answered that his mother would be taking care of him when he was released and then, as to his age, he told them thirty. He then added through the pain, "I know over thirty and still living with my mother. Now, I don't want all of you to start hitting on me at the same time." These two little exchanges informed me I had a roommate whose company I was gonna be pleased with.

Jimmy has been a waiter at the same restaurant for seven years now. He loves it and I'll bet his customers do too. I know his employer and fellow employees think the world of him. It also seems he's written some articles for a web site one of his friends has designed and they maintain. It is down right now for remodeling but I'm looking forward to visiting it. You take care, Jimmy and travel easy. All the best to you, your family and friends.

Entry, Dec. 10, 2000

Test Hunt (3rd AMDH)

Randy traveled up from SC yesterday to bring us my special processed meats from my SC deer and pig. Nice of his family to do that so we could have it in time for some little extra Christmas gifts. I had them done all in sausage, venison bologna and venison summer sausage - great snack meats. Also we decided before hand to take my remodeled body on a test hunt and, since it is close to time, make that test hunt our 3rd Annual Mosquito Ditch Hunt. Well, it kind of was and kind of wasn't as doe season isn't open yet and Jabo couldn't be with us as he had to work at the last minute. We were afraid Randy might not be able to get back up for the last week of the season to do a AMDH then, so we flung ourselves into it now. We came up empty handed but it was still a great hunt. Jabo and I will try to do another the last week of the season and perhaps The Ranman can sneak back in for it. It was the best weather conditions for it we've had yet with the exception that the sun wasn't out enough to make it enticing for the deer to lay out in the marsh grass. We did have the wind and it was out of the North - but with no sun - Brrrrrrr! We did kick up one doe but of course could not shoot. Thank you, Lord for that success though. It always makes you feel better to see them, regardless. We also saw a family of five large Otter playing in the creek. They were so busy rolling each other over and over in the water that we were almost up to them before they realized we were there and scattered. What a neat site to be treated to.

The important thing is, I got out there and found out the body is bouncing back very well, thank you. On the way up the creek the emotion of being able to be back out there almost overwhelmed me. I involuntarily reached up to lay my hand on Randy's elbow. He was standing up while driving to keep an eye out for snags, etc. and I meant to speak. He glanced down at me but I couldn't respond - the wind seemed to be taking my breath away and making my eyes water right at that moment. He diplomatically said, "Great to be out here ain't it,buddy?"

I managed to croak, "Yeah, thanks for this, bud!" After all a few short weeks ago I wasn't sure I'd be out here at all and even after that, not sure it would be this year. It certainly wouldn't have been that soon after my operation in '83. Besides, how many guys would want to go out of their way to take an "old fart" recuperating from an operation out on a "test hunt"? He had wanted to - and Jabo had been ready to also. Good friends are a blessing.

It took us a little longer to make our horseshoe sweeps of the mosquito ditches. There were only two of us instead of three and the marshes grasses haven't been beaten down by hurricanes this year (not complaining). So on the last sweep I found myself tiring considerable as we worked back towards the boat. My legs weren't quite in tone to lift up over, or plow through, the grasses anymore and my stomach muscles could provide no further help. Randy had been watching me pretty close all day anyway and, looking over from his ditch bank, noticed I was beginning to labor. He called over to see if I was OK and I told him it was getting a little rough and why. It took less time than you would think for him to make it to the boat, over to my ditch, and back to where I had stalled out. With a comment about how "super heavy" the grass was there and what was I doing messing around in that stuff anyway, he turned and broke trail to the boat for me. Yep, a real blessing. I feel great this morning, by the way, and now I know I can get out more before the season ends. A very comforting thought, I'm here to tell you.

Note: I'd like to "tuck in" a couple of loose ends here, rather than making a new (Entry) subject heading for them. The two are connected but only because one made me recall the other. One is new, sort of; the other is something of import that I left out when doing the report on the last SC hunt.

First I'd like to refer those of you who enjoy fishing and hunting stories or just like to see a well organized, colorful site to Woods & Rivers, done by one of my fellow "residents" at bohunting.net. I enjoy John Russo's site and know you will. He also updates his site on a regular basis as I (try to) do and is another hunter who seems to prove "Hunters Are People Too", in my opinion. He and his friends fly and bait fish and hunt deer and hogs, mostly in Florida. He also has some really nifty interactive games of shot placement and trailing wounded game at his site. John and I have exchanged some e-mail messages. I like him and his work and think you will too. Try it, you'll like it. Click on his site name above or look for a link in my Hot Links table on the Life and Times Page, but please come back here afterwards.

The second item is something Randy and I observed in SC that really set our teeth on edge. I had meant to speak of it in my report but it is such a distasteful subject I guess my mind blocked it out. The other day I revisited John Russo's site to catch up on his scouting and hunting journal and he also was lamenting a disturbing site he had come across. That reminded me I had left out the item in question. It also further assured me John Russo is my kind of hunter.

One morning of that latest SC hunt, when Randy and I got to the public boat ramp we used for our hunts, we were greeted by a sight respectable hunters always hate to see. Laying beside the trash cans right at the top of the ramp were two large deer carcasses, not even field dressed. They were more then likely dropped there during the night and from the bloating of the bodies it would appear they were carried around most of the day before in the sun. Probably come evening the killers (notice I did not say hunters) just didn't feel like cleaning them or as Randy said perhaps they never planned to in the first place. One was a mature buck the other an almost as large doe. All the Slobs had taken the trouble to do was cut the antlers off the body of the buck. As if the whole scene and the thoughts and imaginings it brought to the fore weren't bad enough, then they had to deposit them there in that public spot for poor unsuspecting families of all sorts and ages to be subjected to. The waste of the animals and meat was a terrible shame but the disregard of other people's feelings and hunters reputations in general is unforgivable. Remember if these type of people are to be referred to as hunters at all, it should only be as reputable hunters refer to them - SLOB HUNTERS. Even then Randy and I prefer to call them simply KILLERS. I'm sorry to bring this dark subject up in these pages, in a way, but it needed to be said and denounced. Those types of lowlifes are not "Hunters" and probably not even "People" either. OK, I'm through. Better thoughts and images next time, I promise.

Entry, Dec. 31, 2000

Tying Off 2000

As Y2K (with all it's hoop-la and folderol) draws to an end, I take keyboard in hand to "pen" a few catch-up items. Randy has done some hog, deer, and duck excursions in his home area but no real successes. He did have one decent duck day and also had one encounter with a herd (about 10 head) of pigs that garnered excitement and pleasure but no harvests to report. I drooled over that - would love to have been there but I knew the place he spoke of so it was almost like being there. I got out about three times with Jabo but we saw nuttin, nuttin, nuttin. Rose didn't really feel comfortable with me going out alone yet and since it has been cold and nasty (as in most of the country) I gave in to her good judgment. Randy, Jabo, and I will make another stab at our 3rd Annual Mosquito Ditch Hunt. I'm actually starting this report on the 30th, the day we will do it. Then Randy will have to leave Sunday but Jabo and I may try it again Monday the 1st of Jan which is the actual end of the season. That is if Saturday's hunt makes it look worth another try. Those will all become a part of this report once completed. I wanted to jump-start this a little with a couple items that have occurred between the last entry and now though.

I did get to go to the last Turkey Shoot of the year (at my favorite one) even though I had to go to it alone. Rose went along with that outing on my own. Sonny had wanted to go but it didn't work out. He and Connie have a Foster child now that they are working on adopting and it keeps them blissfully busy. (I'll be talking more about that later - the baby boy has a good Irish name and looks like Sonny could have spit him out. All their friends and relatives are praying it works out for them to be a permanent family. Oh, his name is Sean and he's another pistol.) Scott also was going but we missed connections until we actually got there. Due to the medical interruptions I only got to go to the first one of the season and now this last one. I won three times at the first one but this last one I wanted to attend just to let folks know I was back in the game of life. How-some-ever, I happened to have a "leettel" bit of good luck also. In fact I think some of the guys (and gals) kinda wished I had stayed home. Naw, it's all in good fun and raises money for the White Oak Volunteer Fire Department. I won Four times though and copped a bait of Sausage, bacon, pork chops, and a half of a hog!!! Then to top it off, a friend of mine who normally wins his share couldn't seem to get in the winning circle that night and asked me to fire on a special one for him. I told him I'd be more then happy to as long as he realized I was not winning all of them, which of course he did. I told him I would love to be able to win it for him and that nothing would tickle me more. I'll be damned if I didn't win it for him! Thank you, Lord - from both of us. Oh yeah, the "special" part? It also was for a half a hog! My half a hog is going to a little different type of good cause this year. Ever since we moved here, every time Jabo barbecues a pig (which he does exceedingly well, while Kat prepares all the delicious "fixins") for his large, extended family, we are invited, welcomed, and not allowed to bring anything. Well next time they may still do the work but I'm donating the pig - they allow as how they are ready for another "pig pickin'", as soon as this cold snap breaks. I know - it's a bunch colder in other parts of the country but it's all relative and after all this is North Carolina. Gonna be a particularly goooood pig because of how "we" came by it.

Let me lay groundwork for this next item by saying I check this web site often - real often (like I don't fully trust computer technology and expect it to disappear from sight momentarily). I check the site for operation in general, counter total, and I always go to my Guestbook to see if there are any new "tracks" there - it's exciting, just like scouting deer and other game. I am always truly pleased when there is a new entry there. Feedback is my pay for this labor of love. A couple of days ago I was particularly pleased and pleasantly surprised when I checked it. Not only was there a new entry but it was from Chad, the former Marine (there are no ex-Marines) turned Army that Randy and I met and hunted with at Mattamuskeet this year. I was tickled to hear from him and hear he had returned safely from his overseas assignment. He told me in a subsequent message that there were a couple tight spots but no real problems. That's what we like to hear! A hearty, "Welcome back," to you and all your "brothers", Chad. We also are looking forward to hunting with you again next year, friend. Chad was gonna take his wife hunting this week end (her first year) and he has his first hog hunt planned for next month so I may very well be reporting some of his exploits also, and happy to do so. Just feed me the facts, Bud - - - - and I'll try not to make you sound any more Elmer Fudd-ed up than the rest of us.

Speaking of that - - - the Triumphant Trio struck again on our second attempt at our 3rd Annual Mosquito Ditch Hunt. It turned off we did get sun but the wind wasn't in full cooperation. It blew across us instead of from the North, as we would like it to. Of course as cold as it was, a "Nowther" wind probably would have driven us off the marshes with our tails tucked. It was not quite as hard (for me) to negotiate the marsh grasses and hillocks as during our last attempt. I'm stronger now but the stomach still felt it in good shape by the end of the day. There were three of us this time but we worked more ditches. Fact is I sat one sweep out and rested up for the last sweep. We had finished that one and and just returned to where the boat was. It was the sweep where Randy and I had jumped the doe the other day and we took the buck last year. We had saved it for last as our ace in the hole, so to speak. Now we were back at the boat ready to load up and call it a day, figuring we had hit "Skunk City" and even our ace had let us down. Just at that time, what turned out to be the biggest button buck any of us three have ever seen, came busting across the marshes along our flank, headed for the creek. Evidently either our now unguarded conversation about ending the day, or the vocal workings of a Beagle and a larger hound off the edge of the marshes had spooked him into bolting. Of course at the time we assumed the young buck was a good-sized doe. He weighed just shy of eighty-five pounds live weight - a big button buck in anyone's book or area. We were all standing in a line sort of in preparation to board the boat. Randy and Jabo were facing the flank where the "bb" busted out; I was looking the other way, up the creek. Jabo sang out, "There she goes," at the same time Randy was opening his mouth. I swung around and got the first shot off somehow. Unfortunately in the swinging my foot hit an uneven spot and levered me backwards a little. My shot went high on the head and neck and while it slowed him down considerable, he dove into the creek. Jabo said he thought Randy's first couple of shots went high also but then he put one in the boiler factory and ended it. Jabo said he didn't get a shot off (Huh?). I only know I heard some shots other then mine and was aware of Randy's final shot. I had been too busy trying to regain my balance and clear my empty shot shell from the action where it had lodged when the recoil knocked me further off balance. That lack of balance had apparently made my working of the pump jerky instead of smooth as it normally is and needs to be. (Excuses are handy things, aren't they?) Anyway, there we were with another co-shot deer and our 3rd AMDH brought to a close successfully. Thank you, Lord (for so many things this year).

Randy had said before we went out that if we were to co-shoot a buck again this year, I could keep the antlers this time. After we finished cleaning the hefty young deer (that was some cold evening work, I'll tell you) Randy told me I could wait until the morning to remove the "antlers". Thanks a basket full! Smart alecky "out-of-state hunter", anyway! Randy and Jabo will share the meat (Jabo's deer-year has been pretty skinny). I had already decided if I got another one this year (by myself) it would go to the mission. Well, we still got Monday (tomorrow) the First of Jan. Who knows? In any case, I sure can't complain about my deer-year, nor can Randy.

Note, entered Jan. 02, 2001: Jabo and I did go out Jan. First, last day of the season, with an old friend of his who recently moved back to the area. We didn't return to the marsh but went elsewhere. George, the friend brought along a couple of his Beagle deer hounds. They jumped a buck that ran George's way first and he got off one shot but to no avail. He later said that the buck had a rack looking to have about six or eight points. The buck ran those two six-year-old, experienced dogs a merry chase for sure. He ran towards me twice and Jabo once but changed directions before we ever saw him. Did jump-start my heart, though at any rate. A number of times he led the dogs across his old trail in the course of his circles and at least twice the dogs veered off on his back-trail instead of the fresh one. Just what the buck wanted them to do. Those dog-savvy bucks can be pips, even for experienced dogs. I love all dogs and like to hear them work but dog-hunting deer is not really my cup of tea, (plus it was very cold and my stomach was feeling the strain) so I returned home in mid afternoon. Jabo and George stayed but had no further luck. That buck was destined to make scrapes and rubs in that area yet another year. That was it for our cusp-of-the-new-year hunt - goodbye 2000, hello 2001. I only have one question; when does deer season start???

Entry, March 28, 2001

Sumter, Revisited

I pulled into my driveway with a sigh of contentment. No matter how good a trip is, it is always soooo good to get back home. As I made the turn into the driveway my senses were further impressed with how much things can change in just four days at this time of year. Things were just budding with a bloom here and there when I left, but now a small profusion of color greeted my eyes. Saucer Magnolia in violet, yellow and white Daffodils, and some few reds and oranges from early Tulips and Azaleas made me smile in appreciation of spring's first delights. I was home after a great trip and even though this day had turned off cold it was beautiful. I had left four days ago in driving rain but it stopped about as I reached Sumter. We then were blessed with pretty darned good weather for our entire pig hunt/campout.

It had all started (not counting the planning and fine scouting by Allen and Randy) with my usual lonely drive to SC. First off the bat I want to say (and now I can) that it will be my last one of those. Let me hasten to explain, that doesn't mean I won't go anymore - just not alone. My buddy Allen is loosing a local hunting companion and I am regaining one. Yep, The Ranman is returning to NC to live and work, as of next month. His old employee here made him an offer he couldn't refuse. We would be hard pressed to give up the fine hunts we've had in SC but at least we'll be able to travel there together now. Hopefully we'll still have hunts with Allen, who by the way is planning to open his own photography business in the very near future. Something he's been aiming at ever since I've known him and before that. It gladdens my heart that good things are happening for my hunting/fishing partners. Couldn't happen to more deserving chaps and their families. Needless to say, I am tickled to death to have Randy returning (am I sure about that? already he's planning more stuff then I even want to consider) so we can share more spur of the moment local outings. Well after all, I need someone to drag my deer during weekdays when Jabo isn't available. This news just became final after my return so even though I was aware it was in the works (for logistic purposes); I was sworn to keep my big mouth shut. Mostly that was no problem except for during the recent hunt when our companions would talk to Randy about fishing and hunting plans for the very near future. I really had to bite my tongue to keep from blowing it. 'Bout bit the damn thing off. Anyway, everyone at both ends is aware of it now and as Randy said in his e-mail to me, "It is a done deal." I also know my wife will feel much better about any future trips now and about more of my local hunts not being done in single harness during the coming seasons. Welcome back to NC, Randy and family. Don't kiss us off in SC though, we shall return, Good Lord willing.

Quite often that phrase in the last remark is followed by, "and the crick (creek) don't rise." Believe me that was exactly the case all along the Congaree waterways where our pig hunt/catfish-fishing trip took place. No one we talked to seemed to know why for sure but it had started before the hunt and continued all through it. Places they had to drag a canoe to a couple weeks ago we motor boated to on the first day of the hunt and had trouble even locating on the last day. There had been rain but hardly enough to cause that effect. Some thoughts leaned towards dam openings. Others mused about spring runoffs but in my mind our location was too far from the mountains for that to be a factor - who knows? Never the less it was interesting to watch and note the changes. The night before we left, the water was so high we could not go back to hunt our first night's area and we had saved it for that as the best deal. Our plans were changed for us and not to the good. While motoring back to the camp that night we passed an extremely tall Cypress which now stood well out in the water. Up in the tree (way up) were two large Raccoons scurrying around and peering at us. I know they can swim and they fish for food in shallow water but we were not sure what they were doing out that far (deep). It gave us an extra memory and thus my choice of animation with this entry. I've always enjoyed watching Raccoons play.

My hunting buds had agreed that Allen would proceed to the selected campsite in his (father-in-law, Stan's) boat while Randy waited at his house for my arrival. That way the campsite could be secured for us and Allen could start setting up. Another friend of Randy's, Chris was to join us on Fri. night for limb/brush line catfish doings and Sat.'s hunts, etc. Chris is a Veterinarian and the President of a hunt club Randy belongs to. It turned out he couldn't get away to join us until Sat. morning due to emergency pet doctoring. After Randy and I arrived at the campsite we greeted Allen and renewed old bonds. Which means we exchanged insults, slurs, and harassment in general until we all felt comfortable in each other's company again. Know what I mean? Sure you do, it's a male bonding thing and a big part of the enjoyment. We did a little site baiting/checking and then turned to setting up our tents and the camp so it would be ready when we returned from the evening stand hunt after dark. Good thinking!

That first evening's hunt was to be all Allen's and boy did he do it up brown. We motored to our site in Randy's boat, being mighty careful about stumps and logs. I was pretty damned impressed with how my two friends remembered locations of even sunken ones. As we trekked in to our stand area I couldn't help but note the freshly churned up ground all around. It assured me my buddies had definitely located "pig country" and reminded me why the people of SC don't want the wild pigs around. That's why there is no closed season or limits on them. We set up in a loose sort of triangle that allowed Randy and Allen to see each other's position but there was heavier brush between theirs and mine. Mine was the closest to the boat. I'm still not at a full hundred per cent and they were looking out for me. Actually they didn't want to have to carry me out as far should the need arise - but it worked for me. Though I couldn't see their stands, even after we climbed our trees, I knew pretty close to where they were. We hadn't been in the stands more than a half-hour when I thought I heard something to my left rear. Of course Randy had probably been hearing them for a month or two by then but Allen is kind of on my audio level. I glanced in that direction and then stared at it hard. I could see black critters ghosting through the thick stuff headed right towards where I had Allen figured to be. I was seeing so many shapes I was beginning to doubt if they were real or if I was hallucinating. They were to far out from me to do anything about, even if I'd had my shotgun instead of my bow. I was saying a little prayer that Allen or Randy was seeing them. I needn't have worried, they both were seeing the pigs but all the action was right to Allen's tree. Bless his heart, he waited for all of them to "get by" him (as we have all discussed many times) so his first shot would hopefully send any multiple pigs towards our stands. I heard the bowstring and resulting thump when he finally made his target choice. I was already up with bow in hand from when I'd first heard them approaching. I strained my ears and eyes but to no avail. I couldn't believe it - nothing was happening. After a couple or more minutes passed I heard a pig squeal. My first thought was it had been a delayed reaction from his first shot, then all hell busted loose. I saw the many shapes (turned out to be between 20 and 30 head, counting a litter of 13 little ones) going back the same way they came but no longer wasting any time on formalities. It was all over. I had my ghost visuals, Randy had a ring side seat, and Allen had a circus. Not only had he got his first bow pig but his second also. The first had turned after taking Allen's arrow and retreated pretty much the way it came but with very little fanfare, not disturbing the others. Finally Allen had looked at Randy and shrugged his shoulders, "What do I do?" His actions made it obvious he was prepared to choose a second target. Randy indicated in sign for him to give it a whirl. What the heck, either of us would have done the same, since the remaining pigs were showing no inclination to leave Allen's immediate area. The second shot drew a squeal (the one I'd heard) from that target and it ran in the opposite direction while all the others exploded back from "whence they had come," in great haste. None chose to grace either Randy or I with more then a fleeting glimpse. Allen's shooting had been dead on and both pigs, twin sows of over 150 pounds each, were not only fatally hit but left better blood trails then the best you can imagine. This is very seldom the case with pigs but (because of the downward angles on the shots and excellent aiming) low points of exit were produced. Tracking was duck soup on both of them. Neither went more then 100 yards after being hit and were already still when we reached them. The hard part was yet to come - dragging them out. Especially since I couldn't help - other then with flagging, lighting, and doing the heavy grunting and looking on. I really felt for those two guys and also felt kind of useless. After profuse congratulations on his shots and his handling of the opportunities in general from both Randy and I, Allen then had to steel himself for the grief he would take the whole rest of the hunt. You know, regarding such things as being greedy, hoggin' all the hogs, shootin' all the pigs, scaring all the other pigs away, etc., etc., ad infinitum. He took it all in good nature though - he was a pretty happy camper and didn't much care what we said. Getting out of there was kind of like the old joke about the rough golf game a guy had after his partner keeled over dead from a heart attack during the game. "The rest of the course it was drag Harry, hit the ball; drag Harry, hit the ball, etc." Only it was, drag a pig, breath a little; drag a pig, breath a little, etc. It was pretty late when we got back to the camp and since there was still cleaning, quartering, and packing chores to tend to, we were darned glad about our earlier camp preparations. Our sleeping bags felt all-powerful good much later too. Of course our bellies full of fresh, breaded pork tenderloin pieces didn't hurt matters any either. Damn that was good to us. The next night we would have some little butterfly cut ham steaks that would taste just like fresh roast pork. We were glad the next dawn that super early morning hunts are not productive enough on pigs to drag us out of the warm cocoons of our sleeping bags too early.

The second evening stand/hunt was all mine much as the other had been all Allen's. Funny how those things work out. You just never know. Again we were in a loose triangle (different location) but with more space between us. While Randy heard and saw the pigs coming in and Allen saw one running away, this time it was those two who got no shot opportunities. Randy even got to watch a sow and liter of a dozen or so piglets. I too saw the piglets but never the sow. Before that though, about 6:30 (same as the evening prior), I thought I might have heard something and then I heard what I was sure was Randy's "pig talk" crankin' up. I knew he had either seen or heard what I hadn't been positive about and was either trying to call them closer or trying to forewarn me, or all of the above. It turned out he was mostly signaling me while watching three small but keeper size (60 pound class) black pigs resolutely working there way towards my site. They appeared out in front of me and headed straight down one of my main shooting lanes. I had already stood and had my bow at the ready so I was able to watch their progress with full pleasure. All of the sudden, just as they were getting into maximum range (but still headed straight on), they wheeled to my right as if they were in harness. I knew this had them making progress through my worst possible area of clear arrow penetration, due to a multitude of saplings and branches that there had been no time to clear away. Blast the luck! My heart started to fall but in the same instant I recalled that Allen and I had both opted to wear pistols on these hunts. I set my bow back in its rack on the side of my stand and pulled my .45 long colt six-shooter from its belt holster with as much haste as I dared. I leveled the Hammerli (Swiss mfg.) built Virginian Colt replica at the larger of the three pigs. They'd paused momentarily by a large overturned root ball. I "held 'em and squeezed 'em" as I'd taught countless recruits and even some Annapolis Midshipmen to do during four of my years in the Marine Corps, while serving my stint as a rifle/pistol and special weapons instructor. Now, I won't say I did as good as when I was doing low level team competition and qualifying every year in the USMC but suffice it to say I "cut the mustard." After all, back in those days I was practicing a lot, and you must - if you want to stay super tight with a pistol. My Marine buddies even nicknamed me "Dinger" during one tour of duty in Okinawa due to my high "Expert" qualification scores with rifle and pistol. Dinger is a generic term normally used to denote those who shoot on the higher competition teams and are usually on their way to the Olympics. They do little else other than shoot - all day long, every day. Well anyway, while I may not be quite as sharp as I used to be, a tin can would be well advised not to place itself out in front of my .45 in a taunting fashion. I wound up feeling quite good about the fact that it turned out I had dispatched two of SC's pigs for them with the sweet shooting Interarms Import. However, I was not to feel the complete relief until the next morning though. As I mentioned, pigs are not normally famous for their blood trails and these .45 hit ones did not provide the exceptions to the rule that Allen's superbly arrowed ones of the night before had. We had to give up the tracking and flagging of the sparse trail until daylight. The first one I shot had been the one Allen got to see as it ran, walked, stumbled, and grunted past his stand in a wide circle. The other two had headed Back on their original entry path after my shot at them. Allen felt the first one had been badly hurt and so did I. Randy, with his great ears and from his vantage point (not so close to the thunder of the .45), was sure he had heard solid body impacts after two of the shots, grunting from effort of the first pig hit, and squealing of the second. All of this was reassuring and comforting and I was sure my shots had "felt good" but the nagging doubts still began to set in on the cool ride back to camp, as it always does in these cases. The insecurity of wondering if I had done as well as I thought I had (and knew I should, if I was going to continue to use a pistol) was not kind to this old hoss that night. I have to admit I was glad when we got back to camp and found our fourth companion and catfish leader, Chris, was a no show. In my guts I knew I wasn't really at my best for meeting a new person and setting out limb lines right then. Things would look better in the morning, I hoped.

Sure enough, things did look better and we all attacked the chore at hand with new vigor. Allen and I would pick up the flags and trail of the first pig and since Randy had left part of his safety harness at his tree, he would go for that and then see what he could find on the second one. We hadn't found anything on that one the night before but Randy was still sure about what he'd heard and I was feeling better about my shots with morning's new perspective. Allen's sharp eyesight and experience in tracking coupled with his view of the fleeing pig's path and a general feeling that it was circling back to where they came from kept us on track. The Blood spots were very small and reminded me my eyes had failed some since the last hard tracking job I'd tackled some three years back. I was doubly glad for Allen's assistance. I found to my great delight though that I "still had it" after all. On two occasions when we lost the trail I was the one who found tracks and then blood that indicated a drastic change of direction that we'd missed. Finally we tracked him right into the deep-water swamp. We know in our own mind that the pig expired from the shot and loss of blood and/or the gators feasted. Disappointing to say the least but it is nature's way. Just about the time we had settled it in our minds, the radio crackled and it of course was Randy checking to see how we had fared. Only after he found that we were satisfied we had " run out the trail" did he suggest we join him, as he had found, "pretty good blood over here."

We wasted no time joining him and the new hope. He had told us if we cut across the circle the pig we had followed had scribed and headed for my tree stand of the night before, we couldn't miss him. He was right and as we moved towards him we talked on the radio. He related how he had found the good blood and also how he had run across the litter of piglets we'd seen the night before. I was ecstatic about the blood trail and I'm sure it bolstered Allen's spirit also. Of course Randy was beside himself and having all he could do to keep from bursting out laughing and hollering aloud. Probably even more so when we reached him and started making small talk about "our trail", etc. Finally he said something like, "Walk this way," - and he would show us where the blood started. It was then that while Allen went on the opposite side of a small tree from me I asked just where my tree was. Randy answered that it was the one we were at. In retrospect I realized that Allen had fallen silent about then but I paid no attention to it at the time. I looked around and realized that it was indeed the little tree I'd sat in. I started allowing as how I was a fine one to be trying to find something in the woods, just kind of rambling on, you know? Randy said something more about the start of the blood trail and then I think Allen said, "Well, come over here and see were the blood trail starts." Without thinking about the fact it couldn't have started that close to my tree, I turned and damned near tripped over the smallish 60 pound young boar. After that it is pretty much a blur of hollering and laughing. Randy had played the game well this time and also done a double payback. He had paid me back for being the one to find his first bow pig three falls ago and also for the game I played on him with my eight point buck last fall when I had him convinced I'd shot a doe. (Note: Both of those stories were recounted earlier in these journals.) It was a good and happy time. Randy had found the pig after finding no blood and abandoning the search to make semi-circle sweeps in the area where he was so sure he had heard the sounds and I had told him the pigs ran. Thank you, God. Thank you, Randy. Oh, and this time I was able to haul the pig out. It sure felt good, all around.

I forgot my little digital camera at home this trip, Allen left his .35 mm camera in his truck at the boat launch, and Randy kept leaving his normally ever-present, throw-away in camp. However if they come out we still should have at least a couple of pictures for the Gallery at some later date. I hope, I hope, I hope.

On our cruise back to camp for noontime functions, etc. we were all pretty flush with our successes, I guess. Randy decided he would try to call Chris on his cell phone to see if he could raise him now, on this lucky morning, but with no luck. For some reason or other I said very matter-of-factly, " Oh, he's waiting for us right now back at camp." When we rounded the last bend before our campsite, sure enough, there was Chris just fixing to pull away in his boat. He had already set up his tent, etc. and was going to check out the area. The lands we were using there are all public lands, by the way, and open to all comers. Scads of camping and fishing go on there and they say during deer season it is pretty heavily used also. Anyway Chris had used it quite a bit for putting out limb/brush lines with his wife and knew the area pretty well, so he had no trouble locating our camp. Besides, he told us, as soon as he saw all the stuff at that campsite he knew only Randy could make that big a mess in such a short time. Geez, he was big, made a good first impression, treated hurt pets for a living, and now he had proved he was very observant as well. Couldn't be all bad, now could he? Allen, as well as I, was meeting Chris for the first time. We were satisfied and I told the others he looked like fresh meat for hauling pigs to me. They agreed wholeheartedly. We didn't get to test his metal for that purpose though but as it turned out we were more then just satisfied. He made a good addition to our camp and our doings. We didn't know it then but our pig successes had come to a screeching halt with Randy finding my pig.

With three Jon Boat rigs tied up in front, our campsite now looked more like a meeting place. Had they been cargo canoes it probably would have appeared to be a Canadian fur-trader's camp. After lunch and time to get better acquainted with Chris while he prepared his fishing rigs, we left camp in Randy's boat to set the lines. Chris stationed himself standing on the bow deck. Good sea legs has the young DVM, probably from younger years of practice in the bayous of his home state of Louisiana. Allen sat behind him to hand lines and bait from their respective buckets, Randy drove for the position jockeying, and I seated myself beside The Ranman, doing the heavy looking on again. See, being the elder of a group does have its advantages sometimes. It quickly became apparent Chris really was no stranger at this maneuver and we were finished in short order. Chris had picked out springy limbs low to the water and close to the edges of the creek. He baited up the large hooks, and deftly affixed the lines to the limbs with what appeared to be a half-hitch of sorts, for easy removal. He says he always picks his lines up after an outing. Something all folks are supposed to do and apparently most don't do. I commended him on that. It is similar to us taking our trash out, in principle. He also says a lot of people pick too stout a limb, out too far, and/or up to high. He's found he has less luck with those setups, which are often found on Cypress trees. He prefers the overhanging Willow branches. Now all that remained was to check them after the evening hunt for results. During the course of all this we had been chewing the fat in general and at one point Chris started to tell something about a friend who brought him a dog to take a look at. I don't recall the point of the story now but it doesn't matter anyway. He started to tell what the dog's symptoms were and then just dismissed it with a wave of his hand and a flat, "Oh well, the dog was NDR," and started to continue. We all just about in unison halted him with quick questions about what NDR was, not wanting to miss what might be an important part of the story. Chris paused a minute to grasp what our problem was. Then his face cleared with comprehension and giving a short laugh informed us, "Not Doing Right - the dog just wasn't doing right." We had a real good laugh about that and I opined as how that must be one of those real technical medical terms and that I'd have to remember that one.

We had planned to hunt that evening in the same place where Allen had scored so admirably the first night. There had, of course been much discourse about making Allen stay in the boat to preclude any repeat of his previous "greedy display". Randy and Allen would take Allen's (Stan's) boat and I would ride with Chris in his. After all, wouldn't we need two boats to bring all the pigs back that we were planning to get and make Chris haul out? As I stated earlier, that was not to be though. We took hip waders vice our normal high boots but even that was not enough to allow us to cross one crucial ditch on the walk-in part of the way to the area. Due to lack of time remaining we decided to return to the site of the previous night, where I had scored. The rising water still did not preclude that site. However the wind was super squirrelly, changing directions every few minutes. We set ourselves up two on either side of the main area and hoped for the best at the time any pigs might appear. I wound up in my same tree stand and might just as well have stood in bed. Allen was to my left this time, near where Randy had been. The other two were across the way in much the same pattern. Allen heard a couple pigs but could never quite see them as they progressed toward Randy on the side away from me. Randy of course heard them and signaled Chris to grab his bow and stand. Just as the pigs burst into Randy's view the wind shifted again and their keen noses picked up the hunters' scents. Randy said they about broke their backs doing an about face and beating a fast retreat. They treated Allen to pretty much the same sounds once more only at high speed this time. I just sat - thinking, "Cripes, it sure is dead out here tonight." As I said, for all practical purposes our pig hunt had ended when Randy did me the enormous favor of finding my pig.

On the way back to camp was when we saw the raccoons and we also eyeballed that one of our lines had a catfish tugging on it. We hastened to camp, unloaded the boats and then went back out in Randy's boat the same way that we'd set out the lines. We checked them pretty much the same way we put them out, moving some that hadn't been hit, re-baiting some that had, and gathering about six or so nice cats. They were in the four to six pound class and really looked in good shape. The slow speed at which you must do this made it a very enjoyable time of talking and kidding amongst the four of us. After returning to camp with our catch, Chris filleted the cats while randy gave him good light - so he wouldn't slice his wrist or throat. I made a campfire to warm our chilled bodies back up with and Allen prepared to do his magic with the little catfish chunks he made out of Chris's fillets. Between the fish and the fresh pork ham steaks we gorged ourselves to the man. It would have been great anywhere but somehow it always seems even better out in the open, around a friendly campfire, with good companions. Between that night and the next morning when Randy fixed eggs and Chris brewed coffee and made toast to go with the leftovers, we put a hurtin' on all that catfish. After breakfast we went out to retrieve Chris's lines and found we had four more big, healthy catfish. Two were about the same as the others and two a little bigger. It was decided Allen would take those home in the cooler with his pigs for his and his father-in-laws families to enjoy. We did a little scouting and some non-effective walk hunting before returning to break camp and pack the boats. That was a major job that I must say we all accomplished with a minimum of lost movement and/or cuts, bruises, and abrasions. Of course as it had been most of the time, the air was blue with mock insults and parting shots. The boat ride back was chilly and getting colder by the minute. I think we were all glad we would not be spending that night outside. It turned out our feelings were well founded as the temperature took a nosedive well below freezing. After I rose at three-thirty A.M. in Randy's warm house the next morning, I had to scrape my windshield twice before pulling out of his driveway for the trip back to NC. A really great trip, guys. Kudos all around from the old man in the tree.

Entry, April 20, 2001

In Further Evidence - (That Hunters Are People Too)

Some varied and sundry happenings that have occurred lately and should be mentioned follow. Jabo and Kat's two beautiful daughters come to mind immediately. Kim finishes high school this year and is trying to get some music (and/or other) scholarship(s) lined up. Her private voice and piano instructor is so impressed with her that she can't believe she had no formal training in either art prior to this year. She is donating some of her time and also trying to help with the scholarship. We all pray she gets one or in some way gets to use that talent (and goose pimple raising voice) to enhance her future and amaze others. Their older daughter, Shauna recently married her long time boyfriend and the father of Tyler. They had a beautiful wedding ceremony right out on the beach and a nice reception which Jabo barbecued a great pig for. More fun and great food than the law allows --- and we-ee helped. By the by, Tyler attended the doings resplendent in a real white tuxedo purchased as a surprise for his parents by his Aunt Kim. The little guy carried it off like it was meant to be. Last but far from least here in the neighborhood, Connie and Sonny are now the legal adoptive parents of Sean. The cul-de-sac can now breathe a sigh of relief and thank God for all the prayers answered in the affirmative. Sooo many things could have gone awry on that slippery trip up the hill. We were fully prepared if it didn't come to pass that we would have to take Sonny and Connie to the Vet's to be humanely "put down" - in defense of our own sanity. Believe me, between Sean and Tyler (who spends a lot of time here in the cul-de-sac) this neighborhood is in for a revitalizing shot in the arm - if we can survive it. They are a pair to draw to and are already in full evidence out and about as the weather warms. Oh, and on 20 April I took the Christmas icicle lights down off the eaves of my roof. Pretty fast response, don't you think?

My hunting partner, Randy did indeed move back to NC. Of course now he is "living out of a seabag" as we used to say in the Marine Corps. It'll take awhile to clear the kids of school, let his wife tie up loose ends in her career, sell their house there, get new housing (permanent or semi-permanent) here, move the family here, etc., etc. In the mean time he has his "stuff" here, there, and strung out in hide-y holes everywhere in between. It would be funny if it weren't so pathetic. I can empathize with him as I went through similar torture many times in the Corps and tain't no fun atall, atall. Allen made good his promise to try to put Randy onto a turkey before he left SC. Not only did he try but also he succeeded to boot. Randy said Allen really worked at it (the first day of turkey season in SC) and did a magnificent job of calling. A gobbler and two jakes came in and Randy was able to bag the gobbler - his first. I got out the first day of season here, heard a couple gobbles but no response to my calls. I talked to a chap later in the AM that had seen 3 hens but neither of us heard any shots. Randy and I got out one evening and nuttin, nuttin, nuttin. Had a record breaking two-day cold snap here in NC (Below freezing in mid-April? Forrr-get it!) and while bad weather doesn't bother the turkeys it sure bothers me. More to follow on this subject (turkeys) - hopefully.

I will probably be posting pictures to compliment the subjects of this entire entry soon.

One more thing I'd like to talk about in this entry. It deals with another web site I want to bring to your attention. It should be of interest to all but particularly to those of you who are pet lovers. As those who have read my literary ramblings know, I play with a double-edged sword and sometimes the two sides are subject to clash. I love animals, yet I hunt. Believe it or not there are many of us with those seemingly incompatible dual personalities. Thus, what this site has come to be - a chance to show "Hunters Are People Too." Some time ago (before I ever started this web site) I came across a beautiful poem titled "The Rainbow Bridge", by "author unknown" that deals with what happens when our beloved pets pass. It is, for me (and most who read it) not only a very moving piece but also a most desirable concept to at least consider. I recently found out that it is based on ancient Norse and Native American legends and beliefs. I learned this from the web master of the site I am going to tell you about. I was so moved by the poem when I first came across it that I made a copy of it with rainbow colors and sent it to friends and gave a copy to my Vet. They (the Vet's office) had it posted on the bulletin board for quite a while. I still have it in my computer (somewhere). Recently my wife and I went to the flea market in Morehead City, as we often do. While passing one table a piece of original artwork caught my attention. I told Rose that it had to have been inspired by The Rainbow Bridge. A man across the table seeing me looking at it told me his wife had designed it and it was to be the new logo for her web site. Knowing he hadn't heard our conversation I informed him what I had been telling my wife. A lady stepped up near him about that time and asked how I knew that. Thus started a warm conversation and a meeting of minds over mutual interests - pets, the poem, art, and web sites. She offered to give me her web address, which I gladly accepted. I told her I would also like to give her mine but that while she would like parts of it, I needed to warn her that I'm a hunter and that the theme of my web site is "Hunters Are People Too." I told her that I strive to write it in such a manner that even those who don't hunt can enjoy at least parts of it. The upshot of the whole thing is we not only exchanged web site addresses but have also visited each others sites, exchanged e-mails, and signed and made comments on each other's guestbooks. I invite and encourage you to visit her web site, Rainbow Bridge East and also to check out her most welcome comment in my guestbook and then my return comment in hers. You may do that by clicking on the name above or going to my Hot Links Table on Bernie's Life & Times page and clicking on web site # 15. As I caution you there, while it is a beautiful and well-done site you may want to take a tissue along with you when you go. Dot, the web master does beautiful memorial pages for folk's pets that have passed, at a very reasonable annual fee. You will also find the poem in evidence there and (soon) Dot's new logo (artwork). Sign her guestbook while you're there and tell her Bernie sent you. I really appreciate the fact that someone with her interests is brave and open minded enough to make visits to my site and make the comments she left on my guestbook. I also appreciate the work and service she is doing on her site and will soon have memorial pages for my "Spirits" (as seen on my Family page) there also. Now all I have to do is get my "stuff" together and send her the material she needs - she already has the pages formatted! Do yourself a favor - visit Rainbow Bridge East.

Note: Those of you who read this entry when I first posted it may note the change of Dot's web site name From Rainbow Bridge South to Rainbow Bridge East. This was necessary because she was the victim of the fast changing fortunes of the internet. The Co. she originally paid to register her own Domain (name, plus) for her web site simply ceased communicating with her about the planned change. It is assumed that like so many start-ups these days, they failed. (Probably packed their tents and stole away into the night.) This action tied up the name so she had to pay again (some one else) and change the name. The extra expenses made her face the fact that she can no longer offer free memorial pages (as I originally referred to) but is forced to make a nominal charge, as now stated above. Even when folks try to do the very best they can there are always those who can and will mess them up. Something we have to deal with throughout life - and must strive not to let it make us bitter. Anyway, in my opinion her efforts for your pets are well deserving of the small charge, if you are so inclined. Visiting her unique site is still a free and worthwhile experience and she of course welcomes all visitors. Enter via the Welcome gates on her home page, after reading it.

Entry, June 20, 2001

Building And Rebuilding

In which I (we) have tied up some lose ends and finished off some long overdue projects.

Schools are out - which means? Well for me it means I was able to attend Kim's (Jabo's youngest daughter) end of year music recital. I always enjoy them and this was no exception. However it was marred by the fact that their self-centered (and perhaps paranoid, though talented) teacher saw fit to cheat the seniors of their just deserts. Usually the seniors in a choral group/class are showcased during their final end of year recital, in local schools at least. This particular teacher seemed to feel (and said so to the rest of the class on more then one occasion) that the seniors only wanted to take over his prerogatives and control. A real shame, as he had some real talent and dedication among those seniors and they deserved to be "reimbursed" for their years of contributions to the group. Due to reasons we can only guess at (?), his contract had not been renewed even before this fiasco came about. Rumor has it that the assistant choral teacher from my granddaughter's school may be taking that position next year. That capable teacher has "assisted" under one of the best and in any case things are looking up for next year's classes at Kim's old alma mater - she was one of the seniors. You go, girl! We also attended Onesty's (my granddaughter) end of year music recital which was "only" the best I've ever seen. The teacher (one of the really great ones that really works and connects with the kids) and the students really outdid themselves. I was able to tape (most of) it with our new digital video camcorder, thank you very much. (I love the little, light camcorder and have great plans for it - an anniversary present to us, from us.) Onesty got up the nerve to join one of the dance numbers in the recital (she had shied away from that chance at the previous recital). Of course as luck would have it, hers was the part I only got the tail end of (literally) because I was hurriedly trying to rewind and put a fresh battery in. That was from lack of experience on my part and an "attack of the dumb shits" when I tried to review the first half-hour of tape during the five-minute intermission. Needless to say thirty doesn't fit into five very well and fast-forward uses up battery life in a hurry. Oh well, we live and learn, especially if we blunder often. I am really looking forward to Onesty's next three years (I hope) under the influence of this fine teacher. Finally (about school things) we were invited guests at the graduation ceremonies of our precious Kim and her friends and classmates. I also taped that (with improved operator performance and planning, if I do say so myself) and presented a VHS copy to Kim (as I had also done in the case of Onesty) for her senior year remembrances. The Choral group had a small part in those ceremonies and both Kim and Zena (her long time friend) had a small featured part in an arrangement of, "I hope you Dance", one of my personal favorite songs from this past year. They both did great and the ceremony, as a whole was as moving as graduations always are. Young people about to enter a new phase of their life and all that. Building the future, if you will.

Note: We also have something else new besides the camcorder - an addition to our "family" which you really should check out on Bernie's Family page and in/on the Gallery page. Her name is Koko Mocha. An entry regarding that is planned for there as soon as I can get my who and what in line with my when (time).

Two "tummy filling" and "socially pleasing" pig pickings have taken place next door at Jabo and Kat's this month. One for Jabo's FIFTIETH birthday (he's a member of the half-centurion club now and has caught the usual what-for about that as you can imagine), the other was for Kim's graduation party. They were only two weeks apart so it put the stress factor at fever pitch for Kat but she came through with flying colors. Everything was soooo gooood! I had the pleasure of donating that half-hog I won in last year's turkey shoots to the cause(s).

The rebuilding piece of news is "The Monster" is resurrected, finally. Bigger and better by far than ever before, it stands proud, solid, and extremely functional - if not too pretty. Its four feet (and five new ones) are solidly implanted in forty pounds of concrete and it has a centered tie-down. I'm so proud and pleased with it and its use I can hardly contain myself. We should start calling it "The Tower" now, but we probably won't - old habits are hard to break. Bow practice is such fun and so much more realistic for angles, etc. from it's vantagepoint. Pictures will be on the Gallery page soon, both of it and from it. Though I was able to do most of it (the physical part) myself I must thank Carl (and my little Ford pickup) for initially helping to raise it onto it's feet. Also for an extra drill he had and gave to me - it sure made the job easier. Carl works with me at Ace and is older even than I, is not interested a whit in bow shooting or hunting, but just a helluva nice guy and a friend who helps folks for the sheer pleasure of it. Kat donated half of the stair risers - a real financial help to earlier completion of the project. If you can't walk up and down a shooting tower using stairs (as opposed to a ladder) it just doesn't get used as often as it should be and that defeats its purpose. Last but far from least Randy was most valuable in planning (as I mentioned, he is an engineer - but even with that handicap he manages to be right every now and then), materials, some physical help (especially one long, butt-kicking day), and moral support. What's that old saying - even a blind engineer can hit himself in the butt with a bird in the hand, or something like that? Probably what I really should use is the one about the halt leading the blind. Anyway we did a pretty good job working together and taking turns keeping each other out of trouble - measure twice, cut once. Mostly I thank "The Ranman" for the incentive I needed to get moving on the project. It is so much more appealing, demanding, and fun to set a range up when you know there is someone who will practice with you on a regular basis. As I've said many times, practice is the key to bow shooting accuracy and I urge everyone who is interested in bow shooting to get access to a shooting tower somehow. Ours (as mentioned) is not pretty but it is now safe and functional (and FUN). I've wanted one close enough to use on a regular basis ever since just before I returned from Maine in 1996. My friend, Bob had finally been able to erect one as a part of his 3D-archery course that spring. It was a big, magnificent addition and he set up three targets to be shot at from it. All of us loved it but I only got to partake of its benefits about three months before we left for NC. Thanks so much to one and all who had a hand in this dream becoming a reality, including my ever present and always truly helpful wife.

Inserted Note: We no more than got "The Monster" ready and Randy only got to shoot from it a couple times (one time Steve joined us) before a disaster of sorts struck. He discovered a split in one of the limbs of his beloved Mathews bow. I feel for him because I know how that would lay me low in a heartbeat. Hopefully it won't take too long to get fixed/replaced so he can get back to practicing off our resurrected creation.

Speaking of things I always wanted, I finally had to face the fact that I waited too long to get my boat. Though it is not easy, there comes a time when we must admit certain things are no longer wise for us. Had I got a boat sooner in life it would have been more second nature to me. As it is I hadn't been around/operating them since in my teens. I decided there were too many chances to slip up (and I was making use of those chances way too often) and so I just became less and less comfortable using "The Boat" I got from Randy. Not to dwell on the ramifications of this (and other things I don't "do" as well anymore) suffice it to say I bit the bullet and sold "The Boat". I sold it to a friend, Steve (I referred to him as "Stoney" earlier on in these writings, for legal reasons) for the same deal Randy gave me and for the same reasons. No one other than perhaps Randy (and of course Rose) know how much it hurt me to part with it and what all of that means to me. I do still have my canoe and that might seem strange but I've had that a long time and am used to it. This means that if I choose to use it, I am comfortable with it and feel (and perform) safe. Also of course, I always feel completely safe when in Randy's boat with him operating it and enjoy it immensely. Shucks, with him back in town, what the hell do I need with a motorboat anyway? I also can feel relatively at ease with some other competent friends/boaters. Just another lose end taken care of, Right? Right!

Just in passing, turkey season fizzled into nothingness for me (again this year) so now on to summer bow practice, etc. and looking towards fall and the coming seasons.

Last minute nostalgia addition - A message I just received from Ron Osborne, one of the three "young" Marines I mentioned previously in this journal that got selected for NESEP (Naval Enlisted Scientific Education Program) while in my Radio Relay Section at Camp Pendleton, CA follows:

"I thought of something this evening I think you might enjoy. This incident hasn't crossed my mind in years but as I'm driving out the Main Gate at Pendleton, it popped into my head."

"Seems that then Pfc Osborne got stopped at the San Luis Rey gate about 2000 (ed. 8:00 PM) one evening in December 1959. He got a ticket because he was off late from mess duty (since he was the Pots Man [ed. "Polly-wobbler"] ) and was driving out in his messman's white to go home, thinking it was dark and noone would see.

Shortly after, a whole bunch of 7th Marine folks up and got sent to Taiwan for a big exercise called Blue Star. When they came back in April 1960, Pfc Osborne was made a LCpl but the ticket was still waiting for him. SSgt Dunn was notified and had the pleasure of escorting (ed. newly appointed) LCpl Osborne to visit the 7th Marines Sgt Major and waiting quietly through the subsequent verbal scalding (ed. ass-chewing) delivered to LCpl Osborne - trying hard, of course, to be a good Staff NCO and to keep from laughing his ass off."

"Do you realize?? That was over 41 years ago. That's impossible. You may be that old but I'm not!"

My reply? Here 'tis:

"Ah yes, little snatches of unbidden memories from days of yore - a definite sign of age! That was neat, I love it. As I recall that occurred about the same time we were informed of you three yardbirds' acceptance into NESEP (ed. this added fuel to the Sgt Major's concern and tirade). I think of Camp Pendleton often in moments like that (ed. and many other "Camps" too). Join the group, man - it's not so bad though, you were only about one year old then, right? Right! Later - B"

Entry, July 15, 2001

Building Up And Scouting

A different kind of building. Now it begins in earnest! Of course a big part of it is continued bow practice from the new shooting tower. I shoot almost every day and Randy and some others get by as often as their schedules allow them to. Of course they also practice at their own homes, etc. The shooting tower continues to provide very productive results and loads of fun. Another part of it is provided by daily bike riding made possible by recent great deals at yard sales and second-hand stores such as Salvation Army, Good Will Stores, and Hem Of His Garment (a multi-denominational good works effort that is doing real great stuff in our area). These type stores provide unbelievable finds/treasures that are inexpensive and the proceeds are put to good uses at the same time.

Randy and I had long talks over the past few years about using bikes for scouting and hunts. In certain areas roads and paths provide travel for bikes but restrict or even ban motor vehicular traffic. This is true all over our great country and some of these places are very desirable spots. We (I) finally got it together this year to pursue that and it has provided a blast of new pleasures already. Let it be known that while I believe strongly in fitness (especially flexibility type for seniors) I have always Hated (with a capital "H") exercise per se. It has always been next to impossible for me to stick to any kind of regimen. I wasn't sure how the bike riding would go (a good reason it's taken the better part of three years to get to it perhaps???) but I'd forgotten how much real fun biking is. Not only do I enjoy it but also to add to the pleasure Rose has joined me in it. We also have a neighbor or two that join in often. Like the fun of bow practice, I (we) indulge in the bike riding daily. I even do short rides two and sometimes three or more times a day. Good for the legs, lungs, and heart, and these poor old stomach muscles that have been too often surgically severed.

I also picked up a second hand jogging stroller and The Ranman and I converted it into a two-wheel bike trailer of sorts for hauling gear like treestands, etc. Pictures of that and us using the bikes later if it works out as well as we think it will.

We took the bikes on a scouting trip into the area we most want to use the bikes for, up in another county. It was a great one-day trip. We saw quite a few deer and six big ol' black bears (who insisted on sharing the bike roads with us) as well as a family of raccoons and a few nutria. We road a total of about sixteen miles and enjoyed every minute of it. After we had done all the scouting we wanted to (all our legs and butts could stand) we loaded up the truck and headed for Lake Mattamuskeet for some fishing. Very enjoyable but we (read that as "I") didn't catch too many. Randy caught some nice fat bass and about three or four big bowfins that were obviously a lot of fun to play. I caught one small bass and one blue gill. I did loose one nice bass though and since we never saw him, I can claim he was the biggest one of the day. That's legal! That's legal! Oh well, I still enjoyed it anyway. We hope to get back for another scouting trip before the opening day (early Sept. here) but we'll see.

By the way, check out my Family page for yet another new member (in addition to Mocha).

Entry, August 24, 2001

Now It Begins

Well Randy and I made a second trip up to the county we plan to hunt (and use our bikes) on the first weekend of the whitetail bow season here in NC. We did some more extensive scouting, checked out our bikes a little more, and picked a few tentative spots for stands. Didn't see as many deer (or bear) as on the previous trip but it was still enjoyable and we are keeping our fingers crossed that it was only the heat keeping them out of sight. So - now the season(s) begins in earnest. Did see one good sized bear early in the day that kept running into a cornfield and then back out on the edge to look at us again and again. Also saw a smallish sow with her cub fairly close up just before we finished up for the day.

One week later, Randy went to SC and he and Allen did some serious scouting and site choosing for what would be the opening of SC's deer season for us - the following weekend. Allen's long time friend and sometimes fellow-worker (when Allen helps out at a farm), Billy joined them part of the time. Randy reported to me that Billy is a lot like Allen in regards to nature and sense of humor so we can't go far wrong there. He turned out to be a very pleasurable chap to hunt with. One evening they finished scouting early and Allen and Randy decided to sit in a couple trees and see if they would see any deer and/or pigs. They did! It was where Allen got two pigs at one setting this past spring. Not to be outdone, The Ranman decided to do the same thing on this occasion - greedy rascals anyway. He said they figured these two (both boars) to weigh between 80 and 110 lbs. Allen found himself in the same position Randy was in the spring - close enough to watch but not close enough to get in on the action. It was OK though as there is a lot to be said for that kind of fun too.

The next weekend, Randy and I drove down to SC in his truck to join forces with Homer and Jethro - oops, I mean Allen and Billy. We were all keyed up to take the SC whitetail by storm and get all of us a buck in velvet. I had never even had the pleasure of seeing a buck in velvet up close and personal (like from a hunting stand) let alone get a chance to take one. The window of opportunity is very small for that though, being only about the first two weeks of early seasons. Too bad, so sad - it was not to be. None of the four of us even so much as saw a tiny button buck - in velvet, out of velvet, nor even in a tuxedo. Three of us did get to see a doe or two, Billy saw one pig (but it turned away) and "Allen, The Pig Slayer" was to score on yet another hog. However one of us (whose name I won't point out) didn't see a dadburned single animal. That's what he gets for being so greedy the weekend prior.

It was a good trip even so and we all enjoyed it over all. It was hot however. How hot was it? It was so hot we opted to go to the homes at night instead of camping out. We were soaked from sweat within minutes every time we started to move inland from the boats. Climbing trees basted us in our own juices and hauling Allen's hog out took all four of us spelling each other and then we still felt like we were "swimming" - against the tide at that. Are we having fun yet? Randy was heard to make the unprecedented statement, "If I knew all hunting had to be done under these conditions, I would give up hunting for life." After getting over the initial shock of that utterance, we all pretty much had to agree with him. Thank God it is not always like that. Don't get me wrong, I still prefer warm over cold - but not sweltering. I've been in steam baths in the Orient where I didn't sweat that much.

One other incident of note took place. When we reached our "honey hole" for the Saturday night hunt, Allen pointed out a tree previously picked for a stand to friend Billy. While Billy started placing his climber on it and starting up, Allen being "Mr. Nice Guy" set about cutting a small sapling he had noted could be in Billy's line of sight. Only problem is he had forgotten his pruning saw but figured he could get it with his trusty knife. He could and did. In fact he almost cut off one of his fingers along with the damned sapling. A lesser man would have called off the hunt (or at least his part of it) and headed for home. Allen wrapped and taped the finger and stuck it out. Actually I think he figured if he left we would talk about him and that surely huge bucks would run all over us in his absence. Turned out he would have been as wrong about that as he was about attacking that tree with his pocket knife - there were no bucks in the offing. Don't try this at home (or in the woods), kids. Allen later admitted he felt he could sit in a stand easier than go home right at that point. Of course the fact that Randy and I told him his wife was gonna kill him probably helped with that decision. Billy, having gone up the tree, was not fully aware of what had taken place until we regrouped after the hunt. He had only wondered what we other three were gathered around down there for. Guess he thought we were blessing his stand site for him. When he found out the truth of it he commented in his dry way, "Do me a favor, next time just let me cut my own damn bush." There will be a picture or two posted in the Gallery soon - not of the cut finger though. Randy, Corie (Allen's very pregnant wife), and I all decided it was just an attention getting ploy so we don't want to give it any more attention with pictures. Of course Randy and I figured it was because Billy, the new member of the team, was getting too much attention. Corie on the other hand probably nailed it more on the head by pointing to her belly (where their latest youngun is straining to join the world, literally as we speak) and nodded her head with a knowing smile. Some guys just can't stand competition!

We shall return and in the meantime Randy and I continue preparing for our early September bow hunt here in NC. Not but a couple weeks away now and hopefully not quite as "dampening" as this previous one to SC. Presumably Allen and Billy are still trying hard to get Billy's first bow pig (as well as chasing the whitetails). That being done between Allen's finger healing and he and Corie awaiting the pending birth.

Note: I couldn't resist inserting the following interesting/revealing piece of info sent to me by Cousin Tom, our family historian. (I know, I know, you can locate a statistic to make most any point you care to, if you use the right set of facts - but it makes you stop and think, doesn't it?)
 
 

Take care cause I care

Number of physicians in the US: 700,000.
Accidental deaths caused by physicians per year: 120,000.
Accidental deaths per physician....0.171
(U.S. Dept. of Health & Human Services)

Number of gun owners in the US: 80,000,000.
Number of accidental gun deaths per year (all age groups) 1,500.
Accidental deaths per gun owner: 0.0000188

Statistically, doctors are approximately 9,000 times more dangerous than gun
owners.

Thomas E. Dunn, LADC

Entry, September 15, 2001

*Statement*

Let this dove serve notice that I am stronger for world peace than some might expect for a retired military man - but first we (and the rest of the world) must stop supporting/allowing terrorist activities to occur and to go unpunished. Please God, bless America and all of us.

Entry, Sept. 21, 2001

NC Season Beginnings (Prior to the infamous terrorist attack)

"Hooo - - - does that durned Randy think he is anyway? Always hootin' around in the woods!"

"Hooo - Hoo-hoo -hoo-hoooo," (Who? Who cooks for you?). The owl hoot tickled my eardrums like an old friend and brought an envious smile to my lips. It was just shortly after shooting hours of opening day, bow season. I t was good but I was still pretty sure it was Randy and not a real one. It came from the direction of his stand and I just had a feeling. I reached for my radio and turned it on. It wasn't time for one of our pre-set checks but if I were right he would be on. One of the last things he said before we separated was, "If I get one down I'll try to give you an owl hoot." I agreed with a me2 - but that was not to be.

Randy informed me it was a smallish (approximately 85-lbs.) spikehorn that he thought was a doe until it was down. It was one of three deer that had come up behind him before he even got well settled down in his stand. He had to wait them out for a good shot opportunity but his season was off to a great start. In fact we both were rubbing our hands together in heightened expectations at this point.

We had done our homework, practiced, scouted, etc. as evidenced earlier in this journal. We set up camp the night before and even got a decent night's sleep. We rode in Randy's truck to wait at the gates for entry time, drove as far as we could, and then put our bikes and trailers together and biked to the lake's edge with our gear still in the dark. Once there we donned our gear and rubber boots, shouldered our climbing stands and proceeded to wade the lake edge. We would exit at points we had pre-determined, enter the woods and take our chosen stands. It was all different, hard, and satisfyingly exciting for us. Now it had all paid off. I had to wade further than Randy did and once when I stopped to adjust some of my gear a deer bolted from the marsh grass. Many times deer will lay in hiding and let you walk right past them but once you stop near them they will bolt and run. Randy said later he had it run up by where he was busy putting his stand up. He didn't see it any more than I did but he heard it's run and figured I'd kicked it up because of the direction it came from. To add to that Randy now had one on the ground and we'd hardly started yet.

As previously mentioned this was/is protected bear country and many stories are well passed around of the bears eating hunter's downed deer without so much as a by your leave. Due to this and the heat Randy told me he would sit about fifteen or twenty minutes more and then take his deer out. We had already agreed that if either of us got one we'd float it to the bikes and then trailer it to the truck where we had a large cooler waiting. At eight o'clock Randy made the preset hourly radio check by singing, "I'm back in the saddle again," into the small "Talkabout" radio, indicating he was back in his stand and ready for more action. He had seen a deer on the road on his bike ride back and he saw another there when we got back to the bikes around noon. Other than that everything pretty well drifted off into nothingness. I did try to put a stalk on the second one he'd seen in the road by sneaking where bushes were between it and me. Randy looked on from behind near the bikes. When I got close enough to step out for a possible shot the deer had already moved on. Sorr-yyy!

I will try to get back to this report but suffice to say that Randy's spikehorn was the highlight of our split trip (two locations) and even pretty much of those others around us also. There was however another of those reports of one hunter donating a nice buck (4-8pt, depending on who was telling it) to a hungry bear. Although he had arrowed it fair and square, discretion and generosity quickly became the better part of valor.

(Cont'd 09/28/2001) We didn't see near the number of bear while hunting that we had when scouting - as I recall only one and it was at a distance down the bike road. We expected to see more and especially as this fall has reached new heights in regards to staying in a stand for long periods of time by yours truly. We only came out that first day long enough for lunch and to change locations. That evening all we saw were two doe that some noisy-stand toting hunter scared about crazy. They burst out of the marsh grass, into the lake, and ran down the lake like mad while Randy and I watched in amazement. We were close enough to each other to watch their pell-mell flight at the same time and then look at each other and shake our heads in wonder at this odd site. The lake is shallow a long ways out and they were well out into it but the water hardly reached their knees. You never know what you are going to see.

The following morning being Sunday (no hunting in NC) we packed up and moved to the other location we wanted to try out. Being a new area to us, as soon as we picked and set up our campsite we proceeded to use the daylight to scout. We were back in a river/creeks/swamps habitat once more and this gave us a little edge as to what to look for. Also friends had fed us some information. It is a great looking place with more than enough sign but we were destined to just "pay dues" by putting in our time. Again we hunted all day (Monday) until an electrical/rain storm drove us out of our trees just before prime evening deer time. I had seen a doe and two yearlings in my AM stand. I heard them splash through the creek behind me and watched them climb out on my side. Then they chose to turn and walk away from me instead of to me. That's hunting! Randy saw a couple in the evening before the storm in pretty much the same way. The highlight of this portion of the hunt was during some afternoon scouting when we came across and kicked up somewhere between eight and a dozen deer in one small little glen. No horns were seen in the small herd. We vowed to return in a couple weeks as we packed up our somewhat soggy camp and headed home. To add insult to injury the storm completely cleared just as we finished packing the boat. If we had stuck it out about a half-hour we could have had a fine end to our evening hunt. On the other hand electrical storms in a tree stand are nothing one should mess with.

Good as our word, we did return two weeks later and a younger friend/co-worker of Randy's, Eric joined us. Unfortunately we again saw virtually nothing. Anyway that's the report for Eric and I. However Randy's season was and is still going full tilt, at least as far as sightings go. The deer just seem to be swarming to him no matter where we are. I guess after last year's results that it is his turn. Some he has seen haven't provided shot opportunities but most have and he just let them walk while waiting for a better choice of "type". I personally can't recall ever having that quantity of shot opportunities to be faced with a decision of that type. Let me digress long enough to say I did get one opportunity near home here but she chose to turn head-on to me just as I released the arrow. This little maneuver on her part effectively foiled my only shot chance so far this year. She would have been a good harvest too, as she appeared to be a large, barren elder doe and had no young with her.

Eric saw the same thing I did - nothing. He turned out to be a tall, rather quiet, good-humored chap who was more than willing to hunt hard and long, and we did. To no avail, I might add. I must admit we made a bad error in judgement that hunters are frequently forced into by lack of time. We chose to hunt the morning based on what we had seen on the previous trip. WRONG! Then when we decided to change locations at mid-day we still went to sites chosen the last trip. Wrong again! On Sunday after Randy fixed us a bountiful breakfast of sausage, venison heart, eggs and toast, we finally smartened up and did some scouting. We found that (as often occurs in early fall) the food sources had changed and "our" deer were feeding on acorns in places we were not, yet not too far from where we actually were. After taking turns hitting ourselvs in the heads and kicking each other's butts, we tucked our tails in shame and headed home again.

As Randy does with all new joinees to our camps, he had warned Eric not to do anything stupid, funny, or even unfortunate or it would wind up in this journal. Eric heeded the warning well and only made that same mistake we made. Only trouble is Randy forgot to tell him that if he did something good or well (such as a good, clean harvest of our chosen quarry) he could have wound up in this report in a good light. Wonder if that had anything to do with him not taking one - hmmmm. Anyway he was a good camp mate and by the way is also a good friend of Boo's (who joined us on a previous hunt or two). It is easy to see why they are friends. (That's supposed to be a good comment, guys!)

We all really wanted to get back there for one more hunt but looks like time and commitments will not allow it. Not for bow season anyway as it ends soon. We may pick up a blackpowder/muzzle loader permit and get one more day that way. That is if I can get Randy broke in on the finer points of muzzle loading with my new (used) in-line muzzle loader. It would be easier for a "newbie" to the sport to learn quickly on as it can handle the powder pellets instead of loose powder. I would then use my old trusty older smokepole. It has a little less range than the newer one should but it already has two deer to its credit and I'm used to it. Our (Randy and I) annual trip to the Mattamuskeet area and that blackpowder trip (if it occurs) should be the major part of my next report - more or less. 'Til then.

Entry, Sept. 30, 2001

Next (report)! (&) Inbetween(reports)s

Well I did finally have another sighting (whitetail, that is) just as I was about to think they no longer existed in my world. However they did one of those deer-y things that they are so famous for and made sure it remained only a sighting. Like I've said many times in various ways though, it always makes one feel better just to see them every now and then. I was on a lone, local hunt to a spot Randy had seen a couple a few nights before. It was also where I had taken my 7-point, drop-tine with my smokepole last year. Sure enough, they came out of a thick, a long ways off. They looked to be a doe and a yearling and were working around the edge to my right. I tried a few doe bleats and they seemed to respond by turning and working towards my stand. The wind was real good for me and I was already standing and not moving. They only closed to about 80 yards though before one changed her mind for no apparent reason and headed back the way they came. She was loping easily and showed no sign of obvious concern but the other one turned and followed her at a walk. They disappeared back into a different part of the same thick. "Goodbye, girls and thank you, Lord for the sighting." Gee it seemed lonely and empty after they melted into the underbrush. Oh well, it is really a better blackpowder site - lots of area in view. I'll go back then, you betcha.

October 19, 2001

Moving right (or wrong) along, as promised it is time for the reports on our annual trip to the Lake Mattamuskeet area of NC and our try at "smokepoles in the river area" where we visited a couple times during bowhunting season. "Keep your powder dry, boys!" Let me lead off by saying that we had some very notable highs and some less desirable lows but all together it made for a couple of great hunts/trips.

Our re-visit to NC's largest natural lake, Mattamuskeet proved to be more like a trip to the dessert this year. The summer has been soo-oo dry and it all snuck up on us without our full realization of the implications. Places we could boat to with relative ease in previous years we had to play Humphrey Bogart/African Queen to get to this year. Needless to say we spent more time than we wanted to stuck in little trickles that were no longer even creeks or canals. Also needless to say we handled it and muddled through, primarily because Randy knows his boat and it's capabilities and because we were determined - so we won't dwell on those particular fun and games.

On our hunts to that area we can use bow, black powder firearms, and/or shotguns. We usually carry bows and shotguns and sometimes even opt to take both into a given stand site at the same time. We prefer to use bows but don't like to miss out on a good chance just because it isn't suited to the bow. This year however, I was determined to take at least one deer with my bow so the first morning I took only my bow with me. Randy does that more often than I do so he was doing the same. I did it to preclude my grabbing the shotgun before it was really needed. It turned out to be a decidedly baa-ad choice on that particular hunt. Randy and I had split to head for different sites and I was just about to reach mine after struggling through a tough area of marsh canes when I heard a deer coming from my right rear. I turned, dropping to one knee as I did, to find myself staring at and being stared back at by the biggest buck I've personally seen in that area. Not only was he just standing and staring at me like he was trying to figure out what the heck I was but also he was less than ten yards away. I subconsciously practiced the two best things I have somehow managed (it's beyond my understanding) to make a part of my hunting that always seems to take over automatically. One is not to dwell on the antlers once I see there are (or are not) some and the other is never to look them in the eyes - you've read about those practices here before. It has always paid off for me and did (to a certain extent) this time also. I swear that (because of those two things) I was able to get my release out of my cargo pocket, open the noisy Velcro strap, get it on my wrist, get an arrow out of my quiver and onto the string, and shift into a position to draw the string in a kneeling mode. All of this while he stood broadside to me, just staring at me. It was a nerve-racking but exceedingly exciting experience; I'm here to tell you. It was only then that I realized there was a curtain of laced small and larger vines between Mr. Big and myself. My eyes must have been bugged out of my head from trying to find some single spot over a vital area that I could even hope to thread an arrow through. No such luck - even at that close range. I couldn't believe it and in the re-telling it seems even more impossible but trust me, if there had been even a hint of a chance in that situation I'd have given it a bloody go. Finally he gave up on me and quickly faded into the brush ahead of him. I quickly moved behind a root ball a little closer to where he'd been and tried to call him back. I hoped he would return and walk through the opening by the root ball and give me a quartering away shot as he passed me - but he was gone for good. Has it occurred to you yet? Yep, if I had opted to take either my shotgun or both bow and gun he'd have been toast and I'd probably still be dancing around near that root ball. By the way, it was the same root ball that the one doe came around last year, pictured on the Gallery page with me pointing at it. It will also figure in on a couple more of my interesting, jump-starting but disappointing misadventures of that day. Oh yes, as regards the headgear on Mr. Big my impression was a decent branched one of some height on my near side and some kind of deformity or damage on the offside. Sorry but that's the best I can do.

After recovering my composure as best I could I proceeded to pick a tree and get my sorry butt up in it. Luckily it was time to make radio contact soon after that and Randy and I exchanged info. First he told me he had seen a nice doe already and let her walk - she was headed my way and if she came all the way should be there soon. I thanked him and allowed as how I had let one walk too but not by choice. Then I fired him up with my encounter and told him the buck had headed his way before we signed off. Neither of us was to see him again but perhaps another time, Mr. Big.

Just before the next radio check a rather large doe (that could have been the one Randy had seen) suddenly appeared by the root ball. Only thing was she had come down the right side of the downed tree where the brush was heavy and also merged into high marsh grass - so I had neither seen or heard her until she rounded the root ball. She was moving very slow and cautiously picking her steps. She turned left (to my right) putting her behind about five small trees - but no matter. This would put her in a perfect shot opening at about 20 yards as soon as she cleared the trees. It also gave me a chance to stand and draw while her vision was blocked. No soap! As soon as her head cleared the trees she turned left again, straight away from me back into the brush and all my arrow could have seen would've been her front shoulder - at a bad angle. Again, had I had my trusty Mossberg she also would have been toast and my hunt for that day would have been over (two-deer/day limit). I tried to call her back also but again it didn't get results. Nothing left but to thank the Lord for the sighting, for the second time in that short morning and then report it to Randy. He also had one in his sights again and once more let it walk. That one was a fairly nice cowhorn that would later return and bed down right in front of him, giving him his first chance to watch a deer put it's head along it's side and fall asleep. Hunting is often filled with neat sights and revelations. Randy was also to see a few more doe and yearlings as the day wore on but mostly out of bow range. I was to be treated to just one more sighting that day and it would occur after we met at the boat for lunch and then returned to our stands. This time I carried my shotgun also - just in case.

I had climbed my tree and done all the little things to be ready, the last of which was to tug my facemask in place down around my collar. In fact I still had my hands at my neck when I noticed the fat, healthy-looking spike horn. It was 1 PM on the nose and he too was coming around the root ball, also on the brushy side of it. Different than the previous doe, he turned to his right and my left. Again I stood and drew as he passed behind some small trees and then stepped out into one of my pre-picked "perfect shot spots" at 18 yards. I was facing him making it pretty much of a perfect broadside shot. To make a long story shot - er - short, I missed. At first I didn't know it as he jumped in the air and tore out of there like a scalded rabbit. I thought sure I must have got a clean pass-through but I thought he sure was running strong. In retrospect I know I felt the doubt creep in and as I re-visualized the shot I was aware my last sight picture was not all it should have been. I had committed that so easy failing - I broke concentration at the critical moment and my sight picture, trigger squeeze, and follow through all went to hell. Since it was a little after one by then, Randy was waiting on the radio when I clicked it on. He had nothing to report but I did. I was trying to sound sure I'd hit the target but I guess I was just trying to convince myself because it had been such a "gimmee" shot. The outcome of the whole thing was I found my arrow in the dirt behind where the nice little buck had been and there was nothing on it but a few little back hairs on one blade. I'd only given him a haircut and a scare. He probably thought it was a large, mean "Deer Fly"/"Sweat Fly", known as Yellow Flies and/or May Flies in the south. The worse of it was Randy had trudged all the way from his stand (radio off) to help with the tracking before I could tell him what I'd discovered. After he listened to my unpleasant tale his only comment was, "Sounds like buck fever to me."

If he was looking for denial on my part I fooled him. I said, "That's exactly what it was." Honestly though just about then I was beginning to wonder if it was bow fever. I felt pretty bad as I had been so sure I was really ready to take a second deer with the bow this year and now I'd muffed another chance and this time my shotgun had been hanging right there. Had I played the fool, I wondered, or was I just fooling myself all along.

After Randy returned to his stand I got a hold on myself by virtue of some strong self-examination and resolve. When next we spoke on the radio, Randy ventured the opinion that he fully expected to hear a shotgun blast from my area before the evening was over. I told him that he just well might but that I wanted to assure him it would only occur if there was no other choice open because I was now even more determined to take a deer with a bow.

Silence for a moment and then he replied, "You go, Man - that's the attitude."

His enthusiasm over my decision helped to stiffen my resolve. However it was not to be tested that day as I never saw another deer before dark. I did honestly set there with the calmest sense of assurance that I had felt since missing the doe at home earlier in the season.

Randy meanwhile had deer crawling all over him for the rest of the day it seemed. Every time we talked he had more news to report and he continued to let them walk. Finally close to the end of the evening he told me he had another/or the same cowhorn lying down in front of him. My response was a surprised, "What? Again?"

After a little more stringing me along he admitted that one would not be getting up and leaving. He informed me he had decided he had sat there and seen too many deer to wind up with nothing to show for it. He admitted that he had misjudged the distance by five yards but (because he "held steady" and paid attention to his shooting form - my words, not his) he scored what he called a "good miss" on the nice cowhorn. He took him square in the spine with the slightly high shot, taking him down immediately. A good end to a taxing day but one that had been truly blessed with sightings and chances for both of us.

By the time we got back to camp, ate, took care of Randy's cowhorn (94 lbs. live weight) and got our gear ready for morning we were "beyond-ready" to turn in. Prior to that I had offered to change sites for the second day's hunt. Randy had been considering that but hesitated to bring it up because of Mr. Big. I wanted him to have a chance to at least see that deer and besides he had seen more numbers of deer that I would be happy to take with my bow at his site. So it was settled but he mentioned I might want to take my Mossberg along also as he kept seeing deer in one spot that was not in bow range. He also added he wasn't sure if I could even reach it with the shotgun so that I'd have to check it out. He described exactly where it was from the tree he'd chosen which was about the only one in that area usable so I would be in that one too. Randy probably would not use the same tree I had chosen at my site. That would lessen the possibility of any returnees from seeing him if they looked at "my" tree and he knew from the previous year there was any number of good choices at that site.

The next morning, since the site I would be using was closer to where we had to leave the boat and wade in. Randy showed me to "the" tree. I would be in the top of it and ready to go before he could get close to my site of the previous day. The first time we made contact it was just approaching shooting time. He had heard something in the water behind him but wasn't sure if it was a deer or bird. I agreed there had been plenty of that the day before and told him my area was quiet so far but what I could see was sure looking good. At the next hours exchange Randy was pretty excited, as he'd seen the biggest, fattest doe he'd ever seen. He was pretty sure it had been her in the water as she was wet and shook like a dog. He said the fat just shook all over her when she did that - a site to see. He also added that had he taken my tree or had I gone there she would surly have been ours as she walked directly under that tree. After that she headed past the root ball and towards my area of the new morning. I don't believe I ever saw her though. I reported my site was still quiet and about that time he heard more noise in the bushes so we signed off. Unfortunately that was to be about the extent of Randy's activity for the day. More noises but no more sightings. Not the case for this ol' hoss though for I proceeded to have one of the most shocking but best and luckiest days of my hunting life.

It all started not quite an hour later at ten minutes before nine. I honest to God have a habit of glancing at my watch as soon as the chance presents itself after spotting any and all deer - go figure, I'm full of quirks. Be that as it may, there was a cluster of a tree and some saplings about ten yards to my left that effectively blocked my clear vision of the surrounding clearing in that particular direction, like the blind spot in a car. I was hearing sounds from that side but could not locate anything and was figuring it to be birds in the brush. Apparently the nice spikehorn that suddenly appeared by those trees had worked his way between the edge of the clearing and that point while screened by those trees. He was busily browsing on the grasses that grew on the floor of the clearing which was dotted with small bushes and saplings. A real neat place for deer and deer hunting. I watched the spike as he went back around the small clump of trees. I noted he could be a twin to the one I had missed the afternoon before. Still determined to take a deer with my bow I had placed it in the bow holder in front of me, while my shot gun hung from a branch of the tree on my right side. I never even considered reaching for the gun but picked the bow up as I stood when the young buck's head disappeared behind the trees. As soon as he came out from behind the tree clump he quickly came directly towards the left side of my treestand. He was right below me but far enough out to give a decent shot angle. I drew my bow and nestled my face against the string in the familiar way. It was already feeling exactly right. Then the shock hit home, my eye found no peepsight on the string. With sudden alarm I pushed the bow away from my face while still keeping it drawn in order to see what the hell was up. At the same time I was still keeping an eye on the deer and seeing that my peepsight had caught on some marsh grass straws the day before that had flipped it flat in the string. All I could see was the edge of it instead of the hole. I realized if I let the bowstring "down" the arrow would bounce off the rest and perhaps pop off the string and even fall to the ground scarring the deer. I curled my finger up over the arrow, holding it in place as I let down. Then I watched the deer move out in front of my tree while at the same time ascertaining I had no hope of clearing the fouled peepsight while he waited. For one brief instant I thought about the shotgun and immediately discarded that option. I was determined! The spike was only about 15 yards out now and angled away just right. I made my decision; I must do my very best shooting and take the deer with my bow. I quickly asked for help and re-drew the bow. A strange calm came over me (like I was target shooting) as I sited along the center, side of the peepsight. Alternately I checked and rechecked that view, and the view of the arrow and rest directly under the sight pins, while time seemed to just stand still. I placed the pin on the vital spot, made one more check on all points, let half my breath out, holding the rest, and started squeezing the release trigger. This time I did it the way I really do know how to and the little Mathews bow I have so much confidence in (when I do my part) did the rest. That time my proper follow-through clearly showed me the arrow's placement while the buck jumped and proceeded to bound erratically out of the clearing. The arrow had struck just a little high, left and was well sunk in the back edge of the deer's shoulder, angled for the lungs. I couldn't have even dreamed of better results with no peepsight. I was busy thanking the Lord for all that help as I watched the deer bound out of the clearing into the woods beyond. It wouldn't be easy but I somehow felt sure I would recover him, with a lot of continued help of course. I collapsed onto the net seat of my treestand, still clutching my bow, possibly breathing for the first time in awhile. I glanced at my watch again. It was just a couple minutes after nine o'clock and time to contact Randy with the story of all stories.

Randy immediately told me he might have to cut off suddenly, as he was sure he could hear a deer walking near the water behind him again. I told him I understood and that I'd shot one. Immediately the sounds he was hearing took second place for him as he queried me for all the details. He knew there had been no shotgun blast so that it had to be a bow shot deer. He started out excited and as we conversed in hushed tones he got more enthused. My answers and narrative were interspersed with his comments of, "No way," and "Get out of here," and the like. His final remark about the shot was something to the effect that it really pointed up how important all that time practicing had been and I agreed wholeheartedly. In retrospect I'm not sure but what he was more excited than I, as by then the doubts were beginning to creep back in on me about finding the deer. He reassured me that from what I'd told him he was sure I'd find the spike just inside the woods where he had gone. He advised me to give it some time as it was early and I did have my shotgun there. I told him I agreed and had already put it in the bow holder and transferred the bow to the branch where the shotgun had hung while we talked. I added that I was just going to sit there and try to clear my peepsight. After cautioning me not to do anything crazy in the stand that might break the bowstring, he reminded me again that I did have my "trusty Mossberg" for backup.

It didn't take me long to see my bow was out of commission until I could get where it could be worked on properly by taking the tension off the bowstring. Unless of course I wanted to try shooting it that way again - NOT! That was (I hope) a once in a lifetime. I placed my shotgun across my lap and treestand braces. That would tend to keep my hands occupied holding it and away from picking at my peepsight. By the next hour contact Randy's noises had not materialized and I had seen nothing more but informed him I was going to give it a little longer. I hadn't much more than signed off when deer appeared in the spot Randy had told me about that had been out of his bow range. It started out as a doe and yearling but later developed into a third female. All were large but one was smaller than the other two.

I had been checking out that shot lane earlier and Randy was right. It would be a long shot but I calculated my Mossberg was up to it. I picked my doe and aimed high on the shoulder. She dropped and it later turned out the pattern had really covered her as it had plenty of distance to spread out. The pellets also still had more than enough kinetic energy to take care of the job at the end of the line. I turned to the radio knowing Randy would soon be there after the boom of the shotgun. After I related the story Randy made a verbal play on that popular investment advertisement, "One thing about it, Bernie when that shotgun of yours speaks people and deer listen." I was more than pleased to agree.

My hunt was over and it wasn't much past ten AM. I left it up to Randy though, as I was comfortable in my stand and content with the morning's unusual highs. I could just sit and watch for more deer. Randy felt we probably should get the doe out of that good area and get on to locating my arrowed buck. He said he'd vacate his stand and head my way to help while I took care of the doe. I countered with the suggestion he stay in his stand and after I took care of the doe I'd try to follow the buck (it was toward Randy anyway) and perhaps I might kick something up for him. He agreed that sounded like a plan. We would keep the radios on.

I hauled the doe back beyond my stand area. No easy haul (she turned out to weigh 103 lbs. on the hoof) but I was on a high. When I took the bucks trail the soft grasses were not showing me much in the way of anything other than an impression of his passing. I was getting worried again and knew the arrow was probably still blocking the entry wound from releasing blood. Randy ventured the guess/hope a bush would grab at the arrow and tear it out. I hoped once I got into the woods sign would be easier to see and perhaps I'd find the arrow and some blood. No such luck - inside the wooded area it was pretty much the same as where I had been, except there were more tall trees and therefore the grasses were shorter. The ground was also laced with game trails going every which way but the dry spell had precluded any chance of discerning fresh tracks. I decided to simply walk towards Randy's site by taking each larger trail branch that I came to. I hoped the spike had done as a lot of wounded deer do and taken the best-known, most-used paths. My heart was sinking, as after about two or three hundred yards I approached the thick bushes and canes that showed I was nearing Randy. Those bushes and canes were not easy getting through and were also what had disabled my peepsight the evening before. Randy and I discussed the situation over the radios and in my mind's eye I could see a long day ahead of searching the woods and (worse yet) the thick. Throughout all of this I had been repeatedly asking/praying for help finding my bow-taken deer. I informed Randy I was working my way out to the edge of the water where we had entered the brush/reeds to get to the site he was at. I asked if he was coming to me that way. He wanted to know if the other side looked any better/easier. I told him I would go back into the woods and walk the edge of the thick to check it out while he "unclimbed" his tree. I hadn't gone back along that edge more than a few feet beyond where I had started working my way towards the water just a few minutes before. I was drawn up short by the vision just inside the vine-choked brush of what looked like a deer's ear. It was one, then two, not moving. Only then I noticed the white patch beside it that was throat/stomach hair.

"That is a deer," I thought.

Then out loud, "That is my deer!"

I struggled around and through the vines to make sure it was the morning's harvest and not by some trick of fate the one I'd "missed" the afternoon before. They both even had one spike that turned down but not as much on the one before me. Also only his legs were stiff - he was fresh. Believe me I was doing some tall and repeated "Thank you, Lord," utterances and shaking my head in disbelief - even before punching the radio transmit button.

"Randy, you are never going to believe this!"

"Find a better path?"

"No. I just walked up on a deer."

"Again?" In referance to Mr. Big the morning before I guess. "Which way did it go?"

"This one ain't going anywhere, buddy. He's a dead deer. He's my deer," I must have been literally hollering by then and probably didn't even need the radio.

You can imagine all the talk and exchanges that went on both then and after Randy struggled/plowed through the canes to me and saw how close the deer was to where I'd stopped searching to wait for him to join me. At first he was sure I'd been following a blood trail all along and was just playing another joke on him. Not so! No blood (except where I found him), no arrow (it wasn't still in him, by the way), no tracks, and no tricks - just dumb luck and the Lord's help. Thank you, Lord - and you can bet that deer is going to the Hope Mission for sharing. (It did, too!)

I field dress