Decided to do the whole traditional hunt this past weekend. I don't just mean the .50 cal and and powder horn. I took out all the stops and wore my entire F&I kit. Center seam mocs, wool socks and hunting shirt, knee breeches, riflemans frock, and tricorn hat, complete with sash and belt knife and elk skin mittens with wool liners. I froze a bit but I actually LOVED it too.
My wife came with me, as she usually does, but in order to make it past the first hour she dressed in modern hunting clothes(all her own I might add).
We started out into a beutiful fall morning in North Florida, temperature around 35 degrees and a great big old full moon. We drove out to the farm I am allowed to hunt on. In reading some of the other posts I know how the lust for money can rob a hunter of his most favorite hunting grounds. The daughter of the lady who owns the farm I hunt on sold her portion of the property to someone, not even another family memeber and without her parents knowledge. I now understood how the native americans must have felt when they returned to their ancestoral hunting grounds only to find a farmer has dropped a cabin on it and scared or hunted all the game off of it.
Not letting this new construction ruin our time alone in this little slice of hunting heaven, we trekked across the pasture and sat at the same trees where we sat last year and took a nice big doe with a modern rifle. It was the first time my wife had been deer hunting when we took home some meat. This is the same farm that she took her first turkey gobbler from last spring and she knows that hunting is not all just about the kill but the time spent in the woods as well.
Now at 6:30 AM I sat against these same trees, but instead of being wrapped in goretex or thinsulate, I huddled under my linen frock and felt the warmth of the wool hunting shirt close around me. I have to admit I did let my imagination bring me back to this spot a few hundred years ago, and as I sat waiting to kill meat for the table or a deer for the skin, I kept a close eye out for indians. The sound track from "Last of the Mohicans" rang in my ears.
As the moon set and the sun began to rise, I started to do some gentle turkey calls on my wingbone call. I do admit I took along a box call as well to augment my wingbone calling. I was carrying my Invest Arms .50 carbine with a PRB and 60 grains of Triple 7. I have not had to shoot a bird out past 30 paces since I have hunted this place and knew if I was offered a shot it would be a close one or at least well within range of my rifle.
With the sun rise the temperature strated to drop a little and the winds began to move, making it seem just a little colder. Suddenly a doe walked out of the woods to my left and stopped, offering a perfect broadside shot. I whispered to my wife and she turned to see the doe as it moved slowly behind us. Since it was not the anterless deer weekend and I had no doe tags she walked on. I stared at the spot waiting for a buck to appear, following her, but it was not to be. The sun continued to climb, I continued to call and the feeling of being in such a great place and dressed as our hunting forefathers had been made it even better. I was even happier that my wife could be there to share the new day with me. About 8:50 we decided to move on. Just before we got up a very large bobcat walked out of the woods about 100 yards from us and crossed the field. I stood, removed my mittens and made a slight fawn bleat. The cat stopped in its tracks. I held just a bit high over the shoulder and squeezed. The cat ran off into the woods without having been touched. My wife told me she saw the dirt fly up just behind the cats shoulder. Just to make sure I checked the area and found nothing to indicate the cat had been hit.
We walked to the truck talking of the days events and how much time we had spent here and of all the memories we had here. Even though we don't own this property it seems like home to us because we know so much about it. Each tree, each little opening, each trail have their own stories.
We drove home filled with contentment at having spent another great day together in the field, seeing the things that others missed because they were still tucked into their warm beds or sipping coffee at the breakfast table and thanked the good Lord for another great day in the field.
My wife came with me, as she usually does, but in order to make it past the first hour she dressed in modern hunting clothes(all her own I might add).
We started out into a beutiful fall morning in North Florida, temperature around 35 degrees and a great big old full moon. We drove out to the farm I am allowed to hunt on. In reading some of the other posts I know how the lust for money can rob a hunter of his most favorite hunting grounds. The daughter of the lady who owns the farm I hunt on sold her portion of the property to someone, not even another family memeber and without her parents knowledge. I now understood how the native americans must have felt when they returned to their ancestoral hunting grounds only to find a farmer has dropped a cabin on it and scared or hunted all the game off of it.
Not letting this new construction ruin our time alone in this little slice of hunting heaven, we trekked across the pasture and sat at the same trees where we sat last year and took a nice big doe with a modern rifle. It was the first time my wife had been deer hunting when we took home some meat. This is the same farm that she took her first turkey gobbler from last spring and she knows that hunting is not all just about the kill but the time spent in the woods as well.
Now at 6:30 AM I sat against these same trees, but instead of being wrapped in goretex or thinsulate, I huddled under my linen frock and felt the warmth of the wool hunting shirt close around me. I have to admit I did let my imagination bring me back to this spot a few hundred years ago, and as I sat waiting to kill meat for the table or a deer for the skin, I kept a close eye out for indians. The sound track from "Last of the Mohicans" rang in my ears.
As the moon set and the sun began to rise, I started to do some gentle turkey calls on my wingbone call. I do admit I took along a box call as well to augment my wingbone calling. I was carrying my Invest Arms .50 carbine with a PRB and 60 grains of Triple 7. I have not had to shoot a bird out past 30 paces since I have hunted this place and knew if I was offered a shot it would be a close one or at least well within range of my rifle.
With the sun rise the temperature strated to drop a little and the winds began to move, making it seem just a little colder. Suddenly a doe walked out of the woods to my left and stopped, offering a perfect broadside shot. I whispered to my wife and she turned to see the doe as it moved slowly behind us. Since it was not the anterless deer weekend and I had no doe tags she walked on. I stared at the spot waiting for a buck to appear, following her, but it was not to be. The sun continued to climb, I continued to call and the feeling of being in such a great place and dressed as our hunting forefathers had been made it even better. I was even happier that my wife could be there to share the new day with me. About 8:50 we decided to move on. Just before we got up a very large bobcat walked out of the woods about 100 yards from us and crossed the field. I stood, removed my mittens and made a slight fawn bleat. The cat stopped in its tracks. I held just a bit high over the shoulder and squeezed. The cat ran off into the woods without having been touched. My wife told me she saw the dirt fly up just behind the cats shoulder. Just to make sure I checked the area and found nothing to indicate the cat had been hit.
We walked to the truck talking of the days events and how much time we had spent here and of all the memories we had here. Even though we don't own this property it seems like home to us because we know so much about it. Each tree, each little opening, each trail have their own stories.
We drove home filled with contentment at having spent another great day together in the field, seeing the things that others missed because they were still tucked into their warm beds or sipping coffee at the breakfast table and thanked the good Lord for another great day in the field.
eace: 
