bigbore442001
50 Cal.
The cherubs were busy at the main house watching a movie that they exclaimed was the worst thing they had ever been made to watch. I told them they will have a quiz on it tommorrow morning. I left to go to my office where I donned my hunting attire. I left the back way and scootted out to my truck and headed off to a spot that I have permission to hunt in the Bay State.
I was a bit hesitant to go since hunting there with the shotgun I had two idiots drive by my location. So much for the peace and serenity of the forest.
Most of the lowlands are flooded with the heavy rains we obtained and I summized that this one spot will be at least dry for the deer. It is loaded with white pines of all sizes thus a potential refuge.
I stop at my friend's driveway and get out.I strap on my safety harness, belt bag and day pack. I grab my muzzleloading carbine and head westward across his field to the pine grove. As I crossed a small drainage I see something in the field. Tracks. The landscape is covered with a thin layer of compacted granular snow and ice of about one half inch. It reminds me of the icing on a ginger cookie. I see where the deer have been coming out of the white pine grove adjacent to a group of homes. I wonder if these commuters realize the deer had taken refuge near their homes? I wonder if they know that someone clad in orange is hunting them,albeit at the legal distance from their homes? I suppose they have no clue and in a way that is a good thing. What they don't know won't hurt them.
I cross the icy stone wall and look at the tracks. I summize that the four deer that were here before the season are still here. I have a feeling of elation at the knowledge some slob truck hunter didn't get any of them. Sorry but you have to work for them. I guess that is a word that is not in some people's lexicon.
I walk down the hill and then down the old abandoned railroad bed. The action of man has created a small stream. I was listening to the crackling of the icy forest floor and then thought about the stream. Maybe next week I will don my hip boots and walk into the woods via the stream to counteract any noise I make. Who knows if it will work.
I walk further and spot a set of tracks that head down to my ladder stand. By this time I cock the hammer back and put a flanged musket cap on the nipple. I carefully lower the hammer on half cock and proceed westward. I then take a turn north and downhill. Through the mixed woods of maple,oak and white pine I find my ladder stand. It sits between the old railroad bed and another stream to the north of me. I am bracketed by these topographic features with the hope that the deer use these as a travel way.
I climb up the ladder very carefully. We had some icing and I don't want to slip and fall fifteen feet on the hard forest floor. I see that the cushion seat has a layer of ice on it that needs removal. Unfortunately the seat is somewhat soaked. I turned it upside down where it is less wet. Needless to say after I sit the water has migrated to my back side. Even though I wear Statix X long underwear and polarfleece pants, a wet rear end is still a wet rear end.
I have learned to ignore some of the minor discomforts. I thought back to the early hunts with my father. How he pushed me a bit when it got cold and uncomfortable. Life isn't always sunny and there is an old Arab proverb," All sunshine makes for a desert." Sometimes you need to face the elements. I also thought about the young men I work with and how bereft many have been not to have a real father in their lives. I often hear some complain how cold it is outside or they are bored. I hate to say it but they needed a real man in their life for guidance and to learn what a man is.
I'll confess that when I am on my stand I will sometimes pray. I feel more close to God in a treestand overlooking the beauty of nature than I do in Church on Sunday morning. I sometimes ask for favors or to releive some things that I think is suffering. I also give thanks for many gifts as well. I suppose it balances out in the long run.
I look around me and see the lay of the land. I feel the wind blowing on my face. It has a chill as my nose is running a bit. I feel the cold air in my throat and lungs. It is refreshing and exhilarating at the same time. I hear the rushing water of the stream to the north of me. I suspect that the deer walk near its edge as a means of maintaining cover. I keep glancing towards that spot from time to time.
Every twenty minutes I would blow three times on a doe estrous bleat. I have some dim hope that there is a buck and somehow the second rut may still be in existance. This activity helps pass the time away as I sit looking for the deer. I remember this spot in November when hunting with the bow and arrow. I thought I would have taken a deer but it wasn't meant to be. Shotgun was a washout with Dad's medical issues and what seemed to be a situation where the deer changed their habits completely. This will be a tough year.
The forest floor is covered in nature's icing. It deceptively reflects light well past the legal shooting time. I am tempted to hunt beyond it but then I realize that I would be a hypocrite if I were to do so.
I descend from my perch, unsuccessful but rewarded.
I was a bit hesitant to go since hunting there with the shotgun I had two idiots drive by my location. So much for the peace and serenity of the forest.
Most of the lowlands are flooded with the heavy rains we obtained and I summized that this one spot will be at least dry for the deer. It is loaded with white pines of all sizes thus a potential refuge.
I stop at my friend's driveway and get out.I strap on my safety harness, belt bag and day pack. I grab my muzzleloading carbine and head westward across his field to the pine grove. As I crossed a small drainage I see something in the field. Tracks. The landscape is covered with a thin layer of compacted granular snow and ice of about one half inch. It reminds me of the icing on a ginger cookie. I see where the deer have been coming out of the white pine grove adjacent to a group of homes. I wonder if these commuters realize the deer had taken refuge near their homes? I wonder if they know that someone clad in orange is hunting them,albeit at the legal distance from their homes? I suppose they have no clue and in a way that is a good thing. What they don't know won't hurt them.
I cross the icy stone wall and look at the tracks. I summize that the four deer that were here before the season are still here. I have a feeling of elation at the knowledge some slob truck hunter didn't get any of them. Sorry but you have to work for them. I guess that is a word that is not in some people's lexicon.
I walk down the hill and then down the old abandoned railroad bed. The action of man has created a small stream. I was listening to the crackling of the icy forest floor and then thought about the stream. Maybe next week I will don my hip boots and walk into the woods via the stream to counteract any noise I make. Who knows if it will work.
I walk further and spot a set of tracks that head down to my ladder stand. By this time I cock the hammer back and put a flanged musket cap on the nipple. I carefully lower the hammer on half cock and proceed westward. I then take a turn north and downhill. Through the mixed woods of maple,oak and white pine I find my ladder stand. It sits between the old railroad bed and another stream to the north of me. I am bracketed by these topographic features with the hope that the deer use these as a travel way.
I climb up the ladder very carefully. We had some icing and I don't want to slip and fall fifteen feet on the hard forest floor. I see that the cushion seat has a layer of ice on it that needs removal. Unfortunately the seat is somewhat soaked. I turned it upside down where it is less wet. Needless to say after I sit the water has migrated to my back side. Even though I wear Statix X long underwear and polarfleece pants, a wet rear end is still a wet rear end.
I have learned to ignore some of the minor discomforts. I thought back to the early hunts with my father. How he pushed me a bit when it got cold and uncomfortable. Life isn't always sunny and there is an old Arab proverb," All sunshine makes for a desert." Sometimes you need to face the elements. I also thought about the young men I work with and how bereft many have been not to have a real father in their lives. I often hear some complain how cold it is outside or they are bored. I hate to say it but they needed a real man in their life for guidance and to learn what a man is.
I'll confess that when I am on my stand I will sometimes pray. I feel more close to God in a treestand overlooking the beauty of nature than I do in Church on Sunday morning. I sometimes ask for favors or to releive some things that I think is suffering. I also give thanks for many gifts as well. I suppose it balances out in the long run.
I look around me and see the lay of the land. I feel the wind blowing on my face. It has a chill as my nose is running a bit. I feel the cold air in my throat and lungs. It is refreshing and exhilarating at the same time. I hear the rushing water of the stream to the north of me. I suspect that the deer walk near its edge as a means of maintaining cover. I keep glancing towards that spot from time to time.
Every twenty minutes I would blow three times on a doe estrous bleat. I have some dim hope that there is a buck and somehow the second rut may still be in existance. This activity helps pass the time away as I sit looking for the deer. I remember this spot in November when hunting with the bow and arrow. I thought I would have taken a deer but it wasn't meant to be. Shotgun was a washout with Dad's medical issues and what seemed to be a situation where the deer changed their habits completely. This will be a tough year.
The forest floor is covered in nature's icing. It deceptively reflects light well past the legal shooting time. I am tempted to hunt beyond it but then I realize that I would be a hypocrite if I were to do so.
I descend from my perch, unsuccessful but rewarded.
