Dangerous Rewards - Stories of African Insanity

By Todd Wilson

A Not So Welcoming Arrival

As it came to our attention that all foreign nationals were being advised to leave Zimbabwe within thirty days, my brothers and I were beginning to feel a bit uneasy about our personal safety. If you couple this with the fact that our Professional Hunter (PH) was devout alcoholic, you begin to have a recipe for disaster. Read more

Early Morning Gobblers

By Patrick Murphy of Rocky Mount, NC

6am finds me on schedule to my first listening location. The air is cool and sharp, there’s no wind. The thick smoke from my breath hovers around my head as I stop to listen. It seems thick enough to convince me it’s hampering my hearing, so I tip toe and listen rather then stand still.

Then it comes…the first gobble. I’m immediately 15 minutes late now, he’s a long ways. It takes forever, dodging the gauntlet of deer in route slows me down even more. As I close the distance, I know exactly where he’s at and the tree I’m gonna call home for the morning. Read more

Self-Guided In Alaska

By Robert Lane

Most sportsmen dream of the adventure of a lifetime in Alaska. A lot of them make it happen. Many more don’t, and the cost of a guided hunting or fishing trip to the great northwest is usually the deciding factor.

If you have solid wilderness camping skills, a good understanding of wilderness survival, can navigate well with GPS, map, and compass, and are comfortable on the water, you can put together a self-guided float hunt or fishing trip to the 49th state that won’t break the bank. The early months of the new year are the times to plan for such a trip. Read more

And What’s Wrong With The Endangered Species Act?

It’s getting worse before, if ever, it will get better. Abuse of the Endangered Species Act is at an all-time high and rising like a rocket. Something must be done! (Scroll to bottom to find links to related articles)

Can it get any worse? Millions of dollars are being spent on lawsuits aimed at preserving habitat and some species of wildlife needlessly, with no end in sight. The ESA is being used as a lethal weapon that will destroy our property rights and further sink us into economic recession. It’s out of control. Read more

Through Better Men than I

By Master Sargent Mike Sibley

I can hear their whispers wherever I go. “Control your breathing, concentrate on the blade, and squeeze.” “Feel your way along with your toes instead of watching your feet.” “Work your way down through that black-growth and you’ll find ‘em in that stand of beech.” So persistent are they that I sympathize with a schizophrenic who feels as if he’s never alone. Unlike him, my voices are not a psychotic delusion created by chemical imbalances crying out for the saving grace of lithium. Real men spoke those words and no amount of time or distance will ever silence them. They are my last connection to a past that I crave but know I’ll never see. They define the man who hears them. And I pray they shape the lives of my sons. Read more

Perfect Camouflage

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tommy Mohrbucks and I’m your average middle aged bow hunter. The name is actually a moniker that refers to my Texas Hold’em internet identity, not bucks of the deer variety . I have a tremendous passion for both Texas Hold’em & bow hunting for white tail deer.

It sure felt good to be returning to a small 10-acre plot in south-east Michigan, where I was fortunate enough to have bagged my first buck last season. Opening day was still over a week away but I wanted to hang my tree stand and give the ever suspicious deer a few days to forget about my intrusion. Read more

A Way Of Life

By Shawn P. Howard
Howard Brothers Guide Service

As a tagging agent in central Maine, I get the opportunity to see what the area is offering for hunting and trapping success. I also get to meet many hunters from around Maine and from far away that come to enjoy what Maine has to offer. Some faces I see every November to tag their deer, and many return with just as big a smile to watch their hunting partner tag their trophy animal. Hunting season creates lifelong friendships, and brings family members together. Time spent in the outdoors offers quality time with loved ones away from the pressures of every day life.

Since I was 14 years old I have looked forward to deer camp, not only for the thrill of the hunt but also to spend time with my older brother Heath. Six years my senior, my brother spent much of our childhood testing my ability to withstand severe beatings and daily humiliations like only an older brother can provide. Throughout the early years I envisioned that one day the beatings would subside but what I didn’t envision is that my brother and I would share a common obsession for the outdoors.

Hunting season allows us to spend time together and share moments that we normally cannot seem to make time for. Sometimes it’s not easy for a grown man to turn to another and say, “ hey, I really care for you brother” but a high five and embrace after a successful shot from a ladder stand on a buck that you have been dogging for the last two weeks, says the same thing. Among hunters there is a universal language. The smiles and congratulatory high fives when someone returns to camp with a successful harvest, says, “Good job, we’re proud of you”. Just as a pat on the back and a shrug of the shoulders after a miss says “nice try, maybe next time friend”.

I am grateful that hunting brought my brother and I together. We will forever share a special bond in the outdoors. Today my brother passes his love for hunting on to his son Hunter and soon to his daughter Hannah. They will share special moments together and form a special bond with their father. I look forward to doing the same with my two sons Dalton and Bryson. Recently, I became a Registered Maine Guide. I want to share with others what my brother and I have experienced through hunting. It is not about the kill, it is about the experience. It’s about spending time with family and friends in an environment that somehow seems to bring people together like nothing else can. Hunting is an obsession, but a good one. Hunting is a way of life that many of us chose because it is a tool not only for game management but also for life management.

I hope that the tradition of hunting in Maine stays strong and that my sons will share the same bond that my brother and I share. Hunting is a way of life that only those who have experienced it can truly understand it.

A Way Of Life

As a tagging agent in central Maine I get the opportunity to see what the area is offering for hunting and trapping success. I also get to meet many hunters from around Maine and from far away that come to enjoy what Maine has to offer. Some faces I see every November to tag their deer, and many return with just as big a smile to watch their hunting partner tag their trophy animal. Hunting season creates lifelong friendships, and brings family members together. Time spent in the outdoors offers quality time with loved ones away from the pressures of every day life.

Since I was 14 years old I have looked forward to deer camp, not only for the thrill of the hunt but also to spend time with my older brother Heath. Six years my senior, my brother spent much of our childhood testing by ability to withstand severe beatings and daily humiliations like only an older brother can provide. Throughout the early years I envisioned that one day the beatings would subside but what I didn’t envision is that my brother and I would share a common obsession for the outdoors.

Hunting season allows us to spend time together and share moments that we normally cannot seem to make time for. Sometimes it’s not easy for a grown man to turn to another and say, “ hey, I really care for you brother” but a high five and embrace after a successful shot from a ladder stand on a buck that you have been dogging for the last two weeks, says the same thing. Among hunters there is a universal language. The smiles and congratulatory high fives when someone returns to camp with a successful harvest, says, “Good job, we’re proud of you”. Just as a pat on the back and a shrug of the shoulders after a miss says “nice try, maybe next time friend”.

I am grateful that hunting brought my brother and I together, we will forever share a special bond in the outdoors. Today my brother passes his love for hunting on to his son Hunter and soon to his daughter Hannah. They will share special moments together and form a special bond with their father. I look forward to doing the same with my two sons Dalton and Bryson.

Recently, I became a Registered Maine Guide. I want to share with others what my brother and I have experienced through hunting. It is not about the kill, it is about the experience. It’s about spending time with family and friends in an environment that somehow seems to bring people together like nothing else can. Hunting is an obsession, but a good one. Hunting is a way of life that many of us chose because it is a tool not only for game management but also for life management.

I hope that the tradition of hunting in Maine stays strong and that my sons will share the same bond that my brother and I share. Hunting is a way of life that only those who have experienced it can truly understand it.

Shawn P. Howard
Howard Bros. Guide Service

Thanks Dad, and A Wall Hanger to End it All…

By Paul Thein

 

I’m now 40-years old and I’ve been hunting a family farm since I’ve been a teenager fresh out of hunter’s safety classes. Hunting is a family tradition for us. Our hunting party consists of cousins and close family friends. Over the years I have watched many of them bag the big whitetail wall hanger you dream of. Of course I can’t complain and have done well on the family farm myself. My hunt last year was featured in a few magazines and online journals; showcasing five mature bucks I was able to harvest for our hunting party of nine. Even so, my deer hunts have never produced the whitetail of my dreams…the big one for the wall.

This year, half of our hunting land sold off and was developed into a golf course and housing development. I guess you can’t stop urban sprawl and it has finally caught up to our land. This year there was talk amongst our hunting party that this could possibly be the last hunt due to the continued developments.

After 25 years of memories you can now see the end of an era of great hunting and family memories coming to an end. I couldn’t help but feel sad that similar hunting experiences won’t be there for future generations to enjoy. Hunting is much more than killing deer, it’s a family reunion filled with playful competition over who can shoot the big one and childhood memories.

Living in California now makes it difficult for me to return to my boyhood home of Minnesota, but this is one hunt I knew I had to make. After all, this could be the year… what if I’m the one who bags the wall hanger of my dreams! What if this is the last hunt?

I returned and the weather was ideal, I didn’t have to fight the bitter cold that sometimes makes your teeth chatter and I saw more deer each day than I ever remember seeing. I enjoyed the familiar noises and sights of pasts, squirrels sounding like approaching deer as they dig through the brown leaves on the ground and the wild turkeys walking past my stand each morning.

Many memories of the past hunts raced through my head each day I walked through the woods to my stand. Day after day I waited patiently for the buck of my dreams enjoying the beauty of it all.

Nearing the end of this hunting season and possibly the end of an era, I actually began to come to terms with the reality that I might not knock down a big buck. With only two-days left in the season and just when I came to accept the fact I may never get one for the wall, the buck of my childhood dreams popped his head out of the thick river woods. He came quietly at dusk to scent the does feeding in the open field on the clover.

“Wow”, I thought to myself. “This buck is nice!” He had plenty of rack over the ears and an old white face showing his age. As he took a step cautiously into the open clover field only 60 yards away, I raised my gun. I didn’t take time to count the points or give him a chance to scent me.

After 25 years of hunting, I was sure this was the one - Mr. Wall Hanger! I put my sites on him and squeezed the trigger. The ‘Ol Boy fell immediately in his tracks. I could see him lay there from my stand and waited a moment to make sure he was down for good.

I couldn’t hold my composure and used my cell phone to report back to the house what I was sure it was a trophy. I knew it was the one I had hoped for 20-years and dreamed of since a kid. I thought to myself, “Now I can leave this wonderful experience with a memory I take with me and hang on my wall. I’ll have something to keep the memories alive and tell the next generation about.” This is the way it should end with your biggest buck at the end!

Still not knowing how many points this buck was, I finally composed myself to approach what I hoped would be at least a 10-pointer for my mantle. With each step I was more and more assured this was my dream buck.

As I walked within arms reach I saw a “drop tine”. I thought, “All right. A drop tine buck! No one has shot a drop tine on the farm ever.”

Then as I grabbed hold of his massive rack and pulled the one side out of the mud. I saw how nice this boy really was. “Yippee, a 13-point double drop tine buck!” This is the one I had dreamt of year-after-year since I was a boy hunting with that single shot 12-gauge. Wow what a way to end it all. A trophy of a lifetime and a wall-hanger to remember it all…keeping the memories alive forever! Thanks dad for the experience…

Two Jakes and Them Darn “Skeeters”

 

It was Good Friday, April 18, 2003. It was overcast and muggy in South Carolina. My brother, a friend of ours, our friends boy (age 6 or so) and I, were off to turkey hunt. The “skeeters” were so loud it sounded like the recent NASCAR race at Bristol with all of the buzzing around our heads. We could barely hear the owl hoots. I almost couldn’t see any of the camouflage on my brother’s “Hat” because of the “skeeters”. I mean there were at least 40 plus just on his hat. After applying bug spray a second time, we headed off.At the first place we stopped, we were only greeted by the skeeters and a couple of barred owls that commenced at a few fly-bys in perfect wing-tip to wing-tip formation. Since we didn’t hear any birds gobble, our friend suggested that we move to a different spot and give it a try. We decided to set up a few yards off a dirt road where we had seen a lot of fresh tracks. We placed a pair of hen decoys on our side of the road and a Jake decoy on the other side. All of the decoys were arranged so any birds walking down the road would have to be within 50– 60 yards before they could see them. We didn’t want a bird to hang-up more than 100 yards and not come in.

With the decoys placed, my brother gave a series of clucks and purrs on his Lynch Jet slate call. No answers. Then he gave a few series of yelps on his Gaskins Box call. We sat there and nothing showed up. We waited for almost an hour. At 8:30AM there was neither a sight nor sound of any turkeys, so my brother asked me to ease out into the road with my gun and see if anything was up or down it. I was very quiet when I made my way to the edge of the road but there was nothing up the road and nothing down the road. So I turned and walked back to pack up my stuff.

My brother passed me on his way to get the decoys. Our friend and his son were 15-20 yards diagonally behind us over our left shoulder packing up. Nobody had spoken a word. I get my seat in my pack and turned to look at my brother. He’s frozen hunkered beside the first decoy. He stuck up two fingers and motions up the road. He then motions for us to quickly sit back down. I motioned to our friend and his boy to sit back down. By this time my brother was back to the tree motioning to our friend that two birds were coming down the road. My brother had seen one bird standing at attention in the road at 100 plus yards. Also, there was another bird feeding that had a white head; so we knew that there was at least one gobbler out there. I think my brother called a few times more; a few series of clucks, purrs & soft yelps. My heart was racing. I shifted a little more in their direction and waited.

At 8:50AM there was no sign of them. So my brother does a low crawl slowly out to the edge of the road to take a look. Peering from behind one of the hen decoys, he sees a head rise up at about 60 – 70 yards in the middle of the road. They were still making their way down to us; apparently they weren’t close enough to see the decoys yet. My brother was using his binoculars to try to see them working down toward us. At 9:15AM, he decided to low crawl back out and see if they were still coming toward us. He had picked up his binoculars and was crawling back out to see if they were on the way or if they had turned off the road into some scrub oaks.

He didn’t have a chance. Four seconds later a dog barked three times about 200 yards behind us and a long beard gobbled 50 – 75 yards in front of us. My heart stopped and the “Ol Shakes” kicked in. I turned a little more towards the sound. My brother grabbed his Gaskins Box and gave a series of soft yelps and clucks. We waited and waited with no answer. About 9:27AM my brother said, “Don’t move!! There they are!! Don’t move!! Breathe!! Don’t move!!” Two birds were making a beeline down the road right at the decoys. We were shoulder to shoulder and I couldn’t see anything. We were looking in the same direction but I couldn’t see what he was seeing.

An oak tree about 10 inches in diameter that was about four yards in front of us blocked my vision. My brother’s breathing changed and I knew it was on!! At eleven steps, he could see two solid red heads twisting and turning in the roadbed. The gobblers were looking at the decoys trying to decide what to do. My brother could see their heads in plain view but I could not see anything. He saw the birds turn around and start to walk back in the direction that they had come from. With my peripheral vision, I caught movement to my right. I rolled my eyes as far as I could. I saw the black body of a turkey and the head on that bird was so red it should have been on fire. That was the first gobbler I’d ever seen while hunting. Over the other five hunts/days this year, it was just hens.

So I watched him take two steps and he was out of my sight. I still couldn’t see what my brother was seeing. So I shifted my body as quickly as I could, and got the thunder stick pointed on the spot where he had been and there goes another bird through. I didn’t know what it was, so I did nothing. “Ooh!! Wait!! There’s more movement coming into the opening from the left side”. As he stepped into the small opening my brother said, “Can you see him?” I said, “Yes!” My brother “putted” once to stop the bird. He said, “Take him!!”
I didn’t hear my gun go off at all. I remember seeing smoke and that big black dot rolling over away from me. The Super Black Eagle 3 ½” thunder stick roared to life. I paused. I was in disbelief when I saw that. He said, “Run!!” So I flipped on my safety and I was running before I even stood up. I got over to him and he’s graveyard; stone cold dead. Wait a minute! What is that behind him? There’s a wing bouncing 10 feet behind him. “Uh oh,” I thought to myself. “I didn’t see that hen there.” Just then my brother came running by me and grabbed it up. He looked at my bird that was still flopping just a little and says, “Pick him up by the neck”. So I grabbed it up and his neck was warm and bloody. My brother reached around and took the bird from me with his right hand. He didn’t say anything about the second bird; nothing. Soon as he turned and started out towards the road the second bird spun towards me and WWAAAAHOOOO!!!!!!!!! It had a BEARD too!!

We got out into the road and started walking back towards our gear and our friend was walking up the road toward us just a grinnin’. His son was all smiles too. I’m all over the place. I’m shaking, and grinning. I’m pacing backwards and forwards. I was in shock. Since I couldn’t control the “Shakes” long enough to unload it, I gave my brother my gun to unload. I got my first turkey and second turkey with the same shot. I went over to get my pack and find my spent shell. I looked back to where they were standing when I shot. I still can’t believe it. I walked it off, toe to heal with my boots. I don’t remember running through all the brush and small trees that I had shot beside. It was about 25 yards to the first one & the second was less than 5 yards past him. Man oh man!!!

Thanks to our friend for being a great guide. Thanks to my brother for calling them. Thanks to our friend’s son, “The Lucky Leprechaun”, for being on my hunt. My day was made even before I made the kill. It was great to see that little guy all decked out and ready for action. The Legend of the “Little Debbie’s Oatmeal Crème Pies” continues. It is alive and well in 2003 here in South Carolina. First Bird- 14lb., 5 1/2in beard, 1/2in spurs Second Bird- 16lb., 5in beard, 1/2in spurs.

By, Anonymous

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