Looking back it amazes me how things have changed in this state. We often traversed country that now teems with whitetails, yet in those days we never so much as saw one track.
Gary was from south central Iowa where he had lots of farm community family and the run of almost an entire county. As a nonresident I could't hunt deer there but eventually helped Gary get started. I was always amazed at the number of deer that country contained...even then.
Of course when you come from a place where seeing A deer in a month of hunting was doing alright, then seeing 2 or 3 a day was mind boggling.
Thanks guys for all of the comments. I appreciate them. Now that you have figured out that my friend is Charlie Lamb and we were lucky enough to get to hunt with Fred Bear , I'll go on with the story.
When we were camped that night and Gordie, owner of the camp, (I think that was his name) told us that Fred Bear was coming in to hunt, we really didn't believe him. Not until the next morning when a chopper landed by the truck and out stepped - - Fred Bear.
Why was Fred there ? If you can remember back that far it was the time when the compound bow was just coming in. Fred was there to try out the new Bear Compound and kill a bear with it to get pics of Fred and the bear killed with the new compound. There were media guys and advertising people everywhere.
Fred , Charlie , and I shot a lot together and the compound really didn't fit the style of shooter that Fred was. If you have ever seen him shoot, you know what I mean. He didn't hold the anchor point at all. When he hit anchor the arrow was gone.
You could tell it was really bugging Fred that they wanted to show him with the compound. We wondered what he would do. Finally he just put the bow down. Told the ad people to destroy all of the pics of him with the compound.
He said "I have never shot a bow like this and I'm not going to. Find someone else to promo it" That was that. I thought it was neat as hell.
We need to get back to the first morning. Sometimes my writing style jumps around a little.
There we were getting our gear into the camp the first day and there seemed to be something going on pretty exciting. One of the hunters from the hunt that was finishing up was coming in with a huge black bear.
He had stayed out all night with a can of sterno and a can of honey on it to pull in this bear. It was his last night and he didn't waste it.
The picture of the bear is with Charlie's dad. He went with us and did the cooking and kept the beer cold. He was a great guy and I'll always have great memories of him, Charlie and the hunt.
Well Lamb that's it so far - your turn to add to the story, Remember how dark it was in that timber.
[ February 06, 2008, 08:30 PM: Message edited by: Charlie Lamb ]
Posts: 32 | From: Weston, Mo | Registered: Nov 2007
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Great thread! The only thing that makes it better is to hear them in person. Looking forward to tackling some turkeys this spring with you both.
-------------------- “In the end we will conserve only what we love. We will love only what we understand. We will understand only what we are taught." -- Baba Dioum Posts: 587 | From: Rogersville, Missouri | Registered: Jan 2004
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-------------------- "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." - Robert Frost Posts: 582 | From: Southern Maryland | Registered: Jun 2007
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Do I remember how dark the timber was? You gotta be kiddin!!
I'd hunted with this camp several years previous and after my first week hunting bears in Northern Ontario I swore I'd never bear hunt again.
The camp was Gordy Bentley's "Bear Paw Landing". Gordy would set up his stands within a few feet of the bait and they were seldom more than head high... I could usually lay my bow on the platform standing flat footed below it.
As if that weren't enough, the set up was always in the middle of a clearing that a compact car wouldn't have fit in.
I'd sit in my stand hardly daring to breath waiting for the bears (which I was sure were behind every tree and all with a taste for human flesh).
As the witching hour would approached I'd get more keyed up. Each minute that ticked away was one minute closer to a bear showing up and of course one minute closer to darkness.
By the time it got too dark to shoot I was sure a bear was waiting below for my departure. The first step backwards down the ladder took all the courage I could muster... being sure I was lowering myself into the jaws of death and all.
Somehow I got through that week without messing my pants or having a heart attack and without so much as seeing a bear. One evening I'd caught a flash of movement off in the brush and shortly had a big shiny black raven walk into the clearing.
That was so weird I about hurled with...er...excitement.
I'd vowed after that first hunt to never hunt bears again.
But as time went by my memories leaned more toward the camp times, and fishing from the boat dock and the awesome Canadian sunsets and the aurora borealis. The spooky nights walking out through brush that closed in on you like a coffin and waiting by the road to be picked up in pitch darkness had faded from my memory.
By the time Gary and I planned our hunt and were on our way I was one excited puppy... bring em on!!