Early Bow season in Southwest Mississippi is a balmy, hot affair. If a fellow wants to hunt the swamps, one must deal with mosquitoes, knats, deer flies, spiders, ticks, red bugs, cotton mouth moccasins, rattle snakes, copperheads, alligators and leeches, just to name a few. Thus it was several years ago that I found myself early one evening in a hide along the banks of the Homochitto river. It is an unusual river. Dominated by high banks and sandbars that give way to thick swamp, the Homochitto snakes its way through several southern counties to empty into the Mississippi just a few miles from my location. 60-100 yards across in most spots, it ranges from shallow sandy bottom where you can wade across without getting your knees wet, to dark, swirling pools as deep as 30 feet. It’s reputation is that of a killer, and rightly so, for I cannot easily count the lives lost to it over the years. I was raised on the river, swimming, fishing, hand grabbing and hunting. For us it was not something to be feared, just understood and respected. Most of its victims are inexperienced or weak swimmers lured into the inviting shallows and then swept into deep water by the deceptively strong currents. To approach my hide, I had come in several hundred yards up stream, slipped quietly into the water and drifted down with the current. I then slipped up the bank and into my hide. While this results in being wet, it also results in a very quiet, scent free entry without disturbing the area. You will be wet either way. Better to be wet from river water than sweat. Just have to be careful of your feathers, but it's not hard to keep them and you bow above water. My view was a wash, a thin, narrow, sandy place where high water and current had cleared a lane during last years flood. About 70 yards long and 10 yards wide, knee high broom straw now grew in the wash. My hide was a clump of willow trees on a small mound between the river and the wash. The river at my back, and thick swamp across the wash, one might wonder why a hunter would choose such a place covered with nothing but in-edible broom straw? Simple, it's a funnel and the easiest way for an animal to travel from the safety of the bedding cover to the rich crop fields a few hundred yards up river. And travel it they did! That wash was a veritable interstate of the swamp. Interestingly enough, the whole pallet and landscape, or swampscape if you prefer, will have changed by the next year. This whole area is in flux from year to year due to flooding. The wash may be under 10 feet of sand and the river channel 200 yards from where it is now. It was about 4 pm by the time I settled in and the parade started almost immediately. I could see the deer making its way up the wash. It was a yearling, no spots. Could I be so lucky as to have a yearling doe come by? I could already taste the fresh, tender backstrap! Upon closer inspection, the little knots indicating a button buck were clearly visible. Oh well, I never tire of watching deer and this was a good opportunity to sharpen the Indian. As he worked his way past at about 12 yards, I came to full draw and held, focused on a small area behind his shoulder. I held a few seconds and eased the bow down when his head was in the broom straw. I smiled to myself and the little buck went his way, none the wiser. An otter appeared a few yards away in the river, frolicking and just generally doing what otters do. I so love watching them. A family of coons came next. One came right up in the hide within feet of me. It was an older sow and she quickly noticed something amiss, namely some joker hiding in there with a sharp stick. She un ceremoniously gathered her clan and spirited them away from that lowlife. An hour passed. I could hear my uncle Buds 4wheeler in the crop fields a few hundred yards away. I could soon hear him begin beating and banging on something. I love my uncle Bud, but a more mechanically un inclined person has never lived. A smile crossed my lips, I did not know what he was doing, but I did know he doing it wrong. I was still pondering what Bud was tearing up, and I'd ultimately have to fix, when a broken stick back in the thick brush jarred me to attention. I strained my ears for more clues. It was skirting the wash, staying in the heavy brush. This went on for some time, only the slightest noises. Deer sound like this, mature deer. I don't know how he got there, but he was just suddenly, there. 30 yards down by the end of the wash stood Goliath!!! I could scarcely believe my eyes, it had now been over a year since anyone had seen him or gotten a picture on trail cams. I figured old age had claimed him. My excitement was soon tempered by a sad reality. He had skirted the wash, staying out of sight and going the opposite direction of the deer and coons. He was past me, out of range and headed away from me. Instead of traveling from the bedding area to the crop fields, he was going into the bedding area. Figures! Goliath had been making a monkeys backside out of me for three years now! He had an arrogant, confident swagger like he was un touchable and king of the swamp. Right about then, I tended to think maybe he was!..... to be continued.
Topic: Goliath Rising (Read 2063 times)
