Following are a few short stories I rolled into one title of "Gifts”. Pretty long, but I hope you enjoy.
Prickly Messenger - “Terry, wake up, there’s something outside the tent” Tina whispered. “So! Go back to sleep.” This wasn’t exactly what my wife wanted to hear. “It’s still out there” she continued. Being the hero type, I immediately turned on the flashlight and shined it through the tent wall while yelling “hah, go on, get out of here!” Satisfied that I had rescued Tina from a grizzly mauling or moose trampling, I rolled over and went back to sleep. Two minutes later Tina nudges me and says, “it’s still out there.” “Ok! Ok!” Armed with questionable courage, a flashlight, and a shotgun with slugs, I started to unzip the tent and head out to face the danger. I glanced back and told Tina I would be right back. Again, this wasn’t something Tina was excited to hear. She wasn’t going to stay in the tent while I was out battling the unknown. At least I knew my backside was safe because Tina was plastered to it! Upon exiting the tent, and shining my flashlight in the direction of the twig snapping, I saw two beady little eyes glaring back at me. Fortunately, they turned out to belong to a very large porcupine. After poking him with the gun barrel and shooing him away, Tina and I looked up and witnessed the most awe-inspiring vision we have ever seen. Tina and I were on a drop hunt for moose in the deep Alaskan bush near the Artic Circle, and what we were seeing was a glorious Aurora Borealis.
It took a while to put two and two together, but we finally realized that the porcupine was a “gift” from Heaven. We would never have emerged from the comfort of our warm dry tent at 2:00 AM to venture out in hopes of seeing the Aurora. Thanks to the porcupine, Tina and I will have a memory that will last forever. A 2nd gift was bestowed on me during this very same hunt in the form of a 66” wide 219 6/8” bull moose.
Often times we overlook these gifts and take them as dumb luck, coincidence, or self-preparation. I have been on the receiving end of many gifts and a few of them are described below.
Snowflakes on My Tongue - Another gift was given to me during a very wet September 2002 Alaskan moose hunt.
Out of the 11 days I spent in the bush, it rained nine and snowed one. This was my partner’s first trip to Alaska and by day 6 he was beginning to get a little downcast. I, on the other hand, had experienced Alaska and all she could throw at me on a previous caribou hunt. This hunt was a cakewalk compared to my 1997 caribou hunt when I was tent bound by 70 mph winds and horizontal rain for three straight days. Another party was also camped nearby and experienced some true discomfort. One of their tent poles snapped and they spent over 36 hours holding the tent off of themselves while sitting in six inches of water. We invited them into our tent, but they gracefully refused indicating they were afraid to move because the puddle they were laying in was at least warm. So compared to my 1997 caribou hunt, I was loving life. Sure we were experiencing some inconvenience, but at least we could get out and move around.
For whatever reason (late rut, nasty weather) we were not seeing many legal bulls, in fact, we had only see one for sure shooter in 6 days. No matter, I was still very confident that I would get a bull. My partner, on the contrary, was less than enthusiastic about the deluge of rain and lack of bulls. I kept trying to reassure him, that if we just kept patient and optimistic, that the odds were good that we would get our chance. It was probably a bit easier for me to remain positive due to the fact that I had hunted the exact same location one year earlier and had harvested the bull mentioned above.
I always try to look at the bright side of situations and quickly realized that no matter how bad the weather was, I was still in a far better place than my office back in Indiana. The 7th day of the hunt dawned as one to remember. It was about 28oF, overcast, and the grass was frosted heavily creating a spectacular sunrise scene. The weather deteriorated to heavy snow, that I found to be simply exhilarating. I took several pictures and was simply giddy inside. I even reverted back to my childhood and began catching the half dollar sized snowflakes on my tongue. I’m certain I was quite the spectacle. A 40-year-old man, in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness, catching snowflakes on his tongue.
After the glorious morning hunt my partner and I were back in camp preparing lunch when I mentioned what an awesome morning it had been. Perspective is everything! His comments were more in line with “What was so great about it? The weather stunk and we didn’t see any bulls.” I tried to explain my enthusiasm and even told him about catching the snowflakes on my tongue. I’m pretty certain he thought I was nuts! Well, I thanked God for his splendor, and remained positive that I would get a bull. Low and behold, a few minutes later I was drawing my recurve bow on a terrific 61” bull at the awe inspiring distance of 6 paces. The shot was slightly quartering too, but at 6 paces I felt confident in placing the Rothhaar Snuffer tipped arrow tight behind the shoulder. The shot took both lungs and the liver. After the shot, the bull lunged forward and I had to jump back off the trail to avoid being trampled. The bull turned out to be an awesome animal with an unofficial green score of 201 6/8” P&Y.
I fully believe I was given the bull as a “gift” for maintaining a positive attitude and for reveling in God’s creation!
To Shoot or Not Too Shoot? That is the Question! - October 5, 2002 dawned as a simply spectacular morning. The temperature was mild, the wind was light and from the right direction for my stand, and the sky was clear and bright. I made a virtually silent stand approach and my scent trail was only about 10 yards long due to walking over 200 yards in the middle of a water filled drainage ditch. The set-up was nearly perfect and all that was necessary was for the deer to move. And move they did! At approximately 8:00 AM a borderline Pope & Young buck was standing almost broadside at 5 yards and had no clue that I was around. Sounds like a perfect situation for the vast majority of hunters. However, I was having a terrible time deciding on if I should shoot or not. It was the 1st weekend of the season and I’d already seen a much larger buck, a slightly larger buck, a small 6 pt, 3 does, and the buck I was looking at was accompanied by one of equal stature. The dilemma I was facing was because of the new one-buck rule effective for Indiana’s deer season. If I shot, I would be done buck hunting for the season and would have no opportunities for a larger buck.
What Would You Have Done? I only had a split second to contemplate my decision and time was running out. The buck mentioned above was running with another buck of like size. The other buck was also a P&Y contender but did not carry the mass of the buck trailing him. The lead buck was right under my stand and had just crossed my scent trail and was starting to get nervous. I knew he could blow the situation wide open any second. The 2nd buck was about 5 yards behind the first and was pawing the ground and chewing on a branch. He was completely relaxed and unaware of any impending danger. The shot would be at most 5 yards, slightly quartering too, and at a fairly steep angle since I was pretty high in the tree. It was now or never! The thing that made me shoot was a saying I heard many years ago, "if it's big enough to shoot on the last day, it's big enough to shoot on the first". I would have shot him on the last day! I was extremely fortunate and the shot went exactly where I aimed. My 75# custom TimberHawk 3-piece recurve pushed the Snuffer tipped POC arrow up to the fletching and punched a hole on the lower half of the opposite side. After retrieving my two sons, my long time hunting buddy and his 13 year-old son, we took to the trail and found the 120” buck. The concerning part was that I wasn’t jumping up and down dancing in the leaves. I was almost apologetic to my hunting cronies when I told them about the buck I killed. This bothered me a lot so I asked around to find out what others would have done. The answer that helped me overcome my upsetting feelings was answered on an internet forum as follows: “Last year, while scouting I saw a big 8 pt running does. I set a treestand and hunted the area with the intention of only shooting at the big boy. On the last day of the hunt a doe came by but was out of range. 20 minutes later a spike came by on the same trail. The spike was not "bird dogging" the doe, just walking down the same trail. He stopped just out of range and started feeding. He fed to about 30 yards and offered a broadside shot. I debated whether to shoot or wait for the big boy. For no particular reason the spike walked to within 15 yards of my stand and again offered a broadside shot. At that moment something inside me said; "Take what the Lord gives you". I truly believe that God chooses which deer to give to me. So, not one to argue with God I went in "auto mode", made a good shot with my recurve and the spike was down within 75 yards. At first I felt a little disappointment in myself for not having the patience to wait for the trophy. Then I realized that any deer killed with a bow is a trophy and that this deer was a gift from God.”
Did I Make The Right Decision? - For me, yes! After some extensive soul searching, I realized I was not giving due credit to the situation I was placed in. The decision really didn’t have much to do with being limited to one buck. Hunting is so much more than killing! There were a multitude of things that were right with this hunt and I now kick myself for even hesitating about celebration. I should have been celebrating a truly magnificent animal (regardless of antler size), a day afield with my children, time with a good hunting buddy (real handy come drag time), and an absolutely magnificent morning. As I now realize, my sadness was not about ending my buck season, but about ending what was a truly blessed day. I am extremely happy with my one buck and wish all of you the opportunity to receive such a “gift”.
Turkey Cramps - The pain in my lower leg was almost unbearable and there was no relief in sight. The three turkeys within 40 yards of me were the reason for my leg cramp and immobility. I was suffering from severe “turkey cramps”! Those of you who have bowhunted turkeys without a blind know what I’m talking about. We’ve all been picked off for the slightest movement and watched helplessly as the sharp-eyed bird beat a hasty retreat. I had been virtually motionless for almost 2 ½ hours and for the last 30 minutes I had three sets of razor sharp eyes scanning the area. I knew if I so much as twitched the two gobblers and hen would be gone, as would be my chance to harvest one of the mature toms. The hen was 40 yards off to the right and two long beards were directly in front of me at 15 yards. I really wanted to arrow the larger bird but he would not strut to shield his eyes and allow me to shoot. For me to have any chance at harvesting a tom, all of the bird’s eyes would have to be obscured. Finally, the setup was perfect – the hen had her head down, the smaller tom was strutting with his rear toward me and his fan was blocking the vision of the big tom. I had less than a second to pull, aim, and shoot. This was the culmination of a really long and frustrating morning.
It all began on the afternoon of Tuesday April 22, 2003. It was the eve of the hunting opener for Meleagris gallopavo silvestris - the Eastern Wild Turkey. I had traveled 3 hours from my Northeast Indianapolis home to a new farm I had just gained access to. I made a previous scouting foray and was extremely happy with my turkey sightings. I counted over 120 turkeys in one field and saw over 150 birds on the 5 farms I had access to. To say I was optimistic for a successful opener would be an understatement. The pre-opener afternoon scouting was reassuring as well. I spotted three swinging beards in the exact corner of the field I was planning to hunt. I moved to the corner of the woods adjacent to where it opened into the field and spotted the three gobblers feeding in a cut bean field. While glassing them with my 8X42 Redfields I moved to peer around a tree for a better view. One of the birds picked up my motion from over 150 yards away and through the trees. I was dumbfounded! How in the world could an animal be so wary? I immediately backed out of the area to prevent alarming them too much. I then checked out the other farms I had access to. They all held a few birds, but I was stoked for a hunt in the cut bean field with hopes of sticking one of the beard draggers. I drove back to the original farm and set up camp for a fitful nights rest. I knew the anticipation would keep me up most of the night. What I didn’t expect was the pack of growling dogs circling my tent for over an hour. After an unsuccessful attempt at hollering and shining my light through the tent to run them off, I succumbed to the premise that one of them was going to die if they didn’t leave soon. Fortunately, when I stepped out of the tent with bow in one hand and a flashlight in the other, they pulled a Snagglepuss and exited stage right!
Having not hunted this particular farm before and knowing that the owner was not enforcing his “No Trespassing” signs, I fully expected company in the morning. To assure myself of my desired setup, I headed for the field at 4:00 AM. My blind and decoys were arranged by 4:30 AM and then I set back and enjoyed the wakening of the day. It would have been a bit more enjoyable if it weren’t so darn cold! I awoke Wednesday morning to a thermometer reading of 32oF. Fortunately, no other hunters invaded my desired hunting locale. There were certainly plenty of vehicle lights heading to the big woodlot behind the cut bean field. I didn’t have permission to hunt the big woods and was limited to about 50 yards of depth from the field edge.
The first bird roost gobbled at 5:25 AM setting off a virtual gobbling chorus. I know I heard 5 distinct birds and there were probably more. I was really getting worked up and started some soft yelping to let them know I was ready to be courted. After each soft keouk, keouk, keouk with my Cherokee Slim or Harvest Calls IBA Special Edition box call one of the toms would double or even triple gobble a response. I heard several birds fly down and just knew they would be strutting in front of my blind any second. At 6:00 AM I yelped a few more times and heard the gobbles getting closer. BANG! Scared me so bad it almost knocked me off my bucket! Evidently, the ridge adjacent to the field held a pretty good concentration of hunters. I heard 3 different toms respond to my calls and sound as if they were closing in before the BANG! This was very frustrating and I was losing my confidence and resolve pretty quickly. The cold weather caused the emergent weed growth in the bean field to frost over pretty heavily. I can’t say for certain, but I am guessing turkeys don’t like walking in a frosty field if they can avoid it. So, I think they stayed in the woods and didn’t make it to the field. By 9:00 AM I had heard enough and packed up my decoy and blind and headed for the truck. I drove back to camp, packed it up, and then drove to option number two for some cruise calling. At 9:30 AM a bird responded from what sounded to be 500 yards away across a big open cut bean field. The field had a little rise in the middle that sloped down to the woods edge on each side. I set up my hen decoy on the down side of the rise so the gobblers would have to come over the hill to see who was sweet talking them. I then nuzzled into a honeysuckle thicket and started my serenading. I rotated between four calls and kept the tom’s interest. It sounded like he was getting closer but after an hour of talking back and forth I still hadn’t seen the bird. After a particularly seductive series of yelps I heard a gobble quite a ways off to my left. I thought he was moving off so I took a chance and peeked up over the field rise. I immediately saw the source of the last gobble on the opposite side of the field approximately 200 yards distant. I then scanned back to the corner of the field where most of the original gobbling had occurred and was surprised to see another fantail and a hen. I was really lucky I didn't get pegged and immediately ducked back down into my honeysuckle sanctuary. Having two mature toms vying for the affection of a live hen meant I had my work cut out for me. I tried some more sexy yelping with no results. After another half an hour I decided I needed a new strategy. I pulled out my raspy hen diaphragm call and aggressively called to the hen. I surmised that if I could get her to make a visit then the lovelorn boys would follow. I mixed up the calls from cackles, purrs, cuts, and kee kee runs. The kee kee run call is what brought her in. She peeked over the rise and saw my hen decoy rotate in the wind and all was fine in the world. She came within 10 yards of the decoy and visited for a while before wandering off to the right. About 10 minutes later two red and blue heads appeared on the horizon. They started to move toward the live hussy hen but a few sleazy yelps from Cherokee Slim brought them over for a late morning interlude. This brings us back to the beginning of the story.
The 75# TimberHawk bow pulled back effortlessly and quietly. I quickly aimed for the vent of the fanning bird and released. I was ecstatic to see my Snuffer tipped Black Rose Archery POC arrow impact a mere inch to the right of my point of aim. The tom jumped and flew about 5 yards and then settled back down. After about a minute he then simply fell. The other tom and hen stood around until I moved and then PUTT, whirl, whiz, gone! It took a good minute to get up off of my knees and revive my legs enough to walk over to my prize. And what a prize he was. The tom was later weighed in at 25 pounds with a 9 ½” beard and 25 mm spurs. The check-in biologist aged him at 3 years old.
The above stories are only the tip of the iceberg of gifts that I have received. I could wax on until the wee hours describing an amazing bowhunt with my two young sons, a Wyoming antelope hunt, a goose hunt in the snow, a spring turkey hunt, a foggy morning deer hunt, and many more.
As you can see from the above stories, gifts come in all shapes and sizes. They could be in the form of an exceptional animal, a beautiful view, a memorable experience with a child, perfect weather, or the answer to a prayer. It is our responsibility to recognize the gift and to give thanks to Heaven for sending them. So, next time you have a particularly memorable experience, sit back and think about what it took for things to happen. If I were a betting man, I would wager that you would quickly realize that you have received a gift from Heaven.
Topic: Unforgettable Moments.....If you have one....share it with us (Read 2704 times)
