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While most of you probably know already this is not a story about currency or concerts nor is it a typo in how I sometimes describe band. 

For the record I love my musically and artistically superior friends and relatives.  Although it is not a push to accomplish that goal.  I set the achievement line to that task extremely low.  I am blessed to have talented relatives and friends, who make it their profession and I am proud to say extremely successful. 

Back to the Buck’n Band.

Opening weekend of the 2024 Gun Deer season was approaching quickly.  All the excitement of Wisconsin’s Gun season still sends adrenalin throughout my body.  Alex my son has the same energy.  He spearheaded all the pregame starting in the spring with food plots, planning, clearing, planting all the things that make the passion a year-round hobby.

We have trail cameras strategically placed on all the property and have a pretty good idea of what local bucks live on our property and shredded our bean fields to 3-inch spikes of beanless stubble leaving them worthless for late season hunting.

The 2024 season has already been good to Alex, filling a bow tag early on a brut of a buck that I was fortunate enough to be  along with him and a pack of his friends to locate the beast  under the Beldenville, Wisconsin stars fewer than 100 yards from where he met an arrow.

Walking back from an afternoon sit Alex chose our northern property and I chose the southern property.  Unusual as we usually sit on the same properties but work and distance to each sent us in different directions.  My sit was quiet with only a coyote howling in the distance and one lost small racked 6 cruising by my stand.  My walk back to the truck was long and dark about 1 mile and I am no sprinter so it was going to take a while.  Alex had texted me during our hunt saying he was covered up with small bucks and does but just had a good buck skirt the food plot and not commit.  The text seemed like he was dissappointed, I quickly texted back “he might come back”. 

I usually hear from him immediately after he thinks I should be down from a tree.  The only exception is when he is covered up and cannot move.  I spent 45 minutes waiting for him one evening with him “trapped in his stand” unwilling to spook the good bucks in the plot but not able to shoot because the shooting hours had passed.

With his previous text I figured it happened again and started my march back to the truck.  I was catching my breath near the culvert where we have an ongoing battle with the local beavers and my phone rang.  It was Alex.  Before he could say anything, I said I am down and on my way to the truck.  He said.    “I hit a good one!  Meet me at Grandma and Grandpas and we will go after it.”

Alex also filled his Montana tag on a nice whitetail less than 1 mile from the Canadian Border.  Another story coming on that one.

2024 had been a very good year for Alex so far. 

We were all set for opening day.  Alex insisted I choose my stand first.  We both went to our usual opening day stands that usually produce open tags.  

I chose the stand I had issue with finding on a previous opening morning and sent me careening down the hill toward the creek like an orange beach ball bouncing off trees and rocks and sticks and just about anything else that could make it unpleasant.  In an effort to avoid that situation Alex now with free time since his bow tag was full. Took it upon himself to re- secured the ladder stand and also marked a trail any blind man could find to make my trip over the hill to the bottoms less adventurous.  Then he sent me a video on top of it. Just to make sure I knew what to look for.

We were ready.  The morning came fast, and the weather surprised me as I stepped outside and onto the driveway.  Warmer than expected m id 30’s No snow, no hard breeze.  It was light and warm, not cold and brittle.  The direction was perfect. A smile reflected back at me on from the window in the sheds door. The truck was preloaded, the roads were clean clear and traffic free.

Alex was waiting for me in his truck.  Alex is punctual and I was even pretty close to early.  I could see the surprise and excitement in his eyes.  We checked with each other and went to our stands.  Still very dark and we both had some land to cover.  Alex had much further to travel, over a mile.  He used his electric bike and made it quickly and quietly to his stand a good 20 minutes before I placed one foot on the ladder of my stand.

A note, things look way different in the dark no matter how well marked they are and even if you had a video to support the markings.

I walked the trail that was supposed to lead to the marked path over the hill and to the ladder stand.  At a stratgicallhy selected spot on my journey I attached a cotton scent holder and dipped it in doe scent. We were still experiencing some chasing I thought it was worth the effort. I attached the other end of the 15 foot string to my belt loop and let it drag behind me on my journey.

A beautiful morning the ground was quiet only the brittle bean stalks crunched as I crossed the field to the path that would lead me to the well marked turn off to get me over the steep hill. I was feeling good about the morning it was perfect, I checked the wind again , awesome light but enough to move my scent away. I heard snow geese squaking high in the pitch black sky. A sound we normally do no hear. My mind drifted a bit thinking of some awesome hunts we had on snow geese in South Dakota and Missouri.   I promptly walked right by the turn signal and ended 200 yards past the turn here sign.  Kind of like missing the last exit to Hudson and ending up in Minnesota. You can only turn around and try again. 

I decided not to panic or get upset for missing the markers at least I was getting my steps in and leaving a little more scent. It might be a little lighter for the tirp over the hill and though the thick bursh.

I finally found the markings and made the trip down the hill as the woods began to lighten up.  I dropped the scent line about 25 yards from my stand in an opening I could easily see.

I settled in and finally got to my phone I had already got confirmation from Alex he was in.  I quickly reported back “ me too ,all settled in”.

What a beautiful morning.  The light breeze pushed my scent across a pond and away from 90 percent of the predicted traffic pattern.

The stand was one of our oldest.  The  original seat pad was long gone and now consisted  two seat cushions from one of  Sheila’s pool chairs she has yet to officially miss.  It was comfortable.  Located on the shady side of the sunrise with  the Trimbelle Trout stream winding just 40 yards giving way to a willow swamp, making the frequently used bedding area in full view.  Alex was located one half  to ¾ miles down creek  where it starts to meet the Mississippi a flat with a natural pinch point as bucks run their scrape lines and try and hide their does.  

We were ready.  I did not let Alex know I took the long way down just let him know the trail marking were great.  And they were, if I was bright enough to find them right away. 

I remember to shut off my headlamp, a minor victory in a small list of victories so far this morning.   I chose to not let it bother me when I messed things up a bit.  Just be happy to be out and able to do it without a long list of restrictions as I  had faced last year.  Another story “Duck Hunting Saved My Life”  will be posted when I get the courage to write it.  Thanks to my good friends Brian and Todd  who got me to the hospital and my wife and family who drove all night at moment notice to Devils Lake ND  to be there for me.  Also a thank you to the Emergency Room DRs and nurses who  diagnosed the heart issues and started me on the road back to  this tree stand.

The view  from the stand was spectacular the music of snow geese migrating , the  honkers waking up and leaving the roost was soothing. 

This winter we trapped 16 beavers that were messing with the culverts and raising the water level in our duck ponds to where it was not huntable. 

The beavers got the message and moved up creek and sent us a peace offering creating a new pond in the middle of the swamp.  A perfectly beautiful Mallard haven.  I watched as 100’s of big non local mallards dove into the new pond just 600 yards from my tree stand.  The constant calling of the mallards to the flying mallards was so loud it was impossible to nap.  What a show.  Just when it getting a bit quiet a flock of 30 teal whistle past my stand like fighter jets in a flyover at Lambeau field and it sound just about as loud.  It startled me and I smiled as they splashed in without a circle for clearance. I could hear and see the water erupt as their 60 feet touched in. 

Alex text me and said wow those ducks are loud.  See any deer?  I almost forgot to look I was so mesmerized by the waterfowl show.  Not yet I answered but these noisy ducks are not going to let me nap.

I looked at the time on my phone pushing 8 am already.  I had been in my stand for over an hour and it seemed like seconds.  I was glassing the pond admiring the buildup of green heads glistening in the morning sun and watching the additional flocks circle the pond looking for danger and in this case looking for an open piece of water to touch down which was becoming increasingly difficult for them.

Another text from Alex “Nothing here.” You see anything yet.  “Zip” I replied and set my phone down.  I picked up my binoculars to admire the ducks again and I saw movement in the willows across the creek.  A brown blob heading up creek towards the duck pond probably annoyed but the racket.  I quickly turned my binoculars on the blob and found a deer moving in toward me still about 100 yards out.  No noticeable rack so I was less than interested but it was a start.  I set the binculars next to me turned my head to where my gun was hanging  to make sure I could reach it.  All good.

Sitting still is not a strong point of my hunting skill set. Probably why it has been 25 plus years since I filled an opening day gun tag. My oldest daughter was still in a crib and it had been 17 years since I filled a gun tag.   Alex did not have his hunting license yet.  The next 25 years we will call it a well-planned cold streak, funny how your priority changes when you are mentoring a young hunter.   I would not change a thing.  As I push into my 60’s and recover from my health scare I really feel the mentoring coming back from Alex and his cousin Ryan who I was thrilled to hunt with as they grew up and took on the love for the sport and exceled at it.  That a long with the steady improvement of the quality of deer in our woods and selective hunting made the streak unnoticeable.  Seeing and having opportunities to harvest and choosing not too is sometimes just as rewarding.

I was not optimistic on my chances as I sat there looking at the hillside and the swamp.  I knew a smile was on my face and a relaxed energy was drifting through my body.   I was just about ready to text back to Alex that I finally saw a deer but it would not leave so I sat still. 

The leaves were damp with morning dew making the woods quiet underfoot even for the squirrels.  Movement in the woods would have to be the trigger for attention.  I would put that on one of my lower strengths “noticing movement.”  But because of the duck show my head was up and looking around and not focused on the cell phone.  

A big doe appeared on the hillside between the noisy duck pond  and my marked and scent trail over the hill.  I lost sight of the first deer to in the swamp to my left and focused on the deer ahead and slightly to the right of me about halfway up the hill that previously sent me bouncing to my a resting place at the foot of the hill.    Another deer appeared behind her nose down.  That could be a buck I thought.  They were coming my way and getting in range.  I slowly looked to my left and the deer from the swamp was watching them closely.  I reached for my gun and secured it.  The doe reached my scent trail and stopped took a few steps up and down the trail and  went on browsing.  The ladder stand had a few good shooting lanes to the side hill and a very tiny shooting lane toward the creek where we thought they would cross.  It was overgrown with buckthorn still holding it green  leaves making for good cover but limited visibility. 

The doe got a bit nervous but did not move instead looked back toward the other deer which now showed me he was a year and half old small buck with a tiny basket 6.  He was convinced this old doe was in love with him and he was not going to let her out of his sight.  He walked nose down my drag line trail up the hill and down again getting more excited by the minute.  Sorry old doe I think I may have sent this young buck a love letter on your behalf.   Again the doe looked back this time I could see she was looking past the young hopeful suitor.  I could see through the brush another deer not very far back but in the brush enough not to be hard to detect.  I thought this might be a good buck.  What a show this morning!

The deer moved forward watching the doe and little buck.. I could see rack ,  It was definitely bigger than the other guy.  But was it big enough to fill a tag.  I was not sure, but I got ready. 

He stood back and watched the little 6 trail an obviously annoyed doe.  The bigger buck moved slowly and quietly down the trail raising his head sniffing the air and then dropping his nose to the ground where I left the scent trail. I was trying to get a good look at his rack.  The green leaves of the buckthorn made it difficult to see.   He moved nose down on the drag line walking into a shooting lane.  My gun was not yet shouldered but ready.  He moved quickly through the shooting lane and gave me a pretty good look at the rack.  Probably yes went through my mind. He veered off the trail  down hill towards the creek.  I saw more rack. 

 I heard a splash. Oh no! Did I spook the doe and little buck?  Did he bolt across the creek? I took my gaze off the bigger buck and quickly glanced the woods edge and the grass flat that bordered the creek. 

Another deer had crossed the creek towards the trio appeared heading straight to the doe from the creek bank.

Relieved I had not spooked anything I looked back to my right to locate the poor doe who now as getting a lot of attention.

The six pointer was closing ground from behind her and was putting his nose on her tail. I looked to his right to locate the bigger buck to see if he was a tag filler.  He looked down and gave me another really nice look at his rack.  He went from probably to definitely.  I  slowly shouldered my gun and scoped him in. 

He moved so slow and deliberate his whole way in and now when it is time to stop in a shooting lane he picked up his pace and blew through the  two of the last 3 shooting lanes on the hillside and hid behind the buck brush.  Fortunately I saw how the doe moved through the area and waited and guessed this buck woudl do the same. I waited for the next  last opening.  No luck he was not happy with the extra attention of the other deer that jumped the creek and was now nose to nose with the doe. This poor doe now had what I could see now was a spike buck on her nose a six on her trail and a much bigger one closing fast.

I was dead focused on him scoping him and moving with him now completely losing sight of the other deer.  A quick opening  but no shot.  He approached the creek now in the wide open but still leaving only a smole hole  in the brush for a bullet to pass.   I had looked at that  area when looking at the ducks with the binoculars.  One of the only clear spots to look out when watching the ducks fly in.

He just would not quit moving.  He was quartering away about 40 to 50 yards out. He slowed slighty as he approached the creek to cross.  I flipped the safety forward  on the Browning x bolt 6.5 Western and let my first opening day shot in 25 years escape. The gun rang out and bucked my shoulder. The deer disappeared from my scope.

I was in disbelief.   How in the world did this just happen?  Did I miss? Did he jump down the bank just before I set off the trigger? I lowered my scope to see the high racked 10 point crumbled on the bank of the Trimbelle Creek. The quartering away shot entered high and finished low through the lungs and he never made another step.

I sat and watched him making sure he did not suffer and did not need to be put out of any misery.  His rack I thought was pretty good standing out and up out of the taller grass on the river bank.

Half of the ducks darkened the sky in a roar as the shot rang out.  That was fun to see.  It was 8:15.  I sat there for awhile taking it all in thinking to myself how fortunate I was to be able to hunt and enjoy this with my son.  Thanking everyone and everything for this fantastic morning. 

When he was for sure at peace and the ducks were done with the show.  I texted Alex.  “Nailed it!”    I am sure he was worried I missed since I did not call him but texted him instead.  My phone rang and I could hear the excitement in his voice. He was more excited than he was when he called me and said he hit a nice one just weeks earlier.

I said  “I think it is an ok buck, at least good enough for me probably one of the bigger ones I have ever shot and for sure the biggest one I have ever shot with a gun.”  That bar is pretty low, so I was sure I wasn’t going to hell for lying on that one.   

I texted my wife Sheila and said got one.  And just like no one else can do it she humbled me with the next text.  A one word sentence “YOU?” It made me smile, I think she was as suprised as me.    I said don’t faint but yes me. 

Alex arrived and insisted on gutting it saying you gutted almost all of my deer when I started doing this let me return the favor.  We drug it to the logging road I wished I had walked down in the morning it was far less adventurous.  I sat at the end of the trail and watched Alex return to his stand grab his bike.  It was an interesting picture watching an orange vested man look like he was floating  moving quickly and quietly down the bottoms to his truck.

15 minutes later he was heading down the trail with the four-wheeler and  a wagon to haul it to our trucks.  Opening morning was in the books.

With a gun tag filled Sunday morning Alex and I decided the mallard opportunity was too good to pass up.  He said he already had two nice bucks this year and said it would be fun to experience this type of hunt that rarely shows itself in this part of Wisconsin let alone on our property.  Brian one of my buddies who carted me off to the hospital in Devils Lake took us up on our ninvite tojoin us and he passed on day two of gun deer season to experience this as well. His deer stand was a less that two miles away and he could see the higher than normal mallard traffic.

We set just 5 decoys  and a spinner along the bank of the beaver pond.  We arrive at 6: 15 set up. There was no wind ,the pond was glass and empty as my bank account December 26^th. 

Did they leave?  These were definitely migrators as we did not have that many local mallards here.  You never know.  They stage up and vanish.  We theorized it was a loafing spot, not the roost.  A spot like a living room you hang out in and visit between meals, not where you sleep.    If it was really a roost and it was empty this, morning we were out of luck. 

Seven minutes before official opeing shooting time we were covered in black blobs dropping in on the water and hovering our spinner and decoys.  What a sight.  It was fun just to sit and watch. 

We took turns at calling shots and splashed mallard after mallard.  The pond was littered with them, and we sent our new lab HONEY out to retrieve them and get a good count.

I walked the bank to get her a good visual of her retrieving marks and sent her back and forth as more birds poured in but we held our shots to make sure we were safe for each other and not over our limit.  The hunt was not very old and we were making sure it was not over.  The fourth bird she brought back was a big curly tailed green headed drake mallard in full plumage.  It was so magnificent to see it coming to hand.  As it was proudly and effieciently presented to me by Honey a silver flash of metal off the bright orange legs caught my eye. 

I could not believe what I just thought I saw.  Was it really?  It couldn’t be.  We have never ever had that happen here.  Just two in 23 years and they were in North Dakota.  But there it was plain as could be …A BAND. 

I do not think you could scrape the smile off my face as I yelled out “ A BAND!”   The rest of the hunt went well and we hustled off to help Mom and Dad put up their snow fence with a trip through her kitchen that Alex never refuses nor do I. 

What a weekend! 

The Drake mallard was banded this spring 2024 and was hatched this year near Roslyn SD.   He must of ate well and had good genes because he was a very nice size duck.

Tagged out and Bagged out with a band.

Mark

Season 4 of the 2024 Wisconsin Turkey season was less than 12 hours away.  I thought the excitement and anticipation would have faded just getting back from a Rio Grande Turkey Hunt in Texas just 12 days prior.  It didn’t.  In fairness I saw more rattle snakes than Rio’s but that is hunting, and the company was fantastic.  Our appetite still full and specially when drawing so late this year let the anticipation build more than I expected.

It was good to be out and about scouting birds.  Alex and I chose to check out the closest spot first.  The same location as last year’s success stalk and reap.  The large acreage sitting nicely on the top of hill like a big black stocking cap on a giant head.  A bald head as it was planted but nothing sprouted yet.

The birds camo nicely against the dark soil and the grass growing in the water runways covered three quarters of their body when upright and completely hid them when they stretched out horizontal to run away or hide.  But a big fan stands out like a cornflake in a bowl of raisins and that is just what we saw two cornflakes in our big bowl of raisins.  We sat in the truck with binoculars and watched them move up and down the field edge and finally pick an entrance point and look for their roosting tree. Big mature Toms what a show.

Scouting complete, we strategically selected our spot to set up in the morning.  A big cottonwood in the middle of the field. A tree  that avoided the bulldozer as the field expanded but was in a perfect position to give us good vision and good cover.

4:45 am is early no matter what, but it is more manageable when you have put your Toms to bed .  The walk across the planted field which must have been beans because the rows were too narrow for corn and too wide for wheat. The soil was easy to navigate firm and not sticky.  No breeze clear skyies the stars fading in the morning light but the white arched lights of the Hastings Mn bridge still burned brightly as they appeared in an opening to the west of the woods. The view from this hilltop is spectacular.   A perfect morning  meant  we needed no ground blind to avoid rain or wind. We sat at the base of the tree and waited for some communication with our targeted birds. 

It did not take long and the woods lit up with gobbles up and down the valley.  All distant.  We looked at each other wondering how that happened.  They must have put on their track shoes after they entered the woods and went far down the ridge.  Then boom a thundering gobble close followed by another.  There they were. 

We sat tight and waited.  The gobbles were amazing and  multiple hens thought so too.  As we sat and waited for the Toms to appear no less than 5 hens came from all directions toward the sound of the gobbling.  Some coming within 10 feet of us  and inches from the hen decoy we deployed as they looked for the origination of the gobbles just like us. 

This did complicate things.  Live decoys are always more realistic than our very well maintained imitation.  Plus 10 more eyeballs looking for danger makes it 10 times as challenging. 

We thought the birds would exit the roost where they entered.  It has worked many times before.  We thought wrong.  About  100 yards down the field we saw the first red head periscope scope the field.  I swear that was a smile on his beak when he saw how many hens were all over the field and only one a fake.  His buddy looked just as happy and they decided the real one 150 yards from us was prettier than the fake one in front of us and the real one 10 feet from us.    The morning ended with an attempt at a stalk in the exact , I mean exactly the same footsteps as our successful stalk of 2023.  That was the only thing similar.  The two toms had rounded up their hens and moved on.  A third tom tried to get in on the game and confused our stalk just enough to put us at an irreversible  disadvantage.  We retreated, went home ,then to work and planned for another scouting trip Thursday night after work.

Thursday afterwork ended up being Thursday way after work late like 6:30 leaving us to pick just one spot to scout.  After discussion we decided on my childhood hunting grounds the hill behind the home I grew up in. 

It was a quick 20 minute drive and I met Alex at the base of the hill.  In season scouting is fun because in an instant it can become a hunt. 

This might be one of my favorite places in the world.  It is where I would go for walks when I needed space.  Where my Dad taught me to hunt. I remember like it was yesterday waiting for him to come home from work, making sure all the chores were done so my brothers and I could go hunting with Dad.  We would follow behind him like 3 little goslings does a goose.  Dad with his .22 or 12 gauage shotgun and a Beagle mut named princess that loved to chase the squirrels up a tree. 

If we chose to look back over our shoulders I am confident we would have seen a huge smile on my Mom’s face. Fun to see her boys go out with their Dad. But more fun experiencing the relief from 3 boys 1 year apart with little boy energy and little boy chaos Peace and quite for her and 3 boys back after burning up all their excess energy.

This wonderful piece of land is was where I shot my first squirrel, and my first grouse. A really peaceful feeling comes over me when I visit there.  It is not with some less than wonderful memories but what doesn’t.

We decided to drive to the top of the hill and park the truck.  We were running late and I did not argue the hill was steep and I was not ready to attack it by foot in a hurry.  Not sure I ever was unless I was under 8 years old. 

As we drove up the steep farm road dug into the side hill.  The peaceful feeling left as we drove by the spot where my dad with me behind him,lost control of the tractor and planter on Memorial Day almost 12 years ago.  We had just completed planting the food plots, happy as can be.  He drove the tractor and planter I followed with a pick up.  It had been a wet year that was why it was so late completing the planting it also ran ruts in our farm road.  Ruts that caught the front tire and pulled the tractor and planter off the road and down over the steep embankment.

It was a slow-motion nightmare as I watched him fight the steering wheel and finally grip onto the steering wheel with both hands and he disappeared over the edge like he fell off a cliff.  What I did not see is what must have been an angel on his shoulder as it guided him inches from a metal t post through a barbed wire fence as the tractor and planter rolled multiple times down the embankment.  Leaving perfect circles of seed where the planter was upside down. 

I stopped the truck and ran to where I last saw my dad preparing myself for my worst nightmare.  What I heard and saw next will forever be with me.  I heard the most heart piercing scream of someone you love and look up to you helplessly stuck in the mess of wire, tractor and planter “Help Me”.  It was a weird feeling unbelievably relieved to hear he was alive but so awful to see him in so much pain.  I looked down the valley and saw he had landed on a dam of a pond. The same pond I shot my first wood duck on. Just 5 ft to the right and he would have fell another 20 feet down a steeper rockier valley.  5 feet to the left he was would have been pinned in the mess under 20 feet of water.  I don’t remember touching the ground as I descended to help. I do remember one thing.  He went from screaming for help to very loudly saying “Be careful the tractor is still running and one of the  tires is still spinning.  The rest is a bloody mess I do not care to recall as Alex came rushing back up the hill to help drag him to the truck.  Funny how it flashes back when you drive by and exits just as quick.  Dad is ok and still with us.  I thank the angel on his shoulder who guided him past the danger. 

We reached the top of the hill finished getting ready loaded our guns and were set to scout.  The recent rains made the clay soil sticky and squishy and held many puddles in the trail we were on. It might be another late planting. We took that trail to what is maybe my most favorite spot on the entire property.  It was where my first real deer stand was.  A corner post near a woods that opened up to our fields.   I missed my first big deer there and have missed a few more near the same place.  I have yet to bag a deer or turkey on this hill. But it is still my favorite place. It is not always about the filling a tag.  Alex shot his first deer in this very same place. 

We got to the opening where the trails meet or branch off depending which direction you are traveling.  If this was a managed intersection the road crews would put in a round-about in this very spot

Alex led the way and stopped motioned back to me as we snuck a peak down the food plot field for birds, nothing.  It was a great place to call to see if anything was around.  From here we could get anywhere we needed on the property quietly and quickly.

Alex motioned to me he was going to scratch out a  yelp and see if we get  an answer.  The stick was barely off the slate and a booming thunder of a response filled our ears and put a big smile on our faces. The response was near enough to us to change our scouting trip into a hunt. I love this place.

We quickly picked out a tree that could hide us both and gave us good vision to where we expected the  bird to appear.  We decided to go with a fanned tom as a decoy. The hen decoy drew little interest the previous day.

It was a great night for a sit 64 degrees little wind and clear skies.  If we guessed wrong again at least it would be pleasant.  Another yelp from Alex another answer. Alex positioned to my right and slightly back with the decoy straight out from him was leaning against the base of a scrub tree with raspberry bushes just pushing out leaves hidden nicely as was I on a similar cluster not more than 4 yards apart.

We sat quietly the tom did not answer the last yelp.  Then Alex whispered to me do you hear it?  I said hear what?  The twigs snapping, I think it is coming in.  I said it could be a deer if the twigs are snapping.  We had this happen many times a different animal than the one you are hunting visits you innocently enough but messes the whole hunt up.  Alex said lets get our guns up and ready.  I heard another soft snap and some leaves crunch.  Alex said I see one.  Do you see it?  Where ?  I said. Slightly to your left answered Alex.I moved my head slightly and very slowly and I saw it a brilliantly bright red head eyeballing the field from the tall grass between the woods and field we were set up in.  I said I see it. It is a tom.  Alex said I see him too.  In an excited whisper  he said There is another one right behind it.

The pair of Toms stepped from the grass to the corn stubble field and moved quickly towards the Tom decoy.  Their beards swung in unison as they waddled toward us  40 yards away I whispered you take the one on the right ,  I will take the one on the left on my call. I said look there is three . Another Tom picked up the pace and joined them in a race to move the intruder off their field.  I said I’ll take the middle one you still on the right one?  They were now about 25 to 30 yards away and closing fast.   Of course ,the middle one was the first to detect an issue and started to wheel, taking a quick counter clockwise turn.  The bird on the right that was slightly closer put on the brakes.  Number three put on the breaks as well.  So there we were in range, one spooky and bailing, the others wondering what was going on. 

I said “Take em “and  let my shot go.  I heard Alex shoot just a half second after my shot.  The center bird crumbled and flopped the right bird was hit but not fatally or at least not enough to give us a flop show. My guess is my shot startled the bird enough to avoid a direct hit. It crumbled at the edge of the woods near the opening they had come from.  I sat tight knowing I was slightly ahead of Alex but not dangerously.  I waited to see Alex on his feet and running toward the downed bird.  I did not want to step in front of his shooting lane if he was stil on the bird and needing to send another shot to end it.    Beside he is much faster than I am.  I saw him sprinting to the woods grabbing the flopping bird by the neck and yell to me “We doubled up!”    

This is our first boom boom double since his first bird 16 years prior.  A story that was published in a national editors magazine. 

It was exactly 23 minutes from when we started walking down the trail to us holding a pair of gobblers with 10 inch beards and 7/8’s inch spurs sharp and just starting to curl.  It was Boom Boom double ,season over. What a great place. Did I say I like this it here? Tagged Out.

Authors note: I hope these stories bring you great memories of your hunting experiences. I hope you drift off in pleasant memories in mid sentence and come back to the story with a smile on your face and peace your heart. Below are a few pictures. My favorite is the one with my Dad between Alex and I.

Just like every morning a quick trip to the kennel to feed Pistol and dash off to work. Pistol is my nine-year-old pointing lab and my hunting partner for ducks and pheasants. He is a pointing lab with a good nose and lots of energy, a rock-solid point when pheasant hunting and a love for the water regardless of temperature when duck hunting.

When he is not hunting, his favorite things are riding in the UTV next to me or my granddaughter who is 5 years old leaning on me or her. Not sitting but standing on the seat. He loves to “fetch” for her and is so excited when the granddaughters come over because that means extra treats and extra affection, brushing and pool fetches which makes the girls giggle in delight.

Pistol’s home is a high ceiling palace all plastic customized garden shed, converted into a walk-in doghouse with storage, lights, heat lamp and heated water dish. Opening to a custom 14 x 24-foot concrete patio with a guest house. The guest house located poolside is an Igloo style home donated by a neighbor when he moved. The outdoor bunk beds or patio/pool lounges are located next to a seasonal plastic pool. All surrounded by a high black square mesh wire fence to keep the strays and undocumented out. After all every home and property has a proper entrance and exit. Pistol’s place or palace is no different. Pistol had no political preference and refused to be labeled Democrat or Republican just because he enjoys his privacy and has a completed border fence.

Pistol will record the winter of 2022 2023 as his favorite. The top 10 snowiest ever made him very happy. He loves riding in the UTV and plowing snow with me, his face next to mine looking out the window trying to lick my face occasionally, which you know is not my favorite after all I know he likes to lick his private pars with that very same tongue. In his defense that might explain why he was generally in a very good mood most of the time.

The snowy winter gave us some extra unscheduled hours together. I will never understand why he refused to sit on a seat. It was fun for him because he got some time with me without putting on 1000+ steps to my one afield or jumping into ice cold swamp water then shaking off next to me sharing his dampness with a dog smile and a deposit to hand. It was an enjoyable adventure, the cold nights plowing snow.

At nine he is in his prime, fully trained and knows the signs of fun or work. If I step out of my house in non-business attire, he demands my attention from his dog palace and patio with a pool.

He migrates to a padded kennel in a heated shed for the winter. His equivalent of a trip west to Arizona or south to Florida, is his version of being a snowbird I guess, with all the perks of winter.

Pistol has an all-in type of personality. My son described him as a perfect football player, a special teamer, going 100mph all the time, all gas, no brakes.

I know he can sense my movement in the house. In the morning when look out the window I see him exit his palace and come to the corner of his patio and look at the house waiting to say hello, excited to see me like I had been gone a million years instead of just a few hours. Every day, without fail.

We picked Pistol up from in Sioux Falls South Dakota, on September 15, 2015. He was well trained and affectionate from the start. My son was a freshman at the University of Minnesota Duluth playing against the University of Sioux Falls. We were excited to see him play football after a redshirt year. Pleased and surprised he made the traveling team and was getting on the field. The game worked out great, we could pick up our new dog and saw a football game. What could be better?

I found out quickly what could be better. Just two months later leaving a day early for a game in SD at Aberdeen. My wife, Pistol and I were able to go hunting the Friday before a game. Both enjoying their first time afield in South Dakota.

A quick limit of three roosters in 45 minutes with a new dog and my wife saying “You spend a week out here doing this? What do you do the rest of the day?” I assured her it was far from the normal. I was beyond excited with a new dog that pointed and hunted well, very well. The success was the beginning of a long but never long enough relationship. We got to know each other a little bit that first hunt in SD. One thing I failed to mention was along with the 3 quick roosters there was a 4th rooster that had the luxury of one of my standard misses and I got “the look” from Pistol “Really, you missed that?” A look that I would see more than I care to admit.

Football and pheasant hunting ……the smile creeps onto my face just typing it.

A smile I desperately need. I struggle typing this through blurry eyes fighting the tears that try to well up in them.

Pistol did not wake up for his afternoon nap. A nap he took near the edge of his kennel. This morning when I fed him, he was sluggish. One of the very few times he was ever that way. Although with a little bit of gray around his muzzle, the tip of his tail, and tops of his feet, I thought oh well you are starting to feel like me in the morning it takes a little bit to get going.

We had our daily pep talk to each other, telling each other to have a good day and encouraging each other that we both had a big day ahead and it will be a good one. I stopped and gave him an extra rub on the head that morning hoping it made him feel better, I left and drove off to work just like any other day.

When I pulled into the driveway at the end of the day and did not see him running back and forth to greet me, I slowed down and saw him lying on his patio next to his pool just outside his dog palace. Motionless. I slammed the brakes, stopped the truck mid driveway and opened the door and yelled PISTOL! No movement, not even an ear wiggle, Pistol! I was hoping he was just sleeping. I was in denial, he never missed a beat, if I was there, he was ready for action. I yelled again, my wife heard me from the house and came to me, she could tell by the tone of my voice something was very wrong. She knew immediately what we were facing and could see the tears building in my eyes and the disbelief at what I was seeing.

Pistol did not answer my request for attention. He had given me his everything for as long as he was scheduled to. I must accept that. But I do not have to like it and I don’t like it; I did not like it when my “first ever” dog as a child died and it kept me from getting a dog for decades. I am grateful I was spared the agony of making the decision to put him down like I did with Beau his who had a battle with cancer.


Thank you, Pistol, say hello to your hunting predecessors “Angel Baby” and “Beau” who helped me be a better partner for you. Please tell them we miss them and hope they are doing well with you in dog heaven. Please tell them I have become a better shot, it is ok to tell white lies to them, they know the truth and you all will probably have a good laugh. You can tell them you are thankful for my good hunting partners. My son and his friends and my lifelong friends and hunting comrades football friends from High School who shot as many birds behind Pistol as anyone.

Pistol don’t believe all the stories those two dogs tell you and do not tell them you had a palace, a patio, and a pool with all the perks. They were not nearly as fortunate and might give you the cold shoulder knowing you had it so nice.

Tell Angel Baby my first hunting dog, I am grateful to her for letting me know how wonderful it is to hunt behind a good dog and to know that I was not ready to have a dog full time. You can let her know I never let my kids have the final vote on naming another dog. Yelling “Angel Baby” in the middle of a field is sometimes a bit awkward. You can brag to her that I never lost you for a day in the western fields of North Dakota. Tell her the young girls that named her have girls of their own now and you got to meet them and play with them. Tell her I thought of her often at her new home with a good hunter.

Tell Beau about the hunts in North and South Dakota she will know exactly what you are talking about. Let her know I am grateful she let me know I was ready to have a full-time dog and she was a fantastic match and took me to the next level of being a better dog partner. She trained me well for you as you did for me if I decide to have another dog hunting partner. You can brag to Beau that I never forgot you when leaving for home in SD. An extra 4.5 hour round trip once I found out her kennel was empty just outside of Brookings. Beau, please tell Pistol about how we turned that mistake into a fantastic personal hunt just the two of us much like our first hunt together.


Pistol you can brag about the grandkids and how you had them wrapped around your big paws. They were not fortunate enough to meet them. Share the stories. They will enjoy them.

Pistol you are in your heavenly holster now, far too soon in my opinion. Until we meet again. I miss you, my 4-legged friend.—-Mark

2022 Wisconsin turkey season was on us.  Alex and I thought it would be a challenging year.  Pre-scouting was less than ideal.  The normal spots holding roosting and feeding toms were vacant to sparse.

This was going to be a “hunt” for sure, not shopping or shooting but downright dirty hands and knee groveling crawling up side hills full of melting snow and ice to south slopes full of clay and mud that sent us to our backsides more than once type of year.  That in just hopes of  maybe a chance to hear a gobble or glimpse a fan.  Still nothing and that was scouting.

The first day we could get out together we had to go blind.  Far off in the distant gobbles even made us smile as we tried to close the gap to with no success.  Day two together and we finally found ourselves within hunting distance of a Tom.  This was not a pre-scouted bird but an educated guess bird.  A coyote was hunting him too with a howl, a yip followed by a gobble.  The natural hunter was doing all the work.  We saw the predator before we saw the bird.  Too far to eliminate the hunting competitor with a shot gun but close enough to mess up our hunt we later found.  

The Tom clammed up and we made a strategic error.  Trying to close the gap of last best guess from the gobble.  The hunting strategy for us has changed since he a has a full time job with semi flexible hours, but not freedom.  He is extremely successful at his job with a great company that values the outdoors and personal growth. 

We find that with any hunting when outside sources start to influence and dictate strategy you generally are tipping the scales that already favor the prey to un-beatable odds against success.  But why quit when it gets tough.  It is about memories and education ,fun and filling a tag minutes before you have to change clothes and answer phones is a pretty cool adrenalin rush as well.  

We snuck down the  north edge of the wood line where drifts were still melting but the field was open.  It rained prior so the mud on the chisel plowed field stuck to your boots making each step a 20lb exercise as your boots resembled a muddy impression of snow shoes without the opposite mobility snows shoes render. 

The day started with an abrupt turnback that would have saved the snow shoe experience when the farmer gave us permission to drive on the fields and farm roads via the top entrance. 

That was dashed as we experience a quick rainfall that one of those spot showers that poor down getting everything just wet enough to get greasy and make a mess of the road and make the field impractical to cross. Permission or not were not going to do that to his field road or field.  We backed out and circled around for a mile and a half walk back that finally put us on a bird and me out of breath. 

Although this year we have been surprised multiple times as we pre scout and scout hunt. 

Back to the coyote bird.  We had it pegged what we hoped was on the ground in an opening leading from the field on top of the hill to a clearing leading to a pond nestled in between two hills with a field at the foot of the damn.  A field when birds were abundant would strut often. About a mile and half to two miles from a county road you had to know they might be there of the optical window would close before you could see them.

The coyote had left the area after winding us  and fear overcame hunger.  The good looking coyote sprinted across the field and disappeared around the foot of the far hill.  We sat waited, called and cursed.  Nothing. 

We sat on the cold side of the hill calculating walk back time, and start of work time.  The hunting gap was closing fast.  We decided to close the distance and get to a better view of the open path hoping to pull the bird down from the top field if that is where he was, because he was not in the field at the foot of the dam. 

We had just crossed the footprints of where the coyote had exited the woods and the path was just about to become visible and we saw him.  We were green camo blobs on a small white glacier it made us very visible and what we feared very noisy for snow.  Crunchy refrozen snow the noisiest kind of snow.  I do not care how athletic you think you are walking backward with mud blobs on our feet,  angling into the woods, we might as well had been back up beeper on a bulldozer.

The Tom was on high alert, he was either thinking Mr. Coyote  brought back a group of friends or something else was not right.  He had not been hunted previously this year so he was not a graduate of hunter education 2022 but he was a big bird and he was probably a JR or a SR  at the school.  The bird had been treed by the coyote and clammed up.  We were looking on the ground and expected him there as we heard him moving from one point to another. 

We setup just out of sight and waited for a fly down.  A soft call and nothing, a loud call and nothing.  The clock was ticking and nothing.  Then it happened ….the fly down.  We heard the wings beating the air and thought.  EXCELLENT. From where he was treed a flight to the field on the hill was unlikely.  If he hit the field below we had a chance.

We saw him mid-flight four or five quick wing beats and then the elegant coast to his landing zone.  He coasted and glided and just kept on going. Overshooting our preferred  landing zone.  He was obviously ignoring our control tower instructions overshooting our preferred runway.  Landing safely and quietly about a half mile off but still on hauntable land.  We still had a “Hail Mary”.  A quick walk up hill and try to get him to come up the ridge.  Some gobbles but no luck.  Time for the exercise and the walk bird less walk of shame.   The nice part is we walked past a part of the field and were serenaded by some rooster pheasants took a mental note for a fun fall hunt.  The sun was coming out and wind was picking up.  The fields would dry quickly and the snow will disappear.   We agreed to “scout hunt” after work. Taking different paths to work to windshield scout as well. 

As we left the field we could see the Tom strutting so we did not scare him enough exit completely. 

The afternoon came and we hit our usual hunting areas and it was quiet again but we did get one moving a little and caught glimpse.  We decided to do a quick drive by to see if the tom we saw was out in the field nothing.  Ugh

The next hunting day was one day away.  A late work day  allowed for windshield scouting only.  We checked the field we saw earlier…….. BIRDS…Tucked in just across the fence line. Three toms and a group of hens due north of our coyote experience on the neighboring property.  The group walked into the neighbor’s woods and went to roost.  We didn’t see the fly up but it made sense to where we had heard them the evening prior.

With this information beaming from our smiling faces we made a “plan.” I was the only one with a tag, Alex’s was for week 4, he did not draw but had one of those treasured “points” awarded to him when he doesn’t get his first three choices.  He purchased the next open week.  He will get his first choice next year.  Oh Boy, like scoring a touchdown in the final seconds of 63-0 to make it 63-7 drubbing and your supposed to feel good about it. 

The plan was a solid one we thought.  One that robbed me from restful sleep I was so excited to execute.

We would drive the field road across the top of the hill. Exit the truck, and walk downhill both tasks brought a smile to my face and my legs. 

The strategy was to try and pull the tom around the nose of the hill down a grassy field road.  This would be going toward the field we hoped he would have landed in our first encounter.

The field road wrapped around the nose of the hill and was a break between woods and field a flat spot creating a shelf easily used by equipment and we hoped tom turkeys.  The drop-off from the road to the field was steep but walkable the incline from the road to the woods was considerable and was barely walkable but with the low brush with bigger trees.  We hoped to find a nice hide.  We would set up the decoy hen and tom to be visible at the corner so it would be visible from both directions as the road bent around the hill at almost a right angle. Hoping to increase our chances if we guessed wrong on the roost or an unnoticed bird was roosting around the corner or in the coyote tree.

A beautiful morning greeted us with winds from the north switching to the west as rain was predicted to greet us about 7 to 7:30. Temperatures were warm, low 40’s and rising.  Spring was starting to take over. 

The field road was dry and we planned to get out of there before the rain so we would not mess up the road. The walk down the dugway road toward the pond with headlamps on, decoy bag, gun and backpack all in tow.  Halfway down my toe hit a sharp stick and it bounced out ahead of us.  Alex bent down to pick it up.  It was a deer shed, not a stick that was cool. The right side of a first-year sixer or a likely  3×3 however you choose to describe a rack.  We looked at each other and said if this is all we get we are still well past good.

Knowing your hunting area is a real plus and our pregame plan needed little if any adjustments.  We were in early because of the pre-planning. 

Alex was sitting just over my shoulder to my right.  The setup reminded me of his first bird with the role reversed.  He could look over my shoulder right down my gun barrel if the bird appeared on the road to my left which was where we presumed they roosted. 

The” sit “was peaceful as the farm lights blinked on the rural homesteads rattling awake, the sounds of animals bellering to their owners for the chores to start and their breakfast to be served well before the work and school day gets close to starting for all the 9 to 5 -40 hour a week earners.   The cars sped by on the way to start their day oblivious to the start nature was showing to all that chose to enjoy.  The smell of rain was in the air and the wind picked up slightly.  I welcomed the smell of fresh rain, it was a sign of spring.  Five deer walked across the field as the sun peaked over the hills across the road soon to be warming our faces and painting the sky a brilliant orange and yellow as it moved slowly up and the deer moved slowly across the field crossing at the coyote junction into the woods for their daytime siesta.  Both of us wondered if one of them left us the present on the path which we gratefully received and nestled safely in our pack. 

The hide was comfortable and stealthy for early season, normally a hard time to get good cover.  The hunt could end now and it would be a great day and show.  We were whispering  to each other and Alex signed back to me a question with his hands and eyes “should  I call?” I signalled a thumbs up and Alex softly let a yelp escape from his mouth call.  Boom an instant response and close.  We looked at each other ,our smiles adjusting our face masks and quiet whispers, a point to the direction we expected and the whisper “he is close but we think but still in a tree”.  The wind may be bringing his answer closer than we could tell but it also meant our quiet call met its mark through the wind. Very close, so close if we chose to enter from the lower road we would have spooked it on the way in.  Sometimes you get lucky.

The call /answer game went on for a few minutes and then nothing.  We looked at each other.  He might be down.  Be ready Alex whispered.  Our heads turned to the north, laser focused, nothing.  That bulldozer could have backed us over and we wouldn’t have noticed.

Alex called again and we got a return call lower in the field , he was down.  We thought we might have heard a fly down but were not confident.

The answers got closer , Alex was bringing him in on a string but nothing was appearing on the road.  Al caught a glimpse of him in the field coming our way toward the road a curve ball but still hittable.  I saw his redhead in the distance then he disappeared over the road ditch walking just out of sight down the road edge but closer to the field. I saw him again.  Alex said I see him he is just on the other side of the tall grass. Do you?  He was on us and I did not answer.  Another mouth call another answer he was now directly in front of us but over the road ditch. Another call and another answer this time simultaneously as Alex let his mouth call sing. I saw him answer but had no shot as he was telescoping the road not giving any of his body.  His head dropping down when he answered making him disappear behind the tall grass and low road ditch.   There was a slight opening in the tall dead grass that should give him a visual of our decoys and me a chance to shoot if the decoys would catch his attention and hopefully he stops to show off or climbs to the road.  Al whispered again he is just below us do you see him?  My gun was pointed  toward his roost and he was past that point and now straight ahead.  We had not moved in what seemed like hours but the video will tell us it was only minutes maybe even countable seconds. 77 to be exact.

I felt it was time to move my gun and get in position if he indeed would cross the opening……he did….BOOM, LAUGH, DONE

  Tagged out!

The video below you will see the road a line of taller grass which is the far road edge and the beginning of the ditch drop off. The story is as I remember it. the video is how it happened. Look for the bird to appear from the left in the tall grass. It might be easier to view in full screen. I hope the story gave you the same visual picture and brings back fond memories of your hunts with your child. From first licensed to adult it does not get old sharing time with on the hunt. I had no idea Alex was filming it. thanks for reading. Mark

December 5th, 2021… Twenty-something degrees fresh snow and a sharp wind wrapping around a low-pressure system.

Deciding if I was going to hunt on duck closing is an easy choice, snow, cold, and ice on most of the water.

I’m in. One last local duck hunt with my dog. He worked hard all year and loves going with me. Well, an easy choice complicated by a bit of a struggle. Not the warm bed vs cold weather debate that I sometimes gave into, I decided to navigate the icy hillside that leads to the backwater in daylight forgoing the early burst of activity if there was going to be any.

The trip down the hill was unusually uneventful. I enjoyed that, unlike the opening day of deer hunting when nearly the same decline sent me rolling down the hill which can only be described as an orange beach ball bouncing off oak trees, crisp dry leaves now powder as they were demolished by the heavy beach ball. This flurry of activity surely sent every well-racked buck out of the area. You see that misstep happened on the opening day of Wisconsin Deer Gun season and is one of many reasons you are reading a duck hunting story instead of a deer hunting success story. Opening day, the deer are not used to anyone being there. They are supposed to walk slowly by your stand unsuspecting of anyone else in their woods. My only hope now was that the deer had a sense of humor or were thinking that something that loud and uncoordinated cannot be harmful.

They didn’t have a sense of humor and they obviously agreed I was uncoordinated but did not want to test the harmful part.

I thought back to the last season’s final hunt when COVID left me nearly unconscious as I tried to navigate up the same hill my dog licking my face to wake me up.

The two memories race through my mind as I set foot on flat ground near the open water. A feeling of success flowed through the smile on my face as steam streamed from my breath but moved quickly away as the sharp wind pushed it away. Icy snow pellets stung my face back to reality and I watched a small group of ducks exit the pocket of open water. They are still here! I was concerned the cold weather would have sent everything south.

The plan was working, later arrival, push them off and wait for them to return, no decoys, no spinners just a bench behind the tree and my dog. His name is “Pistol”.

There has been some confusion and some questions from other hunters when they hear I hunt ducks and pheasants with Pistol. “Not sure it is legal to hunt pheasants or ducks with a pistol” one person said. I said “My dog is good but not so good but it would be an illegal advantage to hunt with. I am not hunting with a pistol, I am hunting with Pistol.” Still, an odd look graced the guy’s face and I let it go. He must think I am really good with a handgun. I can live with that. As long as he doesn’t call the local game warden.

The sky was slate gray and the bursts of wind left multiple lines on the water. It looked like a weatherperson’s map on TV, with all the little lines denoting how the wind is moving never in a straight line but curls and bursts. The sharp squalls disrupted the cold black backwater and were the only thing that made the water ripple.

The birds I bumped looked small. Teal I thought. That was odd, they usually leave early. I was anticipating late migrating fat mallards taking a break on their way south. Maybe I was wrong. I waited for an hour and nothing returned. So much for that plan.

Deciding it would be good to move a little and get the blood moving I left my comfortable bench behind a tree for a quick walk to check out a pond that is usually money. Just 100 yards up from where I was sitting. It was spring fed and had the water had movement to it keeping some of it open.

Hope for another opportunity was dashed when beavers plugged the culvert eliminating flow and it was iced up. The money spot was as vacant as my game bag.

We usually take care of the beaver problem but access issues to the property have eliminated normal maintenance and have required the navigation of the hill that has been, let’s just say adventurous.

One last spot to check. Beavers dropped a few trees over the trail, a 3-foot wide cottonwood laid across the trail, wind damage. Cannot blame the beavers for that one. As Pistol and I walked around a windfall and away from the water. The unmistakable whistle of wings graced us and we both cranked our heads upward looking for the source with no success.

Now the ice was our friend if they were indeed coming in, their options for a water landing were few and we were close to the only other opening.

A quick five-minute sneak to the open water and there they sat. A small group of green wing teal had landed. It was fun to see them and it was nice to not have bumped them out of the swamp (if they were the same birds I scrambled when coming down the hill).

I stepped from behind the large soft maple that blocked me from their view. This was unlike the doe that spotted me on Thanksgiving trying to hide behind a not as wide oak. The look on the deer’s face was “there is no way that tree can be that fat” and walked quickly away.

One Drake broke first alerting the others. My gun barked twice and one bird fell into the tall marsh grass on the other side of the open water. The drake that busted me had escaped but another one was not as fortunate. Pistol crossed the water and worked the brown grass as snow fell onto the water. I knew he had the scent when abruptly cut one of his wide circles short and a few seconds later the gorgeous full plumed drake Green Wing Teal was placed softly in my hand.

That was good enough for me. Dry waders, bird in hand. An excellent way for a season to end. I managed the hill without incident for the second time in four attempts. I was ok with that.

I put my duck hunting stuff away for the season and thought to myself as I shut the lights on in the shed and walked to the house. I CAN NOT WAIT UNTIL NEXT SEASON. It reminded me of when I was coaching young kids in football and baseball I wanted them to enjoy it enough not to be glad it was over. Not be exhausted and exasperated. But pleased to have had an enjoyable season no matter what the win-loss record was. Still love the game and not making it a job.

*****

Side Story and video from the Deer Opener.
After picking myself up from the tumble mentioned in the article above I stood up making sure all my parts were where they belonged and moving incorrectly. All good! The only thing injured was my pride, a frequent casualty if you have been following any of my stories. My demeanor was not positive, you might call it cranky, I was disoriented and still not in my stand. It was starting to get light.

My phone buzzed, I looked it was Alex, he was setting up just 1/4 of a mile downriver. I am sure he was calling me to make sure I was all right. He probably heard the thunder roll. I quickly answered and did not give him a chance to even ask. I told him quickly and bluntly of my adventure and that I could not find my stand. He had sat in during bow season and knew the area well. He asked me what I saw, I tried to be nice but I did say something “Flipping nothing but trees a creek and a path of crushed leaves” He calmly told me he thought I was just a bit away and I should look downstream. Bingo, there it was. If I would have rolled down the hill on the other side I would have bounced off the ladder. All good, the morning was on and I even saw some deer.

For the record, the stand was much easier to find after lunch(in the daylight). I attached a scented dragline to my boot as I walked over the hill to my stand. A video is attached of the results. It ended up being a wonderful opening day. Tag not filled but I saw a lot of deer and it was a great day to be out.

Bullet proof. Describes a lot of things that I have faced the last few days. Some of the pheasants I shot at during our annual trip to South Dakota and some mallards I feebly pointed my gun at in ND a few weeks before that.

I found out fast that bullet proof was for the birds. (Pheasants and Mallards) Not me.

On the way back from South Dakota riding with my lifelong friend and hunting partner Brian Johnson, I noticed a diminishing sense of smell. Followed quickly by the semi loss of taste as we broke into the cookie bags my wife and Brian’s gal Julie made for us. A small sense of panic set in and I put it off to congestion and fatigue. It had been a long week of hard hunting, I was just tired. I convinced myself. I couldn’t wait for a home cooked meal.

I was not disappointed a steak dinner was ready and waiting when I arrived home. However, I was disappointed in that all I could sense was texture. The next morning was spent looking for Covid 19 test sites.

South Dakota was fun. A lot like the wild west, no masks, no distance, no cares. The wild west is all fun and games until someone get shot. I took the bullet. Whether it came from SD or a gathering before I left. The result was the same. A positive result to a Covid test.

As I write this my phone buzzes and it confirms a positive test for Todd Strain another lifelong friend and hunting partner on the Dakota trips. Brian still awaits the results of his test as I write this.

With that comes self-quarantine and work from home. I really felt great other than sleeping longer than normal and no sense of smell or taste. I was fine.

Day 2 of quarantine and I thought it would be a good idea to get up early and go duck hunting by myself.

4 am and the alarm went off. Yep I still felt great. I had pre-rigged a brand-new set of decoys, pre-packed the truck. All I had to do was get my lab “Pistol” and get on the road.

One thing was different as I headed to our hunting land, the same land that has hosted many stories that appear on this website. Something very concerning.

Alex and I have hunted this land for about ten years and have always had access to the swamp area via a road we maintain. The road is in good shape ready for use and gets us quick and easy access to our prime duck hunting locations.

However, this year we hit a snag. The owners of the resort that we have had a great relationship over the years is now under new owners. The new owner of the resort recently purchased an additional less than 1-acre parcel of land near ours and it runs across the road we have maintained.

We have always talked and reported in with the owners when entering the property as a courtesy.

That is until the owner saw a nice buck running the road that crossed his property onto ours. We suddenly got texts saying we cannot cross the property anymore because he wanted to hunt on his parcel. We tried to work with him letting him know before we crossed and avoid going when he was hunting. The answer was still the same NO. Stay out. It is disappointing what hunting greed can do to good people.

Odd we thought and we probably have some legal easement but to avoid conflict meant we had to walk about 1/2 of a mile over a hill and down to the swamp through some of the thickest brush on our property.

Wednesday morning found me parked a half mile away from my destination. Slotted decoy bag on my shoulder, back pack full of ammo and all the good stuff you need for a blind bag and of course my gun. An easy load going downhill although the darkness and grapevines made it adventurous. When I hit the edge of the very steep hill the only solution was to slide down on my butt much like you did when you were kid. Slipping down the sledding hill. It worked well. Only a few thorny branches snapping my face like ice pellets when sledding I thought.

My feet now solidly under me and I was on the road looking at the backwaters, the bright stars reflecting off the water.

The too still water, the too perfect reflection, panic set in. ICE. No open water no ducks. Still pitch black out I walked to another location looking for open water. Nope.

Here I was on a Covid Vacation and no place to hunt. One last chance. Bingo! Open water.

Pistol by my side we set the decoys with a southeast wind. Perfect! Open water, sun and wind to my back.

I was early, no rush, I did not have to get to work. I couldn’t go to work. I felt great. I could take my time and enjoy. Many of my hunting outings I try to sneak in before work, I have made rushed decisions because work timing consideratoins. That usually led to less than super results.

Today I had nothing but time.

Ten Minutes before shooting light the sky starting to turn from black to light blue. In they came I heard the first few birds wings whistle by with a adrenalin jolting splash into the open water. So cool. Then as shooting light emerged waves upon waves of big fat mallards flew overhead buzzing the decoys. Well within shooting rage but not within the light tolerance to pick out a drake.

The limit allows for only two hens and as these birds piled into the the decoys there was no way of assuring a missed shot might find an unlucky hen. Remembering I am pretty good at missing. I needed to be patient. I was not in the game to record a limit record in 15 minutes. It would have been possible; the birds were there, the desire was not.

It was a show day. A day to enjoy being alive and relatively healthy. The first drake mallard giving me a reasonable shot cupped in and splashed into the Mississippi backwater after shots rang out from my twelve gauge. Pistol still sitting beside me. He looked at me in disbelief. Still sitting beside me enjoying the show as well. I think he had to look twice to confirm a retrieve was actually necessary.

Usually the minute the gun barks he is afoot. A habit I am trying to break. Little did I know all I had to do was miss a lot. He was with me in ND and SD and was witness. It seamed even Pistol was a critic of my shooting skills.

A simple command and Pistol was out into the water back with a beautiful heavy curled drake mallard. A perfect retrieve, holding steady in the blind (although I still think it was because of shock), a perfect release out of the blind, and the bird held firm and deposited to my hand. I could feel the smile on my face under my face mask. (Not the covid mask, the hunting mask)

I could quit right now. But it was only 7:10. I had all the time I needed.

I added another mallard to my bag passing on many more. Pistol again with a perfect retrieve. It was just a fun show to watch.

My phone rang and Alex my son who had hunted the same spot 5 days prior asked how it was going. I said it had slowed some. He said wait until about 8 and you will get a second wave.

He was right. The second wave was less interested in my spread, my hide was not nearly good enough for the later morning with brighter light giving away my location to the wary mallards. and I did not have the energy to remedy it.

I started to feel a bit fatigued and decided to pick up and head for the truck.

It was a fantastic morning. Beautiful sky, a slight wind, comfortable temperatures. Good dog work and less than disappointing marksmanship. Lots and lots of northern mallards migrating south. Quit while I was ahead I thought to myself.

I repacked and started back to the truck at about 8:15. The first part of the walk back was easy, down the point to the well maintained road. Then down the road to where I would have parked if a large whitetail had not messed it up.

Not being able or willing to proceed any further down the road, I looked to the northeast and facing me was an incline that was nasty, leafy, full of grapevines and buck thorn.

With Pistol by myside I decided the hill wasn’t going to climb itself. Pick a spot and start climbing all packed up in waders and heavy clothing it was not going to be a picnic. It took only about 10 steps and 15 yards up the incline to realize I was in trouble. The resistance of the brush pulling against the packs, made it a chore. Those of you who know me, understand I am not the smallest of hunters. 6 foot 2 inches and a weight to go with it that no one will mistake me for a string bean.

I stopped in place looked for a tree to lean against and fell to my knees gasping for air my chest feeling like it was going to explode. I was light headed and a bit confused. I leaned forward into the hill and rested closing my eyes letting the breath re-enter my lungs. When I woke up Pistol was by my side his head snuggled next to my cheek. I moved a bit and he licked my face. I said “no!” I have a thing about a dog licking my face. I know it is just a sign of affection but really. I watch him lick his balls, his butthole, and all the other dog parts. You have to draw a line somewhere. Plus his breath is always awful. The only time on the journey up the hill I would be thankful for Covid and the loss of smell.

I was only 15 yards from the bottom less than 20 percent of the way up. It didn’t get any better, only tougher. The distance before collapsing and a quick nap to regain strength was smaller. Each time I would wake with Pistol snuggled next to me licking me when I woke up.

I was finally at the crest of the hill. I was sweating profusely and very very disoriented. This time I just fell over laid down and looked at the final 15 yard to the crest of the hill and realistically wondered would this be my last two mallards. Was I having a heart attack? Or just reacting to the Covid. Either way I was down for the count and again when I woke up Pistol was there next to me his head tucked to my shoulder, licking my face when I started moving. I looked at my watch it was almost 10 am. The relatively short journey had taken well over an hour and a half and I wasn’t at the top yet.

The top of the hill flattened out and I could see my truck. That gave me some strength and I managed to make it to the truck without another nap or a kiss from my dog.


I have been told “stupid should hurt”… Let me tell you it does. Don’t mess with Covid. I have also been told If you are going to be stupid you better be tough…..or have a good dog. I am not so tough, but I am pretty happy and grateful for Pistol. He kept me moving when all I wanted to do was lay in the woods and sleep.

My phone rang with an inquiry of where I was and why so late. I sheepishly told my wife Sheila that I had some issues getting to the truck and I was light headed but ok and I would be home in a few minutes. She offered to come and get me but settled for a second call as I passed the intersection of County Road E and State Road 35. I hope these two mallards will not be my last but they will be the last mallards I hunt when I have covid. Be safe , Be healthy.

The dashboard clock read 2:24 am as we rolled in to the motel parking lot a quick unloading of the truck making sure to set out the hunting clothes for a 4:45 conversation with an alarm clock.

I was fortunate to be asked to join my son and two of his good friends on our first ever South Dakota archery hunt.

The goal was to get a buck in velvet. Something we never have an opportunity to do in Wisconsin. My goal was to take it easy watch them hunt and share with them my contacts of the landowners I have gotten to know and consider very good friends from my 20 plus years of hunting pheasants and having whitetail deer startle us as we looked for roosters. Dale the primary land owner was excited to have us come out and helped us place six Stealth Cell Cameras on prime spots over the summer during two sling shot scouting trips. The slingshot trips were 11 hours of driving 6 hours of scouting all in 24 hours.

The preliminary work has been done including the 5:30 hour road trip. Now all that was left was to sleep fast for 2.5 hours and get in the truck. We preset each hunter’s stand location on the trip out. Evan, Jordan and Alex picket their spots much like they did when I was coaching them during football and baseball some 10 plus years earlier.

The stand location was spread out much like everything in South Dakota. I would make a large half circle dropping Alex off 35 minutes down the road, Jordan next 20 minutes later, and last drop was only a 15 minute drive to drop Evan and I would make it my stand with just enough time to get there before morning light. The morning cell cam pictures came in as we drove to Alex’s stand and a very nice 10 point was in front of the camera at my location. I asked the guys if they would like to switch stands and take advantage of known traffic near that stand. They all declined. Excitement was climbing and “Big” racked buck stood in the ditch near Alex’s stand when we arrived to drop him off

The 35 minutes turned into 45 and 20 turned into 35 so by the time I got Evan dropped off he had good light to see where to set up.

I wasn’t disappointed I would not be in before daylight. The morning sunrise was spectacular. I would be walking in due east right into its show. I might have a hard time keeping my gaze low enough to see deer.

The purple blooms of alfalfa gave a hue over the green field kind of like the glow of the bright blue Holiday gas station signs only with more of a purple cast. I enjoyed this section of property. It brought back some very fond memories. One being our first trip out to and a pheasant hunt with my Dad. That was our first field on our first hunt ever in South Dakota twenty some years ago. From that time on my friends Todd and Brian always made a visit to this section. I was silently pleased that this stand was left on the draft board when it was time for me to pick. Not because it held deer. It usually did not and the trail camera normally had few deer on it. But because it held so many great memories. The real reason we all hunt. To make memories.

This year the square mile was part alfalfa and part soybeans with the drainage runs that ran into the wooded pond was full of tall grass. Lines of first crop round bales were neatly scattered across the alfalfa field with the second cutting bales scattered about the field yet to be lined up.

My most valuable cargo were in their stands according to the group text we set up to keep us all on the same page I would check in and reverse my route at 9:15. We usually set our exit times off the top or bottom of the clock to take advantage of other hunter’s traffic. Most set their time to rendezvous with their hunting parties at that time and it usually pushed deer to us. I am positive there were no other hunters with 25miles of us but old habits die hard. I was still in my truck enjoying the sun peek over the horizon when I read all their messages making sure they were in and ok then grabbed my bow and stood by the truck to glass the 1-mile section for likely path to my chosen stand. A lonely bush on a fence line on the east side of the property line just 75 yards from the camera set up that gave up the 10 plus point’s location. I mapped out a path in my mind. The long rows of round bales would make good hiding places to keep me from being busted on the way to my stand. Would walk from one line to another until I reached the small bush.

A habit I learned long ago was to always look behind you after the first couple of steps kicked in. I glassed the field behind me a brown and white flash caught my eye in the jumping the soybeans. I stopped and watched it. The brown and white face stood out above the soybeans and it looked like it did not have a body. A head just floating down a soybean row. Spooky but entertaining.

I was on row 3 of a scheduled 4 row round bale adventure and right in front of my stand stood a nice racked buck. I quickly dropped down and leaned against the bales and watched. It was just 150 yards away. I thought it was quite likely the deer on the camera. Some movement to its left and a doe was moving up and down the fence line. Followed by another smaller racked buck. What a show! I wasn’t even in my stand yet and 4 deer where there to welcome me back to a favorite spot in South Dakota.

I watched the trio go back and forth in front of my stand for 45 minutes. I was settling in, I hope they would pop into the corn field or drop into the valley long enough for me to cover the 150 yards and get into my stand and the deer into range. I brought my binoculars up to my eyes careful not to look into the sun now totally visible above the few trees in this part of South Dakota. The large buck and doe dropped down the valley as I had hoped. The smaller buck was due east of me along the fence line. I had already placed an arrow on my string since this was more than likely by final destination for the morning. The smaller buck lifted it head and locked his vision on me.

I slowly lowered the binoculars to my chest. The buck started a slow casual walk to the row of round bales that I was hiding next to. The other two deer were still out of sight. I wondered if the doe behind me had caught his attention. I couldn’t turn and look.

He covers the distance in just a about 15 minutes I am guessing, it felt much longer not moving. He never took his gaze off me. Casually curious I thought. Was he checking me out? Did I look like another deer? Did my binocular lens reflect like deer eyes in the light stream of a headlight? Or was it the doe behind me? I wondered.

My hand was on my bow ready to quietly and smoothly bring it up in one motion to launch an arrow if it were the bigger buck. The season was less than two hours old. Should I tag out when there was so much opportunity close by?

The young buck would decide this for me. He continued eyes locked on me never once looking back or down or over. Never a chance to get my bow at full draw. At 10 yards he stops for a split second and decides I am not what he expected and I was uninteresting. He quartered off. I brought my bow up and the movement startled him slightly. Something about this deer was off as he came toward me I couldn’t peg it, but something wasn’t right. His rack was odd for one like two capital Y’s were stuck on top of his head. The answer bolted to the front of my brain when the deer easily bounced off in a four legged hop that reminded me of cartoon drawings of a deer. He then looked back at me at 50 yards. The ears were bigger, the face was colored differently and the neck patch was not distinct, the tail was smaller and darker. Whitetails seldom if ever once being startled look back at 50 yards. Five hundred yards or 1000 yards but never 50. It was a MULE DEER.

YES, A MULE DEER! 20 years of hunting this part of South Dakota and I have only once encountered a muley. I had mentally made up my mind to pass on the smaller deer and I was glad I did. I wanted to reread my regulations to make sure “any deer” included Mule deer. Obviously, it did but I was kind of rattled and kind of in shock. An extremely positive shock.

With all the deer out of sight I reached my stand at 8:45. My phone lit up and the text messages started. A go for the 9:15 departure. I would enjoy my stand for a few minutes then get on the road.

The cab of the truck was full of excitement and stories of coyotes and skunks and of course some deer. Unfortunately for me the conversation rolled back to me and too bad you didn’t get to shoot. I shared my experience again with the guys and to a man said “shoot it”. I confessed that I probably wouldn’t have shot at it anyway if it gave me a chance. A small whitetail I thought. It being a rare encounter with a mule deer and that it was in velvet changed my opinion slightly but not whole heartedly sold. But sold enough to promise the group I would close the deal if he showed up again. A bet that was easy to make. The buck was educated now and more than likely a few miles away on ground we could no longer hunt. Alex, Evan and Jordan were very supportive of having this deer fill a first for us and assured me if it were them they would definitely fill their tag with it.


The evening stands were discussed and Alex and Evan were to take my stand of the morning and hopefully get the big one to come into range. Jordan who had some excitement at his opening morning stand chose to take another shot there. It was a bright hot late summer day with a very light breeze from the west. I would set up across the valley from Alex and Evan. I could glass the fields behind them and they could do the same for me. If we had to we could see each other but it would mean breaking our cover.

I walked the fence line settling in on another row of round bales. The sun was starting to cast long shadows. Shadows as in cool comfortable shade. I knew which side of the north south string bales I would be sitting on. The east side, the cool comfortable east side. The north end of the east side to be exact. I was moving quietly as possible through the tall dead grass along the barb wire fence. I decide the grass was too noisy the green succulent alfalfa would be quieter plus the bales would give me good cover from the pond and trees I had thought the deer were bedding in.

The alfalfa that breaking off under my feet with quiet snaps like that of a nice piece of lettuce beign prepared for a salad. Three steps in and there she was standing right where I wanted to sit. A doe. I was just 5 yards from the south end of the bales but standing like a flag pole in a football field. I didn’t belong there but if I did not move maybe she would not run off and take every deer in the square mile with her. I stood there avoiding eye contact and she walked slowly around the north end of the bales. I took that opportunity to get to the south end of the bales. I desperately wanted to get to the shady side of the stack. I stuck my head around the corner to see if I could make it. To my dismay she had decided to lay back down. There I was on the wrong end and the wrong side of the bales. It was a light breeze that came and went and kind of swirled a bit. I dropped some doe urine where I was standing to cover my sent.

The bright sun scalding my bare arms and sweat running down my forehead on to my cheeks. One might think I was crying if they didn’t see that I was really just frying. I played peek a boo with the doe a few times. Each time I was hoping she had disappeared but no, she liked the shade. Damn this was fun if I wasn’t getting such a sunburn. I saw a fawn still with spots walk to the north. 5 minutes later the doe left too. The sun had now settled in the sky and it began to cool. I had stood with bow and chair in my hands for almost two hours. I took that moment to get into my chosen destination in the shade.

I leaned my bow against the bales and set the chair into place and was all set to enjoy the last 45 minutes of daylight. No wonder the doe liked this spot. You had great vision of all the approaching traffic did I mention it was in the shade too?

Just minutes into sitting I was getting nice and relaxed. I checked my arms for burns or blisters. It wasn’t that bad. Probably end up being a nice late summer tan. I was still unable to forgive that doe for taking my spot. First come first served I guess.

Giving into habits, I checked my back. There it was, a deer. Had the doe circled to reclaim her spot? No, this one had a rack. It was 100 yards out. I could see the rack with the naked eye. I pulled the binoculars up. Oh no, it was the alphabet buck two capital y’s staring back at me.

Maybe he will just stay away and I can pass on him again and no one will know.

My phone vibrated. Alex texted me “dad a nice buck is behind you do you see it?” I didn’t answer. Ok. Now he needs to stay out of range.

The nice looking muley walked to the fence line and was grazing on alfalfa. Each time I peeked around the edge of the bales he was closer. Still at 40 yards I was conflicted, I kind of wanted to shoot him, he checked all the boxes except one. That being an older deer. I decided that if he came in range I would keep my word and try and take him.

4 more times I peeked around the bales. Each time he drew closer. He was now at the other end of the 8 bales line. He was starting to get nervous. He was standing were I was sweating not 40 minutes ago. I was positive he knew what kind of deodorant I was wearing. He started to walk away showing me his “nonwhite tail” Confirming again he was the muley I had promise to shoot if an opportunity was given.

I took two quiet steps back from the bales, so I could pull back if he would turn and give me an opportunity.

The young buck had turned now and was giving me a quartering away shot at what I guessed to be twenty yards. My bluff had been called and it was time to show my cards. I pulled back, my peep sight centered the 20-yard pin. Set and steady behind the left shoulder. I squeezed off a shot. The whoosh of the arrow leaving the string and the thud of a solid hit.

It was a high hit. I remember the deer ducking and turning as he saw me step out and squeeze. Later I found out 8 bales is closer than 20 yards. I saw the neon green fletching bobbing from the buck and he took just two steps and dropped.

I don’t think he knew what hit him. He didn’t spook just took a few muley jumps and tipped over.

What great first day! More memories. I am grateful for these young men that I had a chance to coach as boys. They are fun to be around just like the old days when I was lucky enough to coach them. I am grateful they invited me along to share their hunt.

When they played for me they were young boys of high character that have grown into young men of high character. Their parents should be proud of the boys they have raised. Thank You Alex, Evan and Jordan. Thank You Dale for sharing your farm with us.

TAGGED OUT IN SOUTH DAKOTA

Week four of the 2020 Wisconsin Turkey Season and our last tags of the year are on the board waiting to be filled. Alex and I are hunting together again just like week one.

Unlike week one, the weather is 20 degrees warmer and the buds on the trees are starting to burst with little mini green leaves. I think my wife and daughters would call them cute. I just call the in my way most of the time as I try to locate the birds.

The first day was more comfortable than day one week one but yielded the same results on our morning hunt.

That would be it for me. Work had suddenly and very happily become busy. The Covid 19 virus had taken its toll and made you thankful for every order you could get.

That left a quick hunt on Mother’s Day morning. Alex filled his tag one late afternoon on a layout belly crawl across a corn field with two of very good friends holding fan decoys. The targeted tom came charging in at a sprint and was stopped abruptly by 3 and half inch 12-gauge load and 3 guys having a blast. Then abruptly I had the only tag to fill.

Alex joined me and we chose to hunt behind my parent’s house. We hadn’t hunted it together for quite a while. The sun hadn’t broken the horizon and we heard our first gobble. Experience and land knowledge are helpful. We knew precisely where they were roosted. It called for a decision down the tracks and call them in for a fly down or up the hill that requires a short hop off the roost but a long ugly walk up a lime stone rock, leaf ridden hill with small branches hiding under the leaves just waiting to put you on your butt for the hunters.

We talked about it for a second and I made the call. Up the hill. Two reasons. First experience told me they have usually hopped off on top then worked their way to the fields. Second it would be a revisit to the spot Alex shot one of his first his bird and we double up that day. Great memory.

We made it up the hill uneventfully. I brought a chair to sit on and Alex leaned against a tree. The Tom and hen decoys were set and it was time to call. A quick scratch of the slate and we were answered quickly by two gobbles. Right where we thought they would be.

We had been sitting less than 10 minutes and we were into good shooting light and we heard a bird fly down and seconds later Alex says “Do you see him? He is strutting” I say no. I struggled to locate the fanned bird behind all the tiny “cute” leaves. Nothing. I looked over to Alex and he said “To the right near the fence now. Can you see him?” I finally located the bird as he was getting ready to cross a fence and surely escape into the large stretch of tall pine trees.

I pulled up my shotgun located the bird and boom. Bird runs away, boom, again bird keeps running. We have been hunting for less than 30 minutes and I whiffed twice. Twelve years earlier near that exact spot Alex and I double up on two shots. Ouch.

I ethically checked to see if I got lucky to make sure the bird was not laying there and I saw its roosting buddy run away. But nope clean miss. So proud. UGH!

It was early, too early to quit so we went back and started calling. The two toms came back circled us just out of range. One tom came in behind us in range but over Alex’s shoulder so it was a no shot situation. They wondered off but a hen came to visit and hopped on the log I had my gun barrel resting. She stopped on not more than five feet from us. I could see the bend in her eyelashes. She was a sweet thing, I understood why the boys liked her.

That was it for Mother’s Day hunting.

The last day of my season, the last evening of the last day and it was beautifully sunny, dry and 58 degrees.

We went to a piece of property Alex filled a young man’s first tag with earlier in the year.

We set up quick it was already 6pm. We heard a gobble on our side of the valley but one or two ravines to the north. We sat for another 20 minutes trying to coax him over but it wasn’t working. We packed up and walked north to the ravines. We stopped and called every couple of hundred yards locating the bird each time. Kind of a Marco Polo with a 12 gauge and a slate call. The ground was noisy like walking on a combination of corn flakes and raw spaghetti. The highway to the west to of us would add to the noise as cars hit the rumble strips at the intersection. All these noises we were sorting out as we listened hard for gobbles or putts of birds to give away their location.

We stopped just before each crest of a hill and before we entered a ravine. It happened to be the furthest ravine still on our property. That part was nice the pace was fast and exciting. It is a strong possibility we may be drawing the birds to us as we closed the gap on them. The other part was less than wonderful. The ravines were steep and we covered at least three quarters of a mile. We stopped at the edge of the last ravine and called the gobble came back and we thought we pin pointed his location. We stopped one more time near a fence that separated a corn field from a pasture. I looked at Alex he pointed to the fence with where two wires were off between the steel post so we chose the safe and easy crossing point. A laughed to myself a little sweat was beading up on his forehead. Three weeks ago these would be icicles. My forehead was more like rivers of sweat rushing to my eyebrows as my heavy breaths pushed the rivers to waterfalls over my eyebrows to the crunchy earth.

The last known location of the bird was still a couple of hundred yards up the field according to its last gobble. Alex grabbed the fan and said let’s get to near the top of the rolling hill in the middle of a corn stubble field that was laid neatly between the deep ravine woods and rolling pasture.

We stood with the fan in front of our faces not able to see the edge of the field and called. The Tom gobbled again he had move toward us and we could almost feel the vibration from the sound waves. We sprawled out flat on our stomach’s the fan in front of us. I had my gun pointing straight ahead directly at the last gobble. Alex used his mouth call and gave a loud raspy yelp. The response came back quickly now he had crossed our faces and was to the right of us. If he came into us from that direction I was out of luck. I could not swing my gun that way and shoot. Alex was laying just to my right.

A head appeared at the crest of the hill. A hen. NO! We were going to get busted by her. We froze and waited, she disappeared back over the hill. Did she take the boys away? We waited. Nothing. We lifted our heads and looked to the right over the crest of the hill where the hen went and I saw some birds. She had busted us but she was not overly startled by two 200lb plus males laying face first in the dirt holding a 12 gauge and a fake Tom. She had taken him away but not too far.

We immediately dropped back down. They were still just 70 yards away. Two maybe three birds. I thought one had a red head. So, did Al. “Did you see that one had a red head I whispered” Alex he said “yes.” He called again with his mouth call, another gobble. Then we saw him, we could not tell if was a Jake or a tom at first glance. Another guy gobbled just behind him.

The bird kept approaching all we could see was his head. He was coming toward us. Then he fanned and gobbled and gobbled and gobbled. Now straight ahead of us. He fanned and all I could see was the top of his fan revealing he was indeed a mature male. I whispered to Alex it’s a Tom. He was 25 yards out only giving us the head shot. Al whispered “Stand up and shoot him.

I started to move but then decided no. I will wait. Al whispered again “Stand up and take him.” I said I am not confident enough I can get up quickly and quiet and smooth enough to successfully do it. Do you remember the two 200lb guys on their belly? I was on the very high end of the 200. I would be more like an Easter egg trying to find its feet with a loaded gun. I was far from a twenty something athlete that would make that move without even feeling one joint protest the movement.

Let’s wait I said. Call again. That was all it took the fan came over the hill and right at the decoy in our hand. He was at 15 yard and said “I am going to shoot. Al said “Wait let him get closer.”

What the hell I thought if it gets any closer I will be able to smell the bird’s breath and know what it had for dinner. I had the bird at the end of my gun. He was gorgeous. I could see his deep black eyes and the bumps on his head his waddle wiggling back and forth as he strutted toward us. His bright red head with highlights of blue focused dominantly at the fan decoy in Alex’s hand. My bead pointed directly between the head and the beard. I could almost see this guy on my grill. 5 yards. Boom. Some feathers flew. But no flop. Nothing. The bird took two quick steps and took flight, I raised my gun to shoot again and in the ejection chamber rested the empty shell. No second shot. I looked over my shoulder and saw Alex lying flat on his back arms spread wide like someone knocked him out.

First, I looked like any Dad would do to see if he was ok. Had something happened? After inspection his only injury was exasperation. He finally spoke with a half-smile on his face. “What had just happened?”

I had no answer. Humbling, Humiliating, Fun.

I felt like a Minnesota Viking or Chicago Bears field goal kicker in a playoff game. I must have pulled it to the left or right. I looked at Alex laying on the ground with a look of disbelief. It is not like I never miss. I have become rather good at it lately. From a success rate of almost 100 percent my first 20 years of turkey hunting. I have now missed 3 of my last 5 very baggable birds. Each time with an audience. So, I really don’t know why Alex looked so surprised.

Missing is easy. Just don’t have the barrel pointing at your target. Hitting is just as easy point the barrel at your target. Finding out why you are having issues with it is not so easy.

It has never been about the shot or filled tag. It obviously makes It better. But what a night. What a sneak, Great calling. To be that close to a very smart mature bird was amazing. It was not his time to visit my freezer or grill.

He must have some unfinished business. Make me proud my two fortunate targets of my second season. Get your job done Thank you, you gave us a nice show and some great memories.

The long trip back to the truck had my emotions on a roller coaster. I could see Alex texting. The word will be out. I smiled a little, you can’t make this stuff up. I went from exasperate to frustrated back to exasperated. What the heck was I doing wrong? I am sure that list is long but I was self -evaluating. I handed the tom decoy back to Alex. “Take it.” I said am not sure what my next emotion will be and I don’t want to throw the decoy. By the way your driving home. As the dust settled my final emotion rested on embarrassed. With a smile on my face.

Not physically tagged out and not an official statistic in the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resource under filled tags. But filled again with memories. All positive memories even with negative results. These two hunts will haunt me a little but every time I think about the missing I think about all the cool things that led up to the miss. I wouldn’t change a thing. Ok that is a fib. One of those birds should be in my freezer.

That ends 2020.

The 2020 Turkey season in Wisconsin could not come soon enough. With the entire world worrying about getting sick and how they were going to make the next payment on their house or car, scouting for turkeys and sitting behind a turkey decoy was a welcome break.

Or at least I thought it would be. Alex and I drew the opening week of the season together. We were pleased at our luck and looked forward to hunting together with each of us having a tag to fill at the same time. It had been a while since we were able to do that. Fast Forward.

It is Thursday already the second day into week two of this year’s turkey season. Alex and I are not holding a tag. That means we are at work. Alex works from home now do to the “Stay at Home” orders and I am off to the office getting things done that normally would not be possible when the plant is open and full speed.

It was quiet, peaceful then my cell phone rings. Its Alex “Dad, do you think it would be ok to take someone hunting over my lunch break? He is a 7th grader and has not had any luck yet, ever. I was thinking about taking him to the farm off of Hwy 35. Do you think that is ok?” I said yes it will be fine, we have permission to hunt that farm again this year. “Have fun, good luck and be safe.” I said as the phone cell phone went dark. One hour later my phone rings again and I happened to be in my truck enjoying the 60-degree sunny weather, something that was not available season one. I saw it was Alex, I wondered did he run into trouble with the farmer when getting on the property? I knew we were ok so that couldn’t be it. One hour is not long enough to call a bird up those deep valleys plus setting up a new hunter usually takes some time. Did he get stuck. Rather than guess I decided to answer the phone and eliminate all my wild imaginations.

Like most parents can, I knew in by the tone of his voice after his first word if I should be concerned, happy or looking to call 911. “Dad, He got it! His first bird ever, it was so cool, he came running into the decoy, we just got set up. It was so fun. I like it more than when I shoot a bird,” He ripped off in rapid session in one big breath. You can tell when someone is smiling when they talk to you and he was definitely smiling. I said fantastic, congratulations, get some pictures. I will, his dad came along too, they both are really excited.

Driving down I94 heading back to Hudson WI I looked in the rear-view mirror to check traffic and there I was smiling back at myself and I knew why. Alex got to experience what I feel every time he shoots a bird with me and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

Well enough of the warm and fuzzy stuff, let’s get to the cold and miserable. Yes, the first week had been promising two weeks prior some good warm weather had stripped the fields and woods of the winter snow. I promptly put the winter white camo away and set out the early spring lighter version. Mistake number one of our first season. Easter Sunday brought 4 inches of cold wet heavy snow that was pushed around by high winds leaving some deep drifts in places. So deep it was unlikely it could leave in just two days even though the forecast indicated mid 40’s.

The late snow changed the patterns of the birds we were scouting for our opening day. 4pm on Tuesday. Scout time for the Wednesday opener. We had 5 places to check in 2 and a half hours if we wanted to see them on their feet. We hit all our old reliable spots, NOTHING, no visual no, no verbal response to the crow call or owl call. One last chance at an area just off our number one location. We never hunt it but it was less than a quarter mile away and we had permission. We drove up the hill stopping half way up and called. Boom 4 gobbles in rapid succession. A car drove past us and they gobbled again. Close very close. Then we saw them in a tree not more than 15 yards from the road. Silhouetted against the setting sky. One bird gave us a nice profile and we could see it was a long beard.

We rolled up the windows finished our drive up the hill looking off the edge of the road for a suitable set up for the morning. The snow on the ground showed us the open spots that would make a good strutting area. We had to guess and we had to be careful. The birds were close to the road and spooky.

Wednesday morning came and the thermometer read 9 degrees. Yes 9, but we were still excited we had located birds which we felt was a gift because we went from zero to 4 as the sun set.

When you walk into a new area the dark, without a blind, without a seat, not really knowing where the likely fly down area will be and you are too close to the birds to roam freely you look, you set up, you pick a tree and sit. We would know soon enough if we were right or wrong and we have been wrong before and looking in the mirror, I would not starve to death. Little did I know I might freeze to death.

5 minutes in and the birds are talking to us. Alex is set up back against a tree. I am just off the tree, not by choice but by necessity. Lucky me. I chose the side of the tree in the dark with a large broken off branch that let me know it was there when I went to lean on it. No problem. I have been in that position before. This would be a quick hunt. I slid off the tree and sat unsupported just off the tree but close enough to have it break up my outline. We were on a slight decline facing up. The flat spot was on a hog back ridge, and we saw turkey tracks in the snow coming in. I could do this. My abs need the work. The incline was slight but not to my disproportion distribution of my body. Light legs uphill, Heavy torso downhill. You do not have to be a mechanical engineer to know that this was not going to be easy. This was the closest thing to a sit up have done in many years. Some might call it an ab crunch or some other creative name trainers give it to make you feel good about pain.

I sat without discomfort for at least 5 minutes and 10 gobbles. I gave in and used both hands under my knees to hold me in place. This was going to have to be Al’s shot. Besides I think I just plugged the end of my gun with snow. A slight breeze dropped the temperature even more. The chill had gripped me even through the heavy white camo jacket I retrieved from the storage bin.

1 hour later the birds were still in the roost. They didn’t want to get out of bed either. I was convinced I was dumber than a turkey. I gave in and leaned back to support my back, smartly placing both hands into the snow bank behind me. They were numb anyway. Then we heard a fly down. Looking to my left I could see a bird. A Jake. He was walking up the paved road toward our parked truck. I envied that bird.

The birds were on the ground and we were nearing 2 hours in the sit. They were hung up on the ridge and they would come close but not in vision. I was visibly shaking and Al said let’s get out of here. I did not argue. We snuck to the ridge and could hear the nervous cluck of startled birds but could not see them. We froze and waited. Nothing. We surrendered to the weather picked up our decoys and left for the truck. As we drove down the hill to heaven, I mean a warm house and hot shower. A big long bearded tom walked across the road not more than 20 yards in front of us. He walked slowly off stopped 30 yards off the road and looked back at us. If his feathers were fingers, he would be sticking his middle one up at us with a big gobbler smile. The Birds were listening to our President and Governor and practicing social distancing. That ended day one for me.

1pm at work and I was still cold. My phone rings. DAD—BIG BIRD DOWN! Al said into his phone. I went to our old reliable spot and sat in the blind not than 30 minutes during my lunch break. Fantastic I said and suddenly I was warm.

We skipped scouting and sat that evening and saw nothing. That gamble hurt us a bit in that we had no bedded birds to set upon in the morning.

Ready or not the second morning of the season came and we set up at the end of a pine tree planting. I dressed even warmer and brought a chair. This was not going to be a short hunt and even if it was I was not going to complicate misery by adding uncomfortable to cold.

All set. Alex hit the calls. Boom 3 good gobbles and close. Again, and again. Then we saw them fly down one by one into the field in perfect position to move to our decoy set. The decoy set was a fanned tom with a hen. 9 birds flew down they were too far away to see what they were hen, Tom or Jake. Three of them gobble again. Well three of them were male. We were ready. The group moved perfectly giving us a strut show. It also let us know it was a group of 9 jakes. We decide many years ago to pass on jakes and just enjoy the show. Like watching middle schoolers push, pull and pile on each other. Some timid and would not come near the Tom decoy, other brash and bold and went right upto the tom. The birds gradually drifted off and were not replaced with any others. The hunting part of day two was in the books. My tag still empty.

The evening of day two took us scouting again. Our cameras found 2 toms one 16 miles away the other a half mile away both late in the afternoon. We scouted spots without cameras and found nothing.

We chose to set up on the closest bird to home. Which is where Alex filled his tag two days prior. The blind was upside down. Really? The wind had cartwheeled it up against the tree we had it anchored too. What a mess, the wind broke one support and one side would not extend. We quietly got it set up and we were ready. The sun climbed up in the east the breeze was light from the west. A clear day. Warmer than the past two but that was not hard to accomplish. We heard a group gobble as the sun came up. We knew from experience they were deep in the valley maybe even a ridge over. Had the big Tom we saw on camera kept on going east that afternoon? It was very possible. The mood of the morning and the theme of my opener would lead me to believe it. A consistent string of gobbles greeted us that morning distant but fun to hear. You could hear that they were getting to the ground now. Their location was moving a bit. Then all said did you hear that? Hear what? I said. I just heard a bird fly down. Then I heard a hen call behind us. Okay, par for the course for this miserable week the one bird close enough to hear a fly down is a female.

Then boom a gobble a close gobble. Alex called and he ripped it again. 2 minutes later we see his head periscope the field and he strutted out checking out the decoys.

Alex was seated to the left of me holding the collapsed side of the blind and I was up against the right side of the tent. The decoys were in the right half of the center window and the big boy was 70 yards out and closing appearing big and boisterous in the window between the decoy and the edge of blind. He closed fast getting closer to the decoy. Now veering off to the right toward the ridge he just entered from. He let another gobble go. How fun is this?! He is in range now. I have my gun ready but not shouldered. Al says “shoot him”. I say I cannot see him he just disappeared behind the corner of the blind I have to wait for him to appear in the side window. Al says “shoot him” now. He is now visible. I have him in my sights ready to squeeze and he takes two quick steps toward the ridge. He doesn’t like something and he is getting ready to exit. RE-AIM quick I thought and squeezed. The 12 gauge barked the smoke from the muzzle filled the window and 30 yards away lay a filled tag. Al said “you got him!” I got it all recorded on my phone!” Season One 2020 is over not so miserable after all. 2 tags filled. Tagged out for season one 2020. We both have tags for SEASON 4!!!!!

Entertainment was scheduled for Thursday night but were the performers going to show up? That is always a question. We were on the edge of a cold front a forecasted 20 degree drop in temperature. The drop would take it from a very comfortable high 40’s to high teens or low twenties. It was just too early to start a temperature number with a 2 or a 1. I hope the deer in the area agreed and would be showing up on the food plot to entertain us this evening. It was a beautiful night. Four players arrived on cue three young bucks and a mature doe. All performed as expected checking scrapes browsing and moving in and out of my shooting lanes. It was what I had hoped a dress rehearsal. Although the star or stars of the show had yet to arrive. There were many stars that sent me pictures the trail cameras strategically placed on the food plot. It appeared all had snubbed my invitation for dinner. Theirs then hopefully mine. A suitable swap I thought, clover and corn for venison. I would go starless and hungry this Thursday evening.

While watching the show as the deer entered and exited the shooting lanes I noticed a branch that hung down and blocked a shooting lane. It was an issue. The main stage should not have obstructed view seating. This was not the cheap seats it was a high-priced ladder stand front and center. It reminded me of an unruly Miami Hurricane fan that refused to sit down in front of my wife and children during an Orange Bowl game. He thought it perfectly ok to stand up during the entire game in front of women and children.

This like the unruly, obnoxious and insufferable young man were going to have to be dealt with. He thought he was going to stand the entire game. That problem was solved quickly without violence. Just a few loud well thought out words and some agreeable guests sitting close to us that favored seeing the Badgers destroy the Hurricanes and not the back of this young Hurricane fan. I am thankful for their support. However, being thankful for an orange bowl entourage and the positive result and removing this branch from my shooting window is entirely different. This will require physical action. No talking or yelling this stick out of my way.

Fortunately, I had foreseen the possibility and packed a trimmer in my back pack. The big pincher kind. The kind you would see the mob using to trim off a pinky if they needed some information.

Alex was in a stand just south mine on another plot and was seeing deer as well. Fun night. It is good to hunt with him during the week. The first time in 5 years now that he is out of college and full time employed squeezing in hunts between work hours. Ha! Now he knows how hard it is to balance everything.

A spike buck walked at the foot of my high-priced stand. Headed straight to the food plot, didn’t look at a single scrape. Too young to look for fun I guess. Stomach before other parts of his anatomy, I am guessing that will change next year.

The sun disappeared behind the still leaf holding oaks on the west ridge and dusk fell quietly on the plot. A quick text to Alex to let him know I was getting down. He was doing the same.

Back on solid ground. I grabbed the trimmer and headed to the branch that was causing me some visual complications. I had my bow in hand and jumped to reach the branch and missed the small twig that was my target. That small twig was my ticket to pull the branch down so I could grab it and let my “pinky” cutting trimmer do its work. I am blaming the additional weight of a very light bow to my vertical jump inadequacy. I landed hard on my feet sending a little jolt through my body and the bow. A clean miss. I was pretty happy Alex wasn’t here to witness the less than adequate vertical effort I thought.

I dropped the bow and positioned myself for a vertical explosion. Success! I grabbed the branch and pulled it down and bent down to grab the trimmer. I know it sounds like I just gorilla dunked a basketball, believe me I felt like I just did. But in reality, it was more like jumping to get a rebound after it already went through the net. Not very high and not much talent required.
The small twig broke off as I adjusted my grip and secured the branch while reaching the trimmer. I was fairly pleased with my quick multi -tasking adjusting my grip with one hand and grabbing the trimmer with the other.

The branch was pulled down to easily get at the desired cutting point. Again, showing magnificent athletic ability. I one handed he trimmer in to position for the big cut. Should be an easy trim and I will on my way to meet Alex at the truck and we can talk about what we witnessed.

I pulled one arm of the trimmer with one hand and pushed the other arm with my shoulder as I held the branch to keep it all with in reach. All going well, the blades cut deep into the branch and snap. Not the snap of a branch being severed but a snap I would learn to be metal breaking. The trimmer was stuck three quarters of the way through the limb. The trimmer holding firmly on the limb I was able to get both hands on the trimmer. No luck on the first attempt to finish the cut. I will have to open the jaws and start over.

The trimmer would not open. A part had broken on the trimmer it was not going to open. The only way to finish the cutting was to get all the way through the branch. I squeezed hard and the trimmer slipped from my hands. The branch and trimmer bolted to the heavens. It is getting extremely dark now, but not dark enough to hide the embarrassment of the trimmer hanging on the branch like a Christmas ornament. Coyotes started to howl and the owls began to hoot. Some music to work by. The show was now turning into a musical comedy.

I was now extremely happy Alex was not there to witness this, but not happy in the sense I could have used his help getting the trimmer that was now again going to test my vertical jumping ability again.

A couple of jumps later I managed to get the trimmer. Oh my, what a sight this had to be. Was I now returning the favor of a comedy show to the four deer that performed for me earlier?

Darker still. I grabbed my head-light out of my back pack while holding onto the branch. Why didn’t I think of it before I successfully grabbed the branch. I wondered. I don’t know. Probably because I didn’t think I was going to have the success getting actually reaching the trimmer I answered to myself.

I bent the limb opening up the cut and the trimmer fell to the earth. I bent the branch down and tried to break it off. No luck.

I had made a mess of my shooting lane. Why didn’t I leave the shooting lane as is? I was second guessing my choice to try and make things better.

I had tried to open my shooting lane up and left my scent all over the place. I grabbed my knife from the back pack and cut through the remainder of the branch. Success! A two-minute task that took at least 10 times that. Oh well. Lane opened.

Rain coming with the cold front will clean up the scent I hoped. I planned on being in the same stand in the morning before work.

It was the only stand I could get to and make my first work appointment on time. It would be ok I hoped. I am second guessing my choice of trying to open the up the shooting lane but now it was perfect.

I met Alex back at the truck.
He didn’t even ask what took so long. Good thing I wasn’t hurt laying in a heap of blubber and bones at the foot of my ladder stand. But I wasn’t going to go there. The embarrassing removal of the branch is going to be my secret until he reads it.

Alex asked if I was going to go out in the morning. I said I planned to. “You should” he said. “They are on their feet already and should be moving well in the morning.” He said “I can’t come with because I have to work.”I hid a little smile when I heard that. It was good to have him working and good that he made solid decisions. It was also good to see he was starting to figure out how hard it was to balance hunting and work.

Friday morning came and true to the forecast it was colder. Actually, it was very cold. 33 degrees for mid-October is too cold too early for me. At least it wasn’t in the teens or twenties. Everything was set out and ready as I took a quick inventory of what was in the truck.

A bolt of slight panic ripped through my stomach. Not the excited nervousness of “butterflies” before a game but the little dash of pain that must happen when adrenalin enters your system as you fumble a football and need to scramble to recover it.

I saw the broadheads in my quiver were expanded. It must have been the earthquake as I hit the ground the violent landing pushed them open when I was trying to catch the branch with bow in hand. All but one in my quiver was open. It was a different color but that was ok. One was all I needed. I was off.

A smooth trip to the parking spot out of the truck and to the stand. I left the broken “pinky” trimmer home. One less thing to haul and I didn’t want to be reminded of the sitcom like production of last evening.

Alex and I have shared a lot of the trail camera pictures and made a hit list and a pass list. We each had a different list. He has had more success than I. I suspect the lower end of my list did not match his. We accept and embrace that. We are each the decision maker of our own tag,  we believe all hunters should be. One man’s pass is another man’s trophy. It is more about the experience than the trophy itself. My list of “stars” was set for the season.

There was definite genetics in the area and many of the bucks looked similar. We took joy in seeing the different bucks age and grow year to year.

I was comfortably set in my high- priced ladder stand. The woods were quiet and the sun had yet to crest the bluffs to the east but still gave sufficient light to witness my gardening work. Perfectly clear shot at all the points I needed. I sat back in my chair and smiled. Today’s deer season was now open just like my shooting lane.

Just minutes after the smile left my face a brown body with a nice white rack was tracing my steps into the plot. Big deer. Nice rack. Better than the deer performing for me last night. Much better. Was he one of my “stars”? He showed me his right rack with a long G2. He was on my list. Not high up on the list but on it. I pulled my bow into position, watched him as he gave me a standing broadside look at him. I moved my sight into position and he took a hard left showing me nothing but tail. I was disappointed. I wasn’t sure I wanted to take a shot but now that I didn’t have one I wanted it. I kept my sight on him and he gave me a nice quartering away shot. He stood still and click, whish, thud. I heard the arrow hit something solid and the deer bolted off behind the lone oak tree in the plot.

I grabbed my phone and texted Al who was on his way to work and told him I had just shot at a nice buck. He asked if I hit it. Why would he ask such a thing? Ok I know why, let’s not go there that is a whole other story. Refer to previous story of the “Big Miss”. I said I think so, I heard solid thud. But I didn’t hear a crash or see it fall. He asked “Should I call in to work and see if I can get off to help. He answered his own question and said I really can’t Dad, I have commitments today.” I said I understood. It would be fun to look for it together but adulting requires sacrifices. I was still in the stand waiting giving the deer time and its was starting to rain.

It was raining on Alex as well as he drove to work and he called to see if it was raining on me as well. He suggested I get down and check for blood and mark some spots in case it starts to wash away.

I was down in a flash looking for my arrow and blood. I found neither at first glance but I saw some blood cupped in an oak leaf. Not a lot but more than a little. He called and asked for details. I shared and also shared I didn’t have the arrow. I second guessed if I hit the deer hard or shouldered him. He was hit for sure, he took the arrow with him as a souvenir.

Alex called again asking for details after the report he asked “What should I do? I want to help and it is raining and you are going to lose the trail. But I have to work.” I said “Go to work I will get after it in 30 minutes.” He said he would call his friend Clay and he could help.

Thirty minutes later  walking swiftly onto the plot with a big smile on his face a 6-foot three-inch three blonde college basketball player was on the food plot with a big smile and a look of anticipation on his face. “Way to go!” he said. “Where did you hit him? Let’s get started.”

In thirty minutes of waiting I hadn’t found a single spec of blood on the plot. I was second guessing everything. Why was there so little blood? Why was the only broadhead not sprung open a different color? I was second guessing was it a target tip? Oh no! Had I really messed this up. Did I hurt this animal with a broad head target tip? My mind was racing. I shared information with Clay that I did not hear a crash and that from the stand I could not see the exit point from the food plot.

The woods were quiet, with pines on two sides leaving abed of noise silencing needles on the ground. The ridge that led down to the swamp was the other exit. We split up looking for blood around edge of the plot. I took a wide half circle covering the last tall grass before reaching the pines hoping to find something. Nothing. The roller coaster ride was in full swing. Excitement, disappointment, doubt, and urgency it was starting to rain a little harder a solid mist.
I walked back to the plot and was going back to the last speck of blood near the impact point. I heard Clay yell “I found blood”. He had already started over and army crawled inch by inch over the plot from the original blood find. A speck here a speck there. It was something. The deer had headed to the ridge. I did not hear a crash so I informed Clay of a that. I told him expect a long trail if he fell in this stuff it was close enough I would have heard it. He said that is ok I found some hair as well. White hair you might have hit him low. Low I thought, not good, low like my optimism at this point, low like the likely hood we would recover a deer hit with a target tip.

Still speck by speck, he crested the ridge and headed down the hill to the swamp. Did I mention it was a steep hill and that the river and swamp was at a near flood levels? Back on the roller coaster this was a dip in the track and thought I would share with Clay some of my concerns and second guesses.

“Clay” I said” I think I might have hit him in the shoulder although he was quartering away. Clay said the arrow might have hit the far shoulder low and stuck.” Nice kid, an optimist. I thought. “I am worried I might have used the arrow with my target tip on it.” I said. I thought that should shake his optimism. Clay didn’t answer right away, that one I think shook him a little. Before he could answer he said look here. Good blood, bright red. on the ground and on the tree. He is heading down hill right past one of Alex’s stand. Alex has taken some wall hangers from that stand. Just past his stand the blood trail drifted off again had become speck to speck and worse yet he entered the swamp.

Cold water was near my boot tops and Clay had non-waterproof work boots. That didn’t stop Clay. He led the way into the swamp speck by speck. The roller coaster ride was in full speed nothing consistent on the blood trail the only thing that was consistent was the texts from Alex begging for info. I was glad he didn’t see Clays face when I told him I might have used a target tip. I was embarrassed and worried.

The last 24 hours of less than spectacular actions. I was happy he didn’t witness.

The buck headed straight across the grass of a swamp, not cattails but overgrown abandoned field that was growing tall grass and been flooded with the high water. We lost the trail a few times and picked it up when we saw a pink pool of water. That was a first. A speck of blood on a blade of grass and a pool of pink stagnant water. We reached the end of the field and were out of the swamp to solid ground. We were on a high spot of land but now faced deeper water covered in green algae. No blood now what? The green scum floating on the deep water was all  in place if the buck swam the deep water to the other side we would see the algae disturbed. That left only one option. Go to the right and look. Nothing. Then Clay said here is a speck and a little more. Good blood he must have stood here awhile. It was an odd place to stand. What would I have done by myself? Clay keeps coming up big. I could hear Clay walk in front of me squish, squish. Not the sound of the soft ground in front of me but the sound of ice-cold swamp water in work boots.

That was the last bit of blood we would see. The last of the blood trail. It was raining again and I had hit a new low on the roller coaster. Although our last blood was extremely good. The trail opened to a 200-acre woods with no clear logical direction to look.

Time for the panic circle at least with all the water we only had a partial circle to cover.

Clay took three steps I could again hear the water sloshing in his boots as he stepped forward finally on solid ground. Then he yelled Mark. There is your deer! He is good one! I can see his rack sticking up out of the weeds.

Back on top of the roller coaster. He was pretty good. Not my biggest but I was now very happy.

I looked at Clay and said “Let’s look at the arrow and see how dumb I was.” The arrow was sticking out of the exit wound of the deer. Piercing one lung the exit wound was low behind the back shoulder. The tip of the arrow sticking out.

It was an expanded broadhead. I was relieved.

However, I now second-guessed sharing and worrying Clay about it.

That arrow had left the quiver and was not getting back in.

Thank You Clay and Alex. I can only say “TAGGED OUT” because of your help.