Summer rains bring life
Russet fins break the surface
Wading with my gig
Wading with my gig
Part heron, part Cherokee
A statue turned lightning 
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Friday, May 9, 2014
"Dynamic" Bird Watching
I never considered that I would shoot a turkey today. In fact, I didn’t even think that I would be seeing turkeys today. My sweetheart and I were going to take a mini-vacation this week, culminating with hiking the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve. Because I took a half day of vacation and because the current film selection in the local theater was terrible, we decided to go for a walk and see if we could not put her new digital camera to good use. I knew of a local lake that had been producing good numbers of migratory shorebirds, so I suggested that we go there.
Fast forward two hours later. We’d seen American pelicans, cranes, geese, swallows, shrikes and assorted other fowl. After relocating a couple miles down the road I passingly told my sweetie that we were in excellent turkey habitat. The gravel road ended in a massive hardwood draw with a beautiful washout on the right hand side. A considerable clearing with aged trees interspersed throughout looked exactly like the kind of place that a longbeard would hang out…and it was! After discussing the habitat, my partner encouraged me to giving calling a try, just for kicks and giggles. I quickly fished a diaphragm call out of my pack and gave two sets of three-note yelps. I was immediately answered by a gobble a few hundred yards away.
Now we are in a predicament. We are not in turkey hunting
attire. I am wearing my brightest blue jeans, a gray polo, and a Cabela’s hat
with a bright orange fish on it. My dearest was clad in blue jeans, sportswear
and a blue-gray Nike hat. This was going to be interesting. I quickly placed
her behind a large oak and descended the slope about 10 yards to shorten the
potential shot range. I knew this would be necessary. Typically when turkey hunting
I carry a Stoeger 3500 with a Primos Tightwad Choke and Winchester Longbeard XR
ammo. This setup with the 3 1/2” shells (2 oz of 5 shot in a resin-locked
column) will kill a bird way on the other side of 50 yards. However, I wasn’t
planning on going turkey hunting today; I was planning on going walking. So, I
was packing my “walking” shotgun: a Remington 870 Wingmaster retired from a
Midwestern police department and given new life as my home defense gun. It is
perfect for walking because of the light weight, short length-of-pull stock,
and handy single-point sling. Despite its utility, I knew that an 18”
cylinder-bored barrel and 1 ¼ oz of #6 shot was not going to do the job past 25
yards.
After 15 minutes of talking turkey (hah!) I finally caught a glimpse of the tom that had responded. Not only was this the only gobbler I had in range all year, it was also likely the biggest tom that I had ever encountered in the field. His beard was every bit of 8” long. Unfortunately, I only had about a 10 second window to take the bird and he was over 40 yards away. I aligned the rifle sights on his day-glo red head but couldn’t force myself to pull the trigger. I knew the limitations of my weapon and it would have been an irresponsible decision. Soon after the gobbler disappeared into the brush and began putting. Once you hear this turkey vocalization, you know that the show is over. I climbed back up the bank only to find that my girlfriend had watched the turkey for 2 minutes before I ever had the chance to see him.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I wasn’t feeling downtrodden. We preceded out of the hardwoods and into a field-edge. A lake channel ran parallel to our path and I intended to make way for an overlook that would provide a good opportunity to set up the camera’s tripod. Half way there and we both heard rustling in the brush to our right. My girl pulls on my backpack and we pause. A few hopeful yelps are quickly sung but no reply occurs. Three steps later and the tall grass on the other side of us explodes in a hurricane of green blades and barred feathers. I immediately can tell that we have busted a bedded tom, but I can’t tell what size. Being the meat hunter that I am (don’t judge) I swing the 870 briskly and slap the trigger just as the bird takes flight. The whole ordeal lasts less than 2 seconds and I have not only my first Kansas turkey, but also my first public land turkey! Upon closer inspection it was obvious that the bird was a jake with a short beard, but I am still overjoyed. After a quick photo session I look up to see three other hunters coming towards us. They are each head-to-toe in matching designer camouflage, are wearing $100 turkey hunting vests, and are carrying camo-clad specialized turkey-hunting shotguns. They also look like I just walked over their grave—as I look like some twisted tourist, wearing a polo with a turkey in one hand and a riot shotgun in the other. After a quick chat with the boys we exchange well wishes and go about our respective ways. Sometimes it is better to be lucky than good and today was definitely one of those days. I wouldn’t have traded this dynamic and heart-pounding harvest for any other.
After 15 minutes of talking turkey (hah!) I finally caught a glimpse of the tom that had responded. Not only was this the only gobbler I had in range all year, it was also likely the biggest tom that I had ever encountered in the field. His beard was every bit of 8” long. Unfortunately, I only had about a 10 second window to take the bird and he was over 40 yards away. I aligned the rifle sights on his day-glo red head but couldn’t force myself to pull the trigger. I knew the limitations of my weapon and it would have been an irresponsible decision. Soon after the gobbler disappeared into the brush and began putting. Once you hear this turkey vocalization, you know that the show is over. I climbed back up the bank only to find that my girlfriend had watched the turkey for 2 minutes before I ever had the chance to see him.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I wasn’t feeling downtrodden. We preceded out of the hardwoods and into a field-edge. A lake channel ran parallel to our path and I intended to make way for an overlook that would provide a good opportunity to set up the camera’s tripod. Half way there and we both heard rustling in the brush to our right. My girl pulls on my backpack and we pause. A few hopeful yelps are quickly sung but no reply occurs. Three steps later and the tall grass on the other side of us explodes in a hurricane of green blades and barred feathers. I immediately can tell that we have busted a bedded tom, but I can’t tell what size. Being the meat hunter that I am (don’t judge) I swing the 870 briskly and slap the trigger just as the bird takes flight. The whole ordeal lasts less than 2 seconds and I have not only my first Kansas turkey, but also my first public land turkey! Upon closer inspection it was obvious that the bird was a jake with a short beard, but I am still overjoyed. After a quick photo session I look up to see three other hunters coming towards us. They are each head-to-toe in matching designer camouflage, are wearing $100 turkey hunting vests, and are carrying camo-clad specialized turkey-hunting shotguns. They also look like I just walked over their grave—as I look like some twisted tourist, wearing a polo with a turkey in one hand and a riot shotgun in the other. After a quick chat with the boys we exchange well wishes and go about our respective ways. Sometimes it is better to be lucky than good and today was definitely one of those days. I wouldn’t have traded this dynamic and heart-pounding harvest for any other.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
March Madness in the Great Outdoors
I didn't really feel like going scouting today. In fact, I was set to take a bath, grab some dinner and retire for the evening. But, my girlfriend had other notions: "Get out, it is still light outside!" So, I (slightly begrudgingly) got myself together and strapped on the wheelgun for a 2 hr. trip. What a trip did it prove to be! Late March means two things to me: turkey hunting and mushrooms. I've been prepping for the April turkey season for a while by sorting my kit, practicing calls, and patterning my shotgun. Mushrooms aren't even an option now. It literally snowed here yesterday. Needless to say, my main interest was going to be looking for turkey sign.
Twenty minutes later I'm pulling into public land and I can't help but think that this was a good decision. The fields of milo stubble with a lake in the background was just what I needed to end the workday. I am less than twenty yards down the agricultural road when I see a wild turkey wing feather. Things are looking up. As I am examining the feather I suddenly hear the frantic scattering of leaves and the nervous chirps of bobwhite quail. I've lived in Kansas for two years and I have seen exactly one bobwhite prior to this. This covey knows something is up and is quickly making it's way through the dense underbrush on the right hand side of the road. Nonetheless, I count at least five birds and by the ruckus I judge there to be at least ten in the covey. Maybe I will just have place to bird hunt next year.
Now I am proceeding slowly down the road, measuring each step and watching the inevitable stragglers from the covey scurry away. Two more steps and I hear rustling but don't see anything. I wait and once again I am tickled by what I see. A big cottontail has heard the quail and makes a couple quick hops into an opening about twelve yards away. Before I know it I've got my revolver out of my holster and have the tritium front sight trained on the brown blob that is so effortless blending into the leaf litter. Boom! I see a flash of white fur and I know that I have made a good shot. As it turns out, the ball went right through the shoulder---not bad for basic sights on a small target.
At this point, I quickly skin and dress the rabbit. The temperate is hovering around 40 degrees and I don't want the meat to ruin (which is very possible if you don't work quickly on rabbits). After a short cleaning session I am ambling down the trail once more--happy as a lark. Another forty yards and I have quite a pep in my step. I take a quick respite where the field edge meets another finger of timber when I see something pushing through the tall grass on the trail-side. A hen turkey bounds twice, hits the packed dirt, and then takes awkward flight towards the lake. The whole time I am fumbling with my camera trying to get a picture, but only manage to capture the trail ahead.
As the sun begins to set I circumscribe the field edge and watch as two does and three fawns sneak across the stubble into a wood about 250 yards away. I'm so happy that I am about to burst and in my revery I nearly go into cardiac arrest when yet another cottontail explodes from a briar-patch just a few feet away from me. Have you ever tried to draw a revolver one-handed from concealment and aim at a running rabbit while holding another skinned rabbit in your off hand? I have. I imagine it was quite a sight to see.
Extraordinary can only begin to describe the scouting trip that I had. It is amongst the best in my hunting lifetime and I saw more game today than in the past five rambles that I have went on. I'm cooking brier rabbit for dinner tonight and have quite a story to tell. No doubt I will regret saying this for a while, but I am undoubtedly thankful that I listened to my girlfriend... :)
P.S. Since squirrel season doesn't start in Kansas until June 1st I am considering this completion of Spring Goal #4.
Twenty minutes later I'm pulling into public land and I can't help but think that this was a good decision. The fields of milo stubble with a lake in the background was just what I needed to end the workday. I am less than twenty yards down the agricultural road when I see a wild turkey wing feather. Things are looking up. As I am examining the feather I suddenly hear the frantic scattering of leaves and the nervous chirps of bobwhite quail. I've lived in Kansas for two years and I have seen exactly one bobwhite prior to this. This covey knows something is up and is quickly making it's way through the dense underbrush on the right hand side of the road. Nonetheless, I count at least five birds and by the ruckus I judge there to be at least ten in the covey. Maybe I will just have place to bird hunt next year.
Now I am proceeding slowly down the road, measuring each step and watching the inevitable stragglers from the covey scurry away. Two more steps and I hear rustling but don't see anything. I wait and once again I am tickled by what I see. A big cottontail has heard the quail and makes a couple quick hops into an opening about twelve yards away. Before I know it I've got my revolver out of my holster and have the tritium front sight trained on the brown blob that is so effortless blending into the leaf litter. Boom! I see a flash of white fur and I know that I have made a good shot. As it turns out, the ball went right through the shoulder---not bad for basic sights on a small target.
At this point, I quickly skin and dress the rabbit. The temperate is hovering around 40 degrees and I don't want the meat to ruin (which is very possible if you don't work quickly on rabbits). After a short cleaning session I am ambling down the trail once more--happy as a lark. Another forty yards and I have quite a pep in my step. I take a quick respite where the field edge meets another finger of timber when I see something pushing through the tall grass on the trail-side. A hen turkey bounds twice, hits the packed dirt, and then takes awkward flight towards the lake. The whole time I am fumbling with my camera trying to get a picture, but only manage to capture the trail ahead.
As the sun begins to set I circumscribe the field edge and watch as two does and three fawns sneak across the stubble into a wood about 250 yards away. I'm so happy that I am about to burst and in my revery I nearly go into cardiac arrest when yet another cottontail explodes from a briar-patch just a few feet away from me. Have you ever tried to draw a revolver one-handed from concealment and aim at a running rabbit while holding another skinned rabbit in your off hand? I have. I imagine it was quite a sight to see.
Extraordinary can only begin to describe the scouting trip that I had. It is amongst the best in my hunting lifetime and I saw more game today than in the past five rambles that I have went on. I'm cooking brier rabbit for dinner tonight and have quite a story to tell. No doubt I will regret saying this for a while, but I am undoubtedly thankful that I listened to my girlfriend... :)
P.S. Since squirrel season doesn't start in Kansas until June 1st I am considering this completion of Spring Goal #4.
Monday, March 10, 2014
Update - Spring Goal No. 2 - Catch a 4 lb.+ Largemouth
Finally winter's hoary grasp is broken! The high today reached 78 degrees. I spent the day earning my bread but secretly lamenting that I was indoors. While running errands during the workday I noted that the spring fires had started billowing their charcoal plumes on the horizon and just this morning the songbirds were waxing poetic in a way that I swear I hadn't heard in ages. Naturally, I buzzed out of work after my due diligence and proceeded immediately to buy my fishing license and pick up a copy of the 2014 regulations. Once home I Googled urban fishing locations in a desperate attempt to successfully wet a line. Somehow between bare-bones descriptions and grainy photos I found myself at a sequestered nature area in the middle of the big city. It didn't look like much but there were cars in the gravel parking lot and a big sign that denoted 15" slot limits for largemouth. Could this be a welcome omen?
In a word, no. Not even close. I started pitching a cone-eyed marabou/flashabou pattern in lime green and turquoise that was expertly tied by a friend. Despite my urge to rip a shallow-diving crankbait across the pond I let logic get the best of me and thought that I would try subtlety. I have to admit, the marabou pulsed wonderfully and the fly descended so slowly that I would have sworn that a strike was only casts away. I was utterly baffled after pitching it into every piece of cover I could find. Then I thought, "You fool, you need more reach!" Next I grab a heavy chartreuse curly-tailed jig and lob it gleefully to the distant shore. It sank far too quickly and I was forced to buzz it at inappropriate speed across the raccoon-tails. No such luck. Next I succumb to the shallow-diving crankbait, noting that the one other serious fisherman at the location had actually managed to hang a fish on a similar lure. I spend the next 30 minutes probing and poking around every accessible nook and cranny. Nada.
Angry, I decide that I will now pull out all of the stops. I reach for the showstopper. New in the package--found inexplicably on the clearance rack of the local sporting goods store--the ultimate predatory fish slayer had recently come into my possession. Giant, gleaming, like a hammered copper relic of some druidic chieftain this lure was nothing short of enchanted. It even had the color-scheme of some wildling palette---all black and red and yellow. Bold colors. Colors that one might find in natural plant dyes or warpaint. Can a simple amalgam of wire, beads, bucktail, and shining blades be sexy? Yes, this was practically a fertility symbol---even complete with facsimile fish roe. It was the ne plus ultra of predatory baits.
11/16 oz. Mepps Double Blade Agila (LINK)
#5 Copper Blades
Black Dress
As soon as my retrieve began I knew that I what was in store for me: ichthyological enlightenment. My Mitchell rod and Stren line could barely constrain the primal THUM THUM THUM that the hypnotizing copper blades were beating out. THUM THUM THUM. A state record largemouth. THUM THUM THUM. A Bass Pro Shops sponsorship. THUM THUM THUM. A new Nitro boat. THUM THUM THUM. Moby Dick in inland waters. THUM THUM THUM! Yet, before I knew it I had the lure in hand. It was no less magical, but I had no more fish than when I had started. I picked it up and looked at it disbelief, as if to say, "Surely you jest?" I cast to a promising weed-bed edge. THUM THUM THUM. No takers.
I turn from my early spring view. Something has to be wrong. Sadly, I must conclude that all the fish in Kansas are dead. They've all froze to death and their is nothing we can do about it. I guess I'll have to take up golf (and self-loathing) now. All my fishy dreams are dead (or the water temperature is still a little too low).
In a word, no. Not even close. I started pitching a cone-eyed marabou/flashabou pattern in lime green and turquoise that was expertly tied by a friend. Despite my urge to rip a shallow-diving crankbait across the pond I let logic get the best of me and thought that I would try subtlety. I have to admit, the marabou pulsed wonderfully and the fly descended so slowly that I would have sworn that a strike was only casts away. I was utterly baffled after pitching it into every piece of cover I could find. Then I thought, "You fool, you need more reach!" Next I grab a heavy chartreuse curly-tailed jig and lob it gleefully to the distant shore. It sank far too quickly and I was forced to buzz it at inappropriate speed across the raccoon-tails. No such luck. Next I succumb to the shallow-diving crankbait, noting that the one other serious fisherman at the location had actually managed to hang a fish on a similar lure. I spend the next 30 minutes probing and poking around every accessible nook and cranny. Nada.
Angry, I decide that I will now pull out all of the stops. I reach for the showstopper. New in the package--found inexplicably on the clearance rack of the local sporting goods store--the ultimate predatory fish slayer had recently come into my possession. Giant, gleaming, like a hammered copper relic of some druidic chieftain this lure was nothing short of enchanted. It even had the color-scheme of some wildling palette---all black and red and yellow. Bold colors. Colors that one might find in natural plant dyes or warpaint. Can a simple amalgam of wire, beads, bucktail, and shining blades be sexy? Yes, this was practically a fertility symbol---even complete with facsimile fish roe. It was the ne plus ultra of predatory baits.
11/16 oz. Mepps Double Blade Agila (LINK)
#5 Copper Blades
Black Dress
As soon as my retrieve began I knew that I what was in store for me: ichthyological enlightenment. My Mitchell rod and Stren line could barely constrain the primal THUM THUM THUM that the hypnotizing copper blades were beating out. THUM THUM THUM. A state record largemouth. THUM THUM THUM. A Bass Pro Shops sponsorship. THUM THUM THUM. A new Nitro boat. THUM THUM THUM. Moby Dick in inland waters. THUM THUM THUM! Yet, before I knew it I had the lure in hand. It was no less magical, but I had no more fish than when I had started. I picked it up and looked at it disbelief, as if to say, "Surely you jest?" I cast to a promising weed-bed edge. THUM THUM THUM. No takers.
I turn from my early spring view. Something has to be wrong. Sadly, I must conclude that all the fish in Kansas are dead. They've all froze to death and their is nothing we can do about it. I guess I'll have to take up golf (and self-loathing) now. All my fishy dreams are dead (or the water temperature is still a little too low).
Saturday, March 1, 2014
2013-2014 Hunting Season Wrap-Up and Spring Goals
My goodness it has been a long time since I have updated my blog! I did have a successful deer season (pics below) but didn't get a chance to harvest a mule deer. The land access portion was just too much to overcome. Nonetheless, it was one of the best seasons in recent history. In total I took three deer: a Kansas doe, an Oklahoma 7 pt. and another Oklahoma doe. I almost forgot--I also was able to take my first bobcat!
Kansas doe taken in the early antlerless season
Oklahoma 7 pt. (3x4) buck
Oklahoma doe
Oklahoma Bobcat
Sad to say, I've already almost eaten/given away most of the meat. I think I have three packages of trim left--that is all! I have really, really enjoyed cooking this year. Notably, Hank Shaw's Hunter-Angler-Gardener-Cook Blog and The L.L. Bean Game & Fish Cookbook (Angus Cameron and Judith Jones) have really helped me step up my game in the kitchen.
Exhibit A:
Venison backstrap seared in cast iron with Cumberland sauce
Canadian Goose breast seared in cast iron with Cumberland sauce
Venison shoulder, spice-rubbed and mesquite-smoked
Venison roast, braised in stock and port
Needless to say, I haven't been starving. However, as spring draws near on the horizon I am a little sad to see the bounty of fall lapse so quickly. We all know that spring is the season on growth and opportunity, but that concept is different for a hunter. Though I enjoy fishing, foraging, and gardening more than most, these opportunities are bittersweet. Nonetheless, I'm looking forward to spring. Winter in northern Kansas has been exceptionally harsh this year. I've experienced my personal lowest temperature (-15 F), largest ice accumulation (1"+), and largest amount of snow (13") this year. Good gracious! Once again, the snow is supposed to come again today. So, I'm inside doing my mindless trivialities (organizing tackle boxes, cleaning guns, etc) and dreaming of the days afield that are to come.
One of my accomplishments today is to come up with a series of goals for this spring. Unlike goals most people set (lose weight, quit smoking, save money, etc) I am actually looking forward to accomplishing these:
1. Catch a walleye, any walleye.
2. Catch a largemouth over 4 lbs (it has been a long drought).
3. Harvest a turkey (it has been a long drought).
4. Take a squirrel with my revolver.
5. Make Brunswick Stew with squirrel.
6. Find three new edible plants within 40 miles of my residence.
7. Find a secret spot where morel mushrooms grow.
8. Get a truly awesome photo on my trail camera.
9.Film something truly awesome on the Go-Pro.
10. Hike Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve.
As I accomplish (or fail to accomplish) each of these goals I'll update this blog to give everyone the back-story. Watch this space!
Kansas doe taken in the early antlerless season
Oklahoma 7 pt. (3x4) buck
Oklahoma doe
Oklahoma Bobcat
Sad to say, I've already almost eaten/given away most of the meat. I think I have three packages of trim left--that is all! I have really, really enjoyed cooking this year. Notably, Hank Shaw's Hunter-Angler-Gardener-Cook Blog and The L.L. Bean Game & Fish Cookbook (Angus Cameron and Judith Jones) have really helped me step up my game in the kitchen.
Exhibit A:
Venison backstrap seared in cast iron with Cumberland sauce
Canadian Goose breast seared in cast iron with Cumberland sauce
Venison shoulder, spice-rubbed and mesquite-smoked
Venison roast, braised in stock and port
Needless to say, I haven't been starving. However, as spring draws near on the horizon I am a little sad to see the bounty of fall lapse so quickly. We all know that spring is the season on growth and opportunity, but that concept is different for a hunter. Though I enjoy fishing, foraging, and gardening more than most, these opportunities are bittersweet. Nonetheless, I'm looking forward to spring. Winter in northern Kansas has been exceptionally harsh this year. I've experienced my personal lowest temperature (-15 F), largest ice accumulation (1"+), and largest amount of snow (13") this year. Good gracious! Once again, the snow is supposed to come again today. So, I'm inside doing my mindless trivialities (organizing tackle boxes, cleaning guns, etc) and dreaming of the days afield that are to come.
One of my accomplishments today is to come up with a series of goals for this spring. Unlike goals most people set (lose weight, quit smoking, save money, etc) I am actually looking forward to accomplishing these:
1. Catch a walleye, any walleye.
2. Catch a largemouth over 4 lbs (it has been a long drought).
3. Harvest a turkey (it has been a long drought).
4. Take a squirrel with my revolver.
5. Make Brunswick Stew with squirrel.
6. Find three new edible plants within 40 miles of my residence.
7. Find a secret spot where morel mushrooms grow.
8. Get a truly awesome photo on my trail camera.
9.Film something truly awesome on the Go-Pro.
10. Hike Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve.
As I accomplish (or fail to accomplish) each of these goals I'll update this blog to give everyone the back-story. Watch this space!
Monday, November 18, 2013
A Word on Rifle Slings
It is no secret; if you can't shoot offhand, you are going to miss opportunities at game. In Gun Culture 2.0, we've moved away from hunting marksmanship in favor of defensive marksmanship and competition marksmanship. With the exception of rifle events in Cowboy Action and 3-Gun, offhand proficiency with a rifle has largely waned. Certainly, in the modern hunting world long-range shooting from a backpack, bipod, or improvised rest is more en vogue than it has ever been. That's all well and good---it takes solid equipment, considerable skill, and lots of trigger time to make those quarter to half mile shots. But, it does zero good when that grey-muzzled and sag-bellied whitetail buck springs up from a blow-down.
.jpg)
.jpg)
Clinton & Charles Robertson from RAF Lakenheath, UK & San Marcos, TX, USA & UK
Enter the sling. There has a been a good deal written on the rifle sling and numerous authors have made the distinction between a sling and a carrying strap. When most people think of a rifle sling, they think of it as a carrying strap. These folks are missing out on a huge advantage in offhand shooting. A proper sling makes for a more stable shooting platform and can really make the difference in taming that buck fever. In this brief article, I'll discuss the three slings that made me a believer in the value of having a quality sling on a hunting rifle.
I was first cured of my LSU Disorder (Limited Sling Usage) after reading up on the superb marksmanship challenge, Project Appleseed. Project Appleseed is a rifle shooting course hosted by the Revolutionary War Veterans Association. Appleseed recommends a USGI web sling, like those issued for the M1 Garand for its shooters (http://www.appleseedinfo.org/as_faq.html). This sling is cheap (I paid $16 for mine), easily adjustable, and excellent for wrapping around the forearm. This sling provides an economical and effective way to reduce wobble. However, I have noticed that when considerable tension is applied to the sling via the forearm wrap that the length adjustment buckle has a tendency to slip. Your miles may vary based on material (cotton or nylon), but this is a decent option for the sportsman on a budget who a wants a real sling.
USGI Web Sling mounted on AR-15
The best sling option for offhand shooting is the Ching Sling popularized by Lt. Col Jeff Cooper. The Ching Sling uses three mounting points and a large loop to allow the shooter to wrap the strap around the tricep. This is considerably more stable than the hasty sling method mentioned for the USGI web sling. The downside, of course, is that the Ching Sling requires the installation of additional sling studs on most rifles. Depending on your firearm of choice, this can be impractical or unpleasing to the eye. An alternative to the storied Ching Sling is Andy Langois' Rhodesian Sling (http://www.andysleather.com). The Rhodesian Sling provides most of the support of the Ching Sling without requiring the extra sling stud. Setup is simple. Adjust the loop so that it can be quickly and tightly pulled around the tricep and the adjust the length of the remaining sling. If you so like, you can trim the excess leather (there is quite a bit) to prevent snagging and flopping. I have found the Rhodesian Sling to be considerably better in providing stability than the web sling, but it sacrifices a little speed in the process. Did I mention it is leather? Not the crappy, plasticized leather found in your wife's purse but honest to goodness real leather. It smells as good as rare backstrap tastes, and that is saying something.
Rhodesian Sling mounted on Winchester 1885 Highwall
If supported shooting isn't your aim, but a lightning fast mount is, then the ideal sling for you is the Boonie Packer Safari Sling (http://www.redi-mag.com/index.php?l=product_detail&p=14). This extremely unorthodox sling carries the rifle in front of the shooter, and the elongated straps actually run through the sling swivels and over the barrel and buttstock. This sort of sling takes a bit to get used to, but it provides the fastest time to sight picture of any that I have tried and offers excellent muzzle control. With good irons (receiver aperture, ghost ring or express leaf) or a low-power scope this setup provides truly remarkable speed. With a little practice, you'll be envisioning yourself putting heavy rounds into an incoming Cape Buffalo.
The author with a Winchester 70 riding on a Boonie Packer Safari Sling
As someone who enjoys hunting on the ground and in particular still-hunting, these slings have greatly improved my ability to make offhand shots quickly and accurately. Though someone who lobs rounds in the next county from a stable prone may not benefit from them as much, they are not limited to this shooting discipline. While browsing a large outdoor retailer recently I stumbled across a obscene mechanical arm that mounts to a treestand's footrest and provides a benchrest like platform for rifle shooting. If I recall correctly, it ran about $300. At the time, I thought it was absurd and couldn't understand why my shopping buddy thought it was worth purchasing. Then, I remembered. I know how to use a sling.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Van Winkle, Deer Hunter
Hunt long enough, and you’ll eventually wind up on your back with your hat pulled over your eyes. There has always been a humorous notion that old men go to the woods to nap, while monarch whitetails with bone chandeliers stop and stare. I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t done it on more than one occasion myself. The fact is, I even have a favorite nap location while hunting. There is a monumental hill behind my childhood home, amidst sloping hay meadows. Sit there in the early afternoon and the native grasses dance in a hypnotizing, golden sway. The small sumac thicket just on top of the hill rustles quietly, all the while providing a bit of cover for the slumbering hunter. Every year I’ll perch on this peak, rifle in hand. It’s an ideal location because you can observe multiple meadows and funnels that consistently produce deer. Yet, my attention never lasts more than a couple hours because the spot is so undeniably comfortable. Pretty soon, the warming rays of sunlight rain down, and the fleece clothing, the soft grass, and the perfect peace becomes too much to bear. I’m dreaming.
Though we’re still a ways from the
late November rifle season that I celebrate in Oklahoma each year, I’ve already
had my annual hunting nap. Now, as a Kansas resident I have the opportunity to
participate in different hunting seasons. In 2013, Kansas began a two-day antlerless
rifle season in October. This is quite a rarity and was certainly an
opportunity that I was not about to pass up. Therefore, with thoughts of
tenderloins in my head, I began scouting several weeks before. Luckily, I found
public land nearby that screamed whitetails. This public hunting area consisted
of cropland (milo) adjacent to a considerable lake, with a good amount of deciduous
timber nearby. After a couple of hours of scouting I found a grassy clearing interspersed
with old trees on a point of timber that jutted out into the cropland. Classic
deer territory! Sure enough, there were a good number of tracks on the edge of
the field. So, I walk around a bit to determine how I would set up and finally
selected a good tree. As I sit at the base of the tree (thinking about shooting
lanes and travel corridors) I see something peculiar: there in a nearby oak is
a dilapidated deer stand, made of 2x4 lumber. I take this as a good sign, and
make a point to hunt here on opening morning.
Fast forward to October 12th—I’m battling sinus problems and a head cold. I feel like doing nothing but sleeping. Nevertheless, I wake early and resign myself to a few hours sitting on the ground. Despite a sunrise at 7:30 AM, by the time that I get on site just before 7:00 the light is already filtering into the fields. I scramble as quickly as I can to my spot, trying dearly to minimize my footfalls and not to sweat (as if that were possible). Once situated, I erect the tang sight on my 1885 Winchester. I’m packing old-school hardware, designed shortly after the American Civil War and firing a cartridge that Theodore Roosevelt made famous in Africa (the .405 Winchester). No doubt, it is an odd choice for the modern deer hunter, but I’m an odd deer hunter. As I sit motionless, I am truly impressed by the game that I hear nearby. Because I am next to a lake, I not only am greeted with the familiar calls of mourning dove, squirrels, and wild turkey, but also with flocks of Canadian geese, mallards, and numerous shorebirds. I enjoy my revelry for about 45 minutes, constantly scanning for any sign of movement. After this though, I’m grumpy. I’ve managed to sit on a broom-handle-thick stick, ants are crawling on me, I can’t breathe well, and my butt hurts. What is a man to do? I lay on my back and look at the yellow-green leaves amid the treetops. Two minutes of sleep—not one more.
When I rise, I recommit to this hunting thing. Maybe I’m not so sick after all. I gaze south on my back-trail, where I can see the farthest. In an instant I catch motion in my peripheral. A little spot of brown soon manifests into a full-fledged deer right before me. A yearling doe now browses on the high grasses just on the edge of the cover, her tail twitching happily as she feeds along. I can hardly believe it. My plans simply don’t work out like this. As she passes in front of a tree I raise my rifle and prepare for the shot. Now she has passed me a bit, but has found something particularly savory and has reoriented herself where she is quartering towards me. This would be a marginal shot with a bow, but I am packing “Big Medicine” and place the gleaming gold bead directly on the shoulder blade. The recoil of the rifle, usually fierce, is not even noticed. In an instant she goes down where she stands and I am awestruck. No doubt, this deer was a gift.
As I dress her out, I remind myself to show thanks and take a few photographs. I attach my tag and make the drag back to the truck. Despite the small deer, it is tough with the congestion and I make a couple stops. Regardless, I can’t seem to wipe the smile off of my face. The days of hunting unsuccessfully, of fighting the wind and cold, seem so far away now. I’m certain to hunt more this season. I’m undeniably hooked, but perhaps I’ll take a few more naps this fall. There is no peace like that which God provides and I find it most frequently on the peak of some hillock or the base of a grand old tree.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)