Top_Heavy's World

Working my way between massive rock outcroppings I couldn't help but feel a hint of fear. I chose that word for the definition, but it wasn't quite it. It was small, just a hint really, a deep inner "anxiety" I had never experienced before. I have hunted the west, the Rocky Mountains, around mountain lions and black bears, and never felt it. I have hunted in Alaska and Canada, among wolves and grizzlies, and never felt it. I have been involved with some activities, while hunting an armed and dangerous individual, and almost felt it. What I felt, was the deep seated connection to the basics of life, the actual food chain, where I was now a true part. I was sneaking through thick brush where leopards roamed, in high numbers. I slipped along huge piles of rocks where lions have been seen stalking, feasting and resting. The open country I was skirting was home to cheetah, jackal and hyena, all more than able to make a short fight out of a 6'2" morsel from the United States. I was a part of the landscape in a way I haven't ever been before. I only wish I could feel so alive back home stalking whitetails. I was still hunting, slowly moving followed by long pauses full of intense visual searching. The intensity was at an all time level due to looking for a trophy for me, but also desiring to avoid anything that might look at ME as a trophy.
There on the next outcropping was a huge troop of baboons. Dozens of man like figures scampered, jumped, sat and existed. I was only dozens of yards from the edge of the group and I had no misconseptions, this was a very dangerous position. I was only carrying a bolt action rifle, and it had a 20X scope, not exactly set up for close combat with 20 or more angry baboons! I had been hunting into the wind, so that was mildly in my favor, I chose to stay hidden and enjoy the show. The grooming, as seen on TV is fascinating, each animal cleaning and comforting another. The pecking order was easily seen, the dominant male was in a position of great vantage and security. The younger males were seated lower and to one side of the females with young. One large male was just below the alpha, and it visibly annoyed the elder. I watched, hoping for a fight, until they bared their teeth. I was taken back by the size of those canine teeth, almost 2" long. I decided after many tense minutes, that I was going to take one of the bigger males. Grant Olson, a good friend from back in Iowa had asked for a skull, so I figured this was the perfect time to gather one. I slipped my rifle onto a flat spot and dialed up the scope, the focus was way off due to the range. Leupold makes fantastic equipment, and with a turn of the objective lens, I was in perfect focus at under 50 yards. The biggest male of the bunch was amongst females and young, so he was not a target here. I would surely get a pass through, I was not going to risk wounding a youngster or lacktating female. I settled on the next male in line, he was clear and I figured the old boy might have another year of peace if this challenger was removed. I settled the cross hairs on the chest, between the arm pit and the nipple, about 10" below the joint. I figured the upward angle would put the bullet into the vitals with that point of aim. Shooting an upright target is definately different than a horizontal animal such as a deer or elk.
The shot was true, but the reaction was almost comical. The baboon threw up one arm as though pointing towards the sky, and his other arm grabbed for the center of his chest. It was a move almost identicle to the over exaggerated moves of the old west movies, where the cowboy gets shot and then double somersaults into the dirt. This baboon did that exact move! He reached, grabbed and flopped. I had to look around to see if that was real, it was so silly it almost seemed fictional and I expected to see someone with a camera come running out to laugh at my reaction. I actually laughed out loud as the rest of the troop scattered, vocally expressing their dislike for me and my gun. When I was sure I was safe, I moved upto my trophy, what I saw was eery at least. The baboon is the most man like thing I have ever killed. The physical similarities are startling and the forward facing eyes... I remember the forward facing eyes like nothing else! I sat and admired the beautiful beast, still a little in shock. Minutes passed before I had the nerve to actually touch it, but once I did, I had to examine his entirety. The muscularity and bone structure is almost human, course hair, long fingers and opposing thumb. I really like baboons, they earned my respect in many ways on this trip.

Baboon skulls like this one, with forward facing eyes and huge teeth, are some of my favorite pieces from my safari.

We talked about the basics in equipment,so I thought we would take a look at our quarry. In most states it is legal to shoot rough fish, in some it is also legal to shoot catfish and several of the coastal states allow harvest of multiple species of saltwater fish. I live in Iowa and at it is legal to shoot rough fish only. Be sure to check your local laws before pursuing fish with a bow or a spear. German carp, those yellow colored fish that live about anywhere, are the most commonly found fish in traditional waters. White Amur, also known as Grass Carp have grown in population by leaps and bounds. They were believed to be sterile and were stocked in many lakes and ponds to help control aquatic vegetation. They are actually not sterile at all, they just need somewhat specific temps, oxygen levels and water conditions to hatch. I hunt a few river areas that have almost as many grassies as germans. Buffalo, quillback, suckers and gar round out the list of fairly common fish in Iowa waters.

German carp like this 40 plus pounder are not common, 5 to 15 pounders will be the norm in most locations. Germans love muddy, warm water. Backwaters, oxbows, shallow marshes and other low current areas are the best for old rubber lips. Often times the fish will be seen tailing and rolling in less than a foot of water, locations like this offer fantastic shooting.

Grass carp prefer current and clearer water. Many times these fish will be on the edges of the muddy water in the clearest water they can find. Grassies don't usually tail like the Germans but they do tail occasionally. They are seen rolling on their sides very often, but they are most often seen when they lay very near the surface with their fins and tails actually stickin out of the water. If you float onto a flat and the water boils in a bathtub sized wake, it was probably a Grass Carp. This fish is extremely powerful, requires good arrow penetration and big barbs on your arrows. We have taken many over 50 and a few over 60 pounds. The average for my marsh areas is about 20lbs and for my big lakes, average would be closer to 30lbs.
When the water is rising or the first few days of new water are best for bow fishing. The fish swarm to the newly covered grass and bushes, and the water is usually a little clearer in these areas. After a few weeks of high water, the fresh grass has been picked over and covered with silt, thus not nearly as productive. Great days like this one can be had regularly after a rise in the water depth. This is a mixed bag of Grass and German Carp.

This 20 foot john boat requires very little water to float silently, the foot controlled trolling motor, on the front, allows for hands free stealth, and the Beaver Tail mud motor is the best there is to get to the good spots. You don't need this much specialized equipment to enjoy a day of great fishing, but it sure makes it easier! I will move into more night fishing options in the next bowfishing journal. I hope you are as excited about spring bowfishing as I am!

My last entry about spring bowfishing brought several questions about equipment. I will attempt to answer many questions, show you what I use and why, and talk about how I progressed thru the levels of mistakes to get to this point. I am a recreational bow fisherman, I don't do regular tournaments or have any equipment sponsors. I use what I do because it works for me.
I will start with the bow itself, this is the most expensive and variable part of the equation. I use a Mathew's Z-Max compound bow as my "big fish" bow. I used it on lots of big game hunts and when I moved up to a new model, I kept this bow. I left the same sights, peep sight, "D" loop, and thin grip on the bow. I did remove the quiver, that was just extra weight. I also changed the rest from a fall away to a roller rest. This rest is basically a wheel rim, made of metal or plastic. The arrow rides in the U shape of the roller as it is shot. Unlike light big game arrows, the heavy solid arrows need support as they fly off the bow. I like this bow for fishing because it is extremely powerful and that allows me to shoot solid arrows deeper and farther. Any bow will work and this is a great time of year to work on your maximum draw strength.
I have a pair of recurve bows that I use when hunting in shallow water or where I expect short shots at fish less than 2 feet deep. The first bow I use is a PSE, I am not a fan of this company, but this bow is very inexpensive, I think I paid $120 for it new. It has only 45lb draw, so I am able to hold it back like it was a compound. I don't use any sights at this range, a dozen or so shots and it will come naturally. The second recurve I use is a 55lb take-down Black Widow... a great bow... too much $ for a bow that is going to be getting wet routinely. I warped the limbs on this beauty, so I have to order $300 new ones or try to wet and correct the limbs on it now. Learn from this costly mistake... EVERYTHING YOU TAKE BOW FISHING WILL GET WET! I want to stress again, a bow fishing bow can be the cheapest used bow you can find, just get the right draw length so you don't learn bad draw habits.
Arrows become the next most important variable. I used to take regular hunting arrows with dull broadheads or field points and shoot the fish as they wallowed against the bank. It works, but I lost a ton of arrows and most of the fish got away. I moved up to thick walled aluminum and then solid glass arrows. The thick walled alminum shafts flew farther, but didn't penetrate well, they actually skipped off the water at tough angles. I increased the head weight and that helped but I found nothing is better than the solid glass fishing arrows. No vanes or feathers are used on fishing arrows, the weight and short distances don't require them, and the abuse the arrows take would quickly remove them anyway. I prefer a nock that is tight when on the string, this helps keep the arrow in place while bouncing, moving or wading. The heads, called fishpoints, are usually glued onto the shaft. The first thing I do is drill a 1/8" hole through the head and the shaft. I run a fine piece of wire through the hole to hold the head on mechanically. I have had many heads pull off when wrestling a 50lb+ fish close to the bank or boat. These fish can easily rip cheap or basic gear to pieces, always wire, bolt or tie your fishtip to the shaft. I have tried tying my line thru this hole... not a good idea, the bones of the fish and the rocks underwater quickly weaken even the best line. When this happens you either shoot the arrow off, loose it in the bottom or the next decent fish breaks off. While on the subject of tying the line to the arrow, I have tried everything. I have used a fishing rod and reel with the line tied to the base of a broadhead and then the head was screwed in the remaining couple of twists. I have drilled holes by the nock and tied there, to prevent line drag when shooting... this was a bad idea as the line went behind my bow hand and my sights. When I shot the sight bracket was ripped off, shooting it into the lake, and the 100lb fast-flight line broke across the back of my hand. My day was over due to pain and swelling! The solid glass arrows I use have a sliding ring on them. There are 2 holes to tie line to, and the tie point slides up and down the shaft. Start with the slide by the head, it will move to the nock when shot, this prevents turning the arrow sideways in flight These arrows also have a small screw as a stop to prevent the tie ring from sliding totally off the arrow. This screw becomes important to watch, it must always be turned upwards to prevent it from going across the roller rest. Nothing will be hurt if this is forgotten, but you will miss by multiple feet as it throws the arrow wildly.
I touched on the line, I use 100lb Fast-Flight because it doesn't get soaked and heavy, it is very strong and light, and it is very abrasion resistant. I have used monofilament lines for little fish and for messing around but they break really easily and are a waste of time. Standard braided fishing line is usable, especially on open spool reels, but in a retriever reel, the flat shape of Fast-Flight grips better and is less stiff. I would use Powerpro for it's thin diameter, but like many braids, it breaks fairly easily due to the severe forces of energy transfer into the heavy arrows.
Reels, a storage device to hold the line or a fancy mechanical way of winding the tangle free line... I have and use open spool reels, they are simple and impossible to break. The durability is great, but the line must be hand wrapped after every shot. The cheap ones don't even have a clip to hold the line, so every time the bow is tipped down, the line falls off in big loops, which is a major frustration. I usually use a retriever reel. This mechanical reel is in "free spool" mode until the trigger is pulled. The line sits in a small bottle until the shot, it is pulled out almost effortlessly, and then the trigger pull engages the gears. As the handle is turned the gears grip the line and guide it right back into the bottle. Proper alignment is important so the trigger is near the pointer finger of the bow hand, for best performance. I don't really use the reel to fight the fish, that is done with my drawing hand. Once the fish is brought in it takes mere seconds to reel in the line and be ready for the next shot. I do reel in the arrow after missed shots, the power of the gears is remarkable.

Fish points, the tip that keeps the fish on the arrow. I have used some heads that have fixed wires as barbs, these break easily and tend to quickly be worthless. I spend the extra money to get the heaviest heads that my bow can handle.

I particularly like the long solid aluminum ones with the big fold out barbs. The barbs only fold out 90deg until the head is twisted a couple of turns and then they fold all the way to the tip. This allows the the fish to slide off once landed. I do use some light weight heads when using the recurves. While smaller, they operate the same way. I use a file or grinder to sharpen all of the leading edges of my fishpoints. Fish scales are very tough and you need penetration to get the head in deep enough, to allow the barbs to open up. Remember to fasten your head to your shafts, unlike big game hunting, where the only force on the head is pushing it into the shaft, a fishpoint gets pulled, pushed, twisted... a 20lb fish pulling straight away has a lot of force when the string goes tight!
You have the bow, the roller rest, the arrows, the reel spooled with good line, proper heads with barbs and sharp tips, what else could you need?

This is my fully rigged fishing set up.
I use a wrist release when shooting my compound bow, be sure to have 2 with you. Take a pair of pliers to help twist tips, to release fish. I take a pair of cutters, for cutting the heavy line when an arrow is damaged or ruined. Take extra arrows, I broke or lost 5 in a single day one time. I hate hunting along rock banks, but sometimes that is where the fish are. Polarized glasses are a must! They allow you to clearly see the fish in reflective situations. Don't try to bowfish with out them, even a $5 pair from the gas station will save a trip. That is pretty much it. I can put together a total package for no more than $250. $125 for new bow, $70 for retriever, $15 for roller rest, and $10 each for arrows. Thrifty shoppers might get the full summer of fishing for less than $100. With prices like this who can't afford to enjoy bow hunting in the summer months?
I will talk more later about best times of year, scouting, seasonal changes in fish movement, types of fish and boats.

It was going to take all of our talent and creativity to get them to bite. We could see the school of trophy fish, huge, awesome fish, as they swam around the structure. Even the average fish in this school was as large as our personal bests, we were excited and amazed at even getting a chance at a group like this. Mixed species swam in the crystal clear water. The depth was considerable, over our heads for sure. The close proximity of this many huge fish to our location was enough to drive us wild!
We had the best equipment we could get our hands on, the best line and terminal tackle in our area. We spent countless hours practicing for this trip. We often took turns casting into buckets at unknown distances until it was automatic, our aim almost precise. We pretended to be fish for each other, one of us grabbing the rod and the other the line. The "fish" would pull and make huge romantic runs, shaming the sailfish on the Virgil Ward show. We would jump as high as our legs would push us, as though we were Dolphin or Tarpon. We would hold, almost until the line broke, like a grouper, holding its depth against the oil rigs. As the fisherman, we used our cunning and calculated pull then real, pull then real method, we made the American Sportsman hosts look like amatuers. We fought the "fish" up to the side of the boat, dock or pier, the rod almost doubled over... with careful reach, we would grab the fin and land our trophy. The fisherman would call out what he caught and how big... the "fish" would then call out what HE thought he was, based upon personal preference and amount of fight he put into the show. I was usually a shark or a sailfish, anything that was known for long runs and fantastic aerial displays. Andy was much younger, smaller and thus more controllable by me. He would claim to be a snook, a Great White Shark or a Barracuda, while I would only call him a throw back bass or catfish, never allowing him to be anything glamorous or exotic.
We grew up together, my younger brother and I, on a simple farm in Iowa. We had no water feature to play in, no lake, pond or stream close by. As we got older, we were allowed to travel the half mile to the Otter Creek. This rapidly flowing stream was heaven in the sun for a pair of young boys. We grew up there amongst those trees and ripples, currents and pools. We practiced each spring for our annual fishing trip. We went to trophy lakes across the north in search of record fish, all species were in trouble when Andy and I were on the prowl. Our constant work would prove valuable as our talents would be tested on a day like this...
Our plans were made, we would take turns using the rod, I went first, after all I was 4 years older. We would get one bait, if the bait was lost, or if a fish was caught, the other person got the rod. The spotter or nonfisherman was to constantly be looking for the largest fish in the school, this sight fishing method proved deadly on selectively harvesting only the biggest fish. The bait was threaded, delicately, onto the rigging, just a tiny piece of tail hanging free to entice the delicate biters. Slowly setting the bait infront of the sought after fish proved to be the best way to prevent ripples or splash that sent them deeper. We worked the tiny baits with the passion only a seasoned angler could have. Fish after fish fell prey to our presentation...

This picture is of the hefty catch from that fateful day in 1980. I am going to start a series of stories about growing up, brothers, and the loves that keep me grounded. We should all be so lucky as to never forget where we came from

The morning air was chilly. Winter in Zimbabwe is not like back in Iowa, but the cold mountain air had settled around my hut during the night, I actually put on my heavy coat! I had been hunting hard for several days and I had very few animals to show for it. Over breakfast I agreed to leave my Mathew's Z-max at camp and take my Remington 700 in .375 H&H Magnum. I shoot Federal Premium 300 Grain Trophy Bonded BearClaw bullets... Wow! This load is the bomb. I checked the scope on this gun on the first day, so we were off as soon as breakfast was gone. I love British sweet tea... Milton, if I could find you today, I would bring you to the U.S.A. to be my butler!

There wasn't frost on the ground, but I sort of expected some. The open topped landcruiser was really chilly for me, the trackers seemed less happy than I was, as we traveled the 30 minutes to the other side of the 40,000 acre ranch I was hunting. The rut was just wrapping up, we were seeing small bulls chasing herds of cows. Allan was sort of surprised that we weren't seeing the big bulls. This time of the rut, they should be lined up after the remaining hot cows. Last week they saw over a dozen bulls in the 50" class, I guess that figures, I wasn't hear last week! We passed 20 warthogs, usually a sow with a litter, or a couple of partially grown pigs, 6 Impala and 4 zebra. None of the impala were trophy caliber so I passed on them as well. The mountains started to grow out of the flat landscape so often seen in the animal migration movies on TV. The scrub brush got thicker and the trees got taller on the hillsides. We stopped every few hundred yards to glass the hills for Kudu. "Watch extra close on your side, that is where we see most of the bulls, they aren't usually in the flats down here" was Allan's advise.
Kudu is a large antelope. They are basically built like an American Elk, with short gray hair, a few distinct stripes and magnificant, tall, spiraled horns that twist as they go up. Once you have seen one, there is no forgetting it! They are often called the Gray Ghost, as they can slip in and out of cover as smooth and silent as a ghost, or they freeze and allow hunters to pass by very close, their color and stripes blending in perfectly. They are fantastic table fare and very tough to kill. The bone structure is much more dense and solid than the North American animals and the skin is much thicker and more durable. Everything in Africa has stickers, claws, sharp teeth or spines, and the kudu is tough enough to survive in some really bad areas!
I was glassing a magnificant hill side, lots of clearings, high canopy of tree branches... exactly where a big bull Kudu should be, when a tracker excitedly blurted "Kudu"! I dropped the glasses to find out where they were looking. Instead of the mountain tops, edges or even sides, they were on the other side of the truck. I turned to see them, and only caught the tail end of the cow. I was amazed at how quickly they disappeared, there was very little cover and I lost them in less than 50 yards. "Come on, she is in heat, he won't leave her, but we must hurry!" Allan was pulling me from the truck. I closed the bolt on a ready round and turned the scope down for a close shot. We hadn't gone the full 50 yards I had seen them run, and the tracker and Allan stopped, and pointed at a tree. "There, shoot that bull, he is really good, shoot him!" They were excited... I got even more excited... I have no idea where the bull is... I turned to Allan, my blank stare must have been enough, he pointed and started to give me land marks. "The thickest tree, about 3 foot up it splits, in the center of the V is his shoulder, he is looking right at us..." He must have gotten impatient while waiting for the new guy, because he took two steps over to me, he looked me in the eye, like I was blind, and lifted the barrel of the gun. Allan laid the forend of the stock on his shoulder and reached over the barrel to plug his ears. I quickly leaned into the stock and looked thru the scope... "Where is it Allan? I can't see it and the scope is only on 3 power. Should I turn it up? How far is it?" By this time he was getting irritated. He pulled his fingers from his ears and leaned so I could look down his arm. "Right there, maybe 70 yards" The entire world came into focus, I was looking as far as I could, expecting them to be at the edge of the heavier cover. I actually was looking right thru the bull, I could see why Allan was feeling frustrated, the bull was in the wide open!
He was beautiful, his ivory tipped horns turned out at the tips, he was right at 50", mature and at his peak. I stepped forward to a small tree and laid the rifle over my arm. I took careful aim between the two trunks making up the V shape, that Allan talked about. I am unsure why I aimed so precisely, the 300 grain bullets would easily shoot through either trunk and still pass through the bull lengthwise! I settled into the rifle, being sure to keep my face from the scope, and I squeezed... Boom! The recoil is hefty in a light gun like this, the shooter must practice freequently to be able to accept the abuse. I lost the bull in the scope and I failed to recover fast enough to see it leap into the thick brush only yards away. Allan and the trackers came running up to me, the pats on the back were reasurance that I had done my part. Allan leaned his head over and got a very serious look on his face. "It just fell over, I heard the horns hit a tree" he exclaimed. I wasn't going to doubt him, we all fell in line, and miraculously, we walked right to it... This was getting strange, usually I m the guy seeing the animals, I am the one doing the guiding, now I felt like a newcomer, a city guy who can't even see the 500 pound animal, behind one little tree, at only 70 yards! Oh well, the bull was awesome. We rolled him over, his neck was huge! The horns were unlike anything I had held before. If you look down through the spiral of the horn, the bulls eyes line up perfectly, they claimed it is so the bull can see his horn tips as he fights. I absolutely love the spiral horned animals of Africa, and this was my bull. I had taken a big bull kudu, the feeling is almost unexplainable. The hair was short and fairly thin, like a German shorthair in the summer. I had to move the legs, the hoofs, the neck... I was like a little kid examining every inch of his being. Allan measured the horns, not that it mattered to me now, he could be small or big to someone else, right now, he was mine! He was older than we first guessed, his teeth were very worn, his horns were chipped and sloughed off in spots. What a great trophy, a 49"+ bull kudu, from the unfenced parts of Africa... a truly wild animal from a truly wild place.

"How close are you going to let them get?"... I thought it was sort of a strange question, so I had to think a second before I answered. "As close as we can" was my whispered response, my face still firmly pressed against my Remington SP10. I was lined up on the tom on the left, and I was watching for any sign of them spotting us. Ernie, a good friend and companion on this hunt, was sort of nervous, but steady enough on the bird on the right. The pair continued up the trail, ducking a rose branch, they were inside of 15 yards. Both birds were magnificant, full tail fans, worn wing tips, very colorful heads and long spurs. We were hiding from the birds on the opposite side of a wooden gate. The open barbed wire fence offered no cover, so we had settled for the heavy posts and boards at each end of the gate. "Shoot on 3" I whispered, knowing that they would lift there heads and we would take them immediately if they heard me. "On 3 or 1,2,3 then shoot?" Ernie was trying to be funny, like in the movies with Danny Glover and Mel Gibson... I find it funnier now than I did at the time. "You shoot first, and I will follow you..." I whispered back. Ernie settled to his stock and I watched his finger tighten on the trigger... I heard the safety "click" and the birds froze. Their heads came up and one let out a "PUTT". I settled my barrel on the turkeys neck, at 6 yards they wouldn't be a tough target...
Ernie and I had hunted all morning, with lots of gobbles to be heard, but no birds to be seen. We were hunting my wife's, grandmother's place, a 100 acre piece of old stand timber, with a pair of CRP fields. My initial set up was great, tons of sign, droppings and feathers, dust bowls and tracks, but we needed to be there in the afternoon, not while they were already on the roost. We moved as close as we could and I did my best to coax a bird closer, but no one was buying. The 5 or 6 gobbling birds worked South towards the river as the morning progressed and we were soon sitting in a very silent timber. I decided to show Ernie my "Cut and Run" routine. We left the decoys and vests full of items, and scampered across the little creek. We worked through the next patch of multiflora roses and we were almost to the crest of the hill... I stopped and motioned for Ernie to do the same. Never crest until you have called, you will be visible from a long ways away, and you will not know the birds were there, until they are running or flying. I did my standard series of yelps and I got a gobble immediately. We moved up the side of the hill to get closer before we peaked over. I yelped again and he answered. Laying in the grass on the side of the hill I slowly raised my head to try and locate the birds. I cut really aggressively and 2 birds gobbled back. I could finally see the sun reflecting on the tails of 2 strutting birds. They were on the other side of a very steep ditch, there was no way of pulling them across that feature. We slid back below the sight line of the birds. We casually walked up the hill towards the junction of the ridge we were on and the ridge they were on. I didn't call again until we were against the fence. The toms had heard me call a couple of times as we were locating them and moving closer, so they were already on the way to meet us. They were so sure we were a hen, they almost met us at the gate!
Their heads came up and one of them let out a "PUTT. I settled my barrel on the turkeys neck, at 6 yards, they wouldn't be a tough target. Ernies 12 guage exploded and the right bird folded. I hesitated only a second and folded my bird as well. The excitement of a successful hunt was fantastic. High fives and hand shakes, it couldn't have been much better. I was lucky enough to capture a mid morning picture of Ernie and the results of a great spring hunt.

August 2, I saw 5 duiker, 3 zebra, 6 eland, 20 impala, 1 rhino, 2 jackals, vervet monkeys, 2 huge lizards and a Mozambique Spitting Cobra.
That is the journal entry for my third day in Africa. The area we were hunting was not set up for archery hunting and I was trying hard to harvest animals with my bow. We built a ground blind at a pinch point above the lake. We sat for several hours and the trackers and PH got very bored. We continued hunting "safari style"... driving very slowly in the open top truck, looking for a trophy to attempt to stalk. My migraine headache was almost overwhelming again, so we decided to make it a short day. We stopped at a new burn area on the way back to camp. There were guinea hens everywhere. They were scratching in the bare ground and chasing bugs in the flourish of new grass. In our conversations about the lake, I asked about the barbles. Barbles are huge black and white catfish with red fins. I was assured there was a lot of fish in the lake and liver was a great bait for them. Between the hope of barble fishing and sweet and sour guinea, I fought the vision blurring pain long enough to line up 2 of the black and white speckled birds in the scope of my 7mm STW. They were right, sweet and sour guinea, prepaired African style, proved to be one of the best meals I have ever had.

We started the 4th day in Africa by sneaking up on an open flat. As the sun rose, there were large animals everywhere. We saw 4 herds of zebra, 5 cow kudu, 3 duiker, a 46" bull kudu with a spike and 2 other cows, atleast 20 warthogs, baboons and more vervet monkeys. My first encounter with baboons... they are fantastic animals. They have short back legs and very long arms. The dominant male was huge, he yawned several times, actually a warning to us that he was watching. His canine teeth were long and interlocked with the lower ones, what ever they got a good bite on, would be in a lot of trouble. The bull kudu was a trophy of my desires, but 50" is sort of the magic number for a good bull. Maybe that is greedy, but this ranch held the world record for many years of 63", so I passed on this jouvenile. I never saw another trophy quality animal until the last hour before dark.
The truck came down a short hill and we crossed the creek. We entered a river bottom type of habitat, here the grass was greener and thicker and there was papyrus growing everywhere. We traveled along the creek, that obviously ran as a huge river in the rainy season, for some distance. The sun was setting and it was difficult to see very far infront of the vehicle with the sun in our eyes. We almost drove right up to them... There on the other side of a huge clump of tall papyrus was a beautiful herd of sable. I decided to take the next mature bull I came across, and now he was standing about 100 yards away. This reed is very thick and flat, the fibers were once used to make paper. I only had my 7mm, and I knew there was no way to get the bullet through that tough grass. I was going to have to take a neck shot. I was not overly happy with the thought of putting a bullet through the cape of an animal with a trophy cost of $2000. If I put a big hole in the cape, it would affect the look of the mount. If I didn't hit the spine, I would probably just wound the huge animal and I would have to pay even if it was not recovered. The bonnet was folded onto the hood as I laid the rifle across the dash. I made a fist under the forestock and brought the stock to my shoulder. I backed the leupold down, 20X magnification was too much. Allan didn't want to turn the engine off, there were 4 people in the vehicle, and the dam vibration... "I can't make this shot with this much movement" I explained as the herd got nervous. The bulls neck was open for about a foot below it's head. It's head was turned straight at me, so I had a twisted neck shot right into the front of the cape... "He is atleast 35", a great bull around here, try the shot, you can get him" Allans encouragement pushed me over the edge and I went against all better judgement, I tried the shot. I had the scope backed all the way down, even at 6.5X the cross hairs danced off the animal. At the recoil, I lost view of the herd. I never heard the tell tale sound of a hit, so I sat there wondering how my $2000 bet just turned out...
We spread out at the spot the bull was standing. BLOOD... One little leaf of a plant was holding a big drop of blood... "draw blood and it pays the same as a kill" I wasn't feeling very good about things. I picked the leaf and held it, it might get mounted as my sable, if the hit was poor! We spent until dark tracking the herd, we never found another spot of blood. Right about dark the small group was found feeding and the bull showed no signs of injury. Allan stood talking to the trackers, I was nervous but hopeful, this was the first time I saw him like this. The trio got into the truck and Allan looked me in the eyes, his seriousness was noticable. "You didn't shoot at a sable tonight, the bull is fine and you won't have to pay for it, if no one knows about it" He smiled and started the truck. That is the happiest I have ever felt about a bad shot! The bull would be fine, nicked at best, and I would not shoot again from a running vehicle! The sun set on another day in Africa, day 4 had come to an end. I have to admit, I was getting anxious, I had a big list of animals to harvest and only 10 more days to hunt, I was ready to put the bow down for a day and gather some hides and horns!

I am a fanatic about any sport that uses a bow. I have a Black Widow recurve bow, that I have turned into a killing machine. I mounted a retriever reel on the handle, it took some modificatons to get screw holes in the proper location, but trigger location is now perfect. This bow has no sights and I shoot it with bare fingers, but it is awesome out to almost 8 yards. I took an older Mathew's Z Max compound and tricked it out as my "big fish bow". This 70 lb draw bow used to harvest deer and even went to Alaska and Africa with me, but now is the death with a string! I left the sights on, only 2 are really needed now, but with some adjustments, a 12 to 15 yard shot, down to 2 feet deep is makeable. There is a definate advantage to each type and I will try to help with your choice.
The recurve bow is light, fast and easy to use. The bow will accurately shoot an arrow at any draw position, even only part way back. It involves no release to get tangled in, it is just simple pleasure. The power is lacking in my opinion. Fish up to 15 pounds don't seem to take much energy to push an arrow through them, but I have lost most of the big fish I was able to put an arrow into with the lighter bow. I use this bow when the fish are staged in less than 2 foot of water, when they are eating muck from the surface of a freshly flooded reservoir, or if I am able to float right over the fish and the shots will be almost straight down. This is most common in cold water or at night. We have large lights mounted on the perimeter of the shooting deck and/or use a big spot light to locate night time fish. It is surprising how much the fish will tolerate at night, some actually rise up in the water, when in the light.

The compound is the bow of choice when the larger fish are rolling along the bank, are spooky, such as when sunning near the surface, or when in really clear water and staying deep. I have taken fish out to 17 yards, when they had fins sticking out of the water. Usually grass carp, the big fish will gather in pods, like whales. If the outer fish are spooked the entire group is gone. I slowly move up on the group and look for the biggest fish possible, that is the fish I am after. I like the let off of the compound for being able to hold the bow for long periods of time as well. I hunt in muddy reservoirs often, and seeing a tail of a fish is very easy. We push or push pole up to the fish, draw and wait until a part of the body is visible. Sometimes this takes a second or third draw with a recurve, but with a release and an 85% let off bow, I can wait the fish out. The power of the compound is also needed when shooting the large fish, some weighing over 60 pounds! Unlike many of the guys, I like the head to be on the outside of the far side of the fish. I like the barbs of the arrow to be pulling on the scales of these monsters, as opposed to the soft meat trying to hold it. I have lost many large fish when they finally pulled off the solid glass shaft.

I will get more detailed and offer some of my tricks and techniques as this series goes on, including arrow, head and line selections. Bank vs boat fishing, day and night time techniques. Creeks and small bodies of water vs big reservoirs and lakes, timing of the spawn etc. I hope you follow this series closely as we are only a few weeks away from some of the best off season shooting you will ever find!

The fantastic adventure I wrote about, for myself and several friends, was very simple and inexpensive. We did these hunts, the entire trip actually, with out a "guide". We chose for cost, to start our flights out of Minneapolis, but you can price your trip from your area. 4 of us shared the travel to Minneapolis and flew to Anchorage, Alaska. I slept in the terminal on an air mattress, in my clothes, but this saved almost $100 instead of paying for a motel. The planes got smaller and we flew into Illiamna, Alaska. The tarmac is gravel here, you get off the plane and grab your equipment from a stack along the plane and you walk several hundred yards to the airport, a pole barn type structure with one end finished off. We walked to the hanger of one of the small bush pilots. (We shopped for a good price, and we spent time on the phone with the head pilot to arrange or coordinate migration dates, almost a year in advance.) The pilot flew us in to the hunt area in 2 and 4 man planes with tundra tires. Our extra equipment, gun boxes etc were left in their hanger and we were able to watch our required hunters video at their hanger as well. There were several small companies that help each other and share a hanger here. The weather can be a factor so plan to stay a day or two at the hanger, or extra days in hunt camp. This solo hunt was fantastic, simple and the entire trip, including a 2nd caribou tag and flying a meat box home, cost less than $2500 from my house to my house. This hunt was done almost 10 years ago, so I am not sure of price increases, but shop around, call pilots and plan... this adventure is worth the price!

I felt more alive than I had in years. I finally slept, had a great breakfast and several mugs of that excellent British sweet tea. After breakfast I walked the compound, the name given to the cluster of cement buildings with thatched roofs, surrounded by a very high chain link fence with razor wire on top. The fence was built to protect the inhabitants during the revolution when Rhodesia became Zimbabwe. This was a bloody and tough time for the safari trade and the good people of the area.

The lodge was a circular building with 3 bedrooms, bath room, kitchen and family room. My room had 2 rocks, almost the size of basketballs, one in each corner. I asked why the rocks were placed in the corners and Milton explained the superstitions of the Africans. Evil spirits hide in corners, hence the buildings being round, they hide there waiting for people to mess with. The rocks are put there because the spirits can't stand on the rock, so they won't hide in the corner if there is a rock there to protect it.

The skinning shack and hanging pole were at the far end of the encampment. I walked down and watched as the fleshing of my Zebra skin continued. The eyes, ears and nose was carefully turned an scraped clean of flesh and fat. It was amazing to watch the detail work so carefully completed with such crude tools. The old knifes they used was about 1/4 of what they started as. By the handles I could tell most of them had been Old Timers, the antler or bone handles very worn. The blades were sharpened on a rock when ever they were dulled. The edge created by this type of sharpening was never close to the original fine edge, but it was as good as they had. The skinning shack itself was a square building, if "buiding" was the term. It was a furrow dug into the ground with sticks, peeled of their bark, stood into the trench. The dirt was repacked and the tops of the sticks were tied together with a crude rope made from the bark fibers. The frame for the thatched roof was constructed in the same manner. The door hole was left open. I assume the entire structure was built for shade, as there was no way it would keep out insects, varmints or large predators.

The skinning pole was 2 long steel pipes buried into the ground with cement around the base for support. There was a pulley at the top where the two poles met and a manual hoist crant to lift what ever animal had been harvested. The entire set up was primative, but seemed to work well in this part of the world.

I took time to look over the plumbing for my bath last night... I had been warned, under no circumstances allow the water into my mouth. I used bottled water to brush my teeth with and the cooking was done with filtered water. The water came from a 2" hose that ended in the lake a couple of hundred yards from the camp. I could see a 10' croc sunning on a big rock in the lake from where I stood. This was the largest body of water for the cattle and wild animals for miles around. The water was pumped by a 5 hp Briggs and Straton motor through a solid pipe to a brick structure. This tank, if you could call it that, was a 4'X4' square about 6' tall. It stood on legs of bricks that supported the base structure which carried the entire weight of the tank. A fire was burning under the tank to warm the water... part of yesterday's zebra hung on the side of the tank. This fire served to warm my water and to cook the servants food. This was definately not Iowa! There was another solid pipe that ran to the outside wall of the lodge, it was a gravity feed system to the 2 faucets. When I bathd last night, I could see small water insects swimming in the 2" of water. There was some algea in the water too, but I didn't know what it was until now. At least it was warm!

We finally decided to hunt, I was so interested in Africa I almost forgot that is why I was there! I left the baby eland, bottle fed since it was found, as friendly as any domesticated sheep or calf back home. A beautiful animal, I hoped to meet it's father or grandfather one of these days. We loaded into the truck, Allan and I in the front and my tracker and gun bearer on a 2X12 laid across the rear fender wells. The open cab was fantastic for game viewing and enjoying the splendor of Africa. In our travels I saw duiker, bushpigs,a hairy little pig much like the feral hogs I hunted back home, they were to quick to get a shot, impala and a big bull sable. I was still in awe of the sable from yesterday and I had decided to take him if the shot was offered. We manuvered but the old bull didn't hang around for long. Francoline and guinea fowl were plentiful and I was looking forward to a bird shoot this week. We spent several hours on foot, looking over the terrain and earning the fantastic sights and views. We needed leopard bait, so when an average impala ram offered a clear shot at about 60 yards, the .375 answered the call. Not overly climatic, we saw the small group, moved a short distance and I waited by a termite mound until it cleared. Impala are beautiful animals, similar in size to a 1 1/2 year old doe whitetail back home. We butchered most of the body and used the front shoulders for baits. I must say, of all of the game I ate while on safari, Imala was my least favorite.

The day came to an end with promise of another fantastic hunt in the morning.

The gobbles led us across a small creek and onto a hill covered with huge oak trees. We slowly worked along the hill to a gravel road that ran directly under the 2 toms. "This should be good Scott, you sit on my left, that will give you the best shot" He is right handed and I thought the toms would be coming up the trail to my left to get to the road, a presumed strutting zone. The toms flew down and despite my calling, stayed too low on the hill side to see our decoy. They moved up to the road and started toward our calling. "Slowly turn behind me and shoot over my legs, both birds are coming in" I was whispering between calls. Scott needed to turn almost totally around in order to get in line with the incoming birds. I fear he moved too slowly, the birds were right on us as he tried to manuver. "Quickly roll to your knees and shoot them as they hesitate or as they start to run" Scott still wanted to see the strutting and drumming, so he tried the slow method. Mature toms are masters of detecting danger and as he shifted his weight from side to side, his waving upper body was seen and the birds busted us at 10 yards. The gig was up and this set up was over. We got up and started for another area to try and find another bird.
I was hunting with world famous and award winning artist Scott Storm. Scott was in the Cedar Rapids area for a spring turkey hunt and I was asked by goog friend Matt Schrantz to be Scott's guide. We were hunting a property that I had never been on before, so this was going to test my abilities. Scott is a pleasure to be around, he is easy to smile, has a very positive and jovial outlook, he is an intense outdoorsman and has an eye for detail. His works are closer to photgraphs than most paintings, his detail is so good. He is in great physical condition, which helped him to hunt the extremely hilly area we were hunting. We stopped several times to take reference pictures for future works and we finally set up on a high ridge where we could overlook several open grass slopes. These types of look outs are fantastic when the birds are henned up. We could look for flocks of birds feasting on the bugs and fresh shoots in the 10" to 12" tall grass.
"There is a flock Scott" I finally found a flock with several long beards in it. The flock was working towards a deep drainage ditch lined with large trees, if we could get into that ditch we could easily move into range. I left the decoys where they were and we hustled off the hill we were on. We made it to that ditch and the turkeys were still working the open grass. We quickly covered the distance and slipped up the hill to the edge of the ditch. By laying on the steep bank of the ditch we were able to use it as cover, while our head and shoulders were above the edge. The grass was perfect camo and I knew we were close. I started to call and the flock responded. The toms went into strut as their tails became visible over the tall grass. I did more hen calling, light stuff mosly, purrs, chips and light yelps. This nonaggressive stuff helped to pull in the hens and the toms followed. Soon the toms were in range and with a single shot, Scott had his Eastern wild turkey.

I was lucky enough to be a part of this tom taken by Scott Storm, wildlife artist and friend.

"Wow, look at that bull!" unsure who said it, but the excitement in their voice, was enough to pull me away from breakfast. I raced around the alder patch and got in line with my hunting partners to view a large herd of caribou on the next mountain. The herd was huge, almost 100 animals strong, mostly cows, but there was one really wide bull. He was so much wider than any we had taken so far that we all were looking to fill our second tag. "Pat, you came all the way to Alaska for a caribou, why don't you go shoot that one?" "No, I don't think so, it's been a great trip and I just don't think so, there isn't much cover... " Pat trailed off, he was worn out. The week of climbing and extreme exersion had finally taken it's toll on him, and he was now mentally worn out too. "Pat, I will carry everything, you just stay with me and we will get that 'bou" I said. I had been lucky enough to be with everyone in camp, as they shot their bull. I was feeling lucky and this bull was visible, a usually fatal mistake for any animal I go after. Pat looked at Lazlo, a close friend and very successful hunter from Colorado, "I wanted one with a bow" I believe he was looking for acceptance from Lazlo, a rifle hunter turned archery purist, for using a rifle like the rest of us did. "You traveled all the way up here, you have one day left and that is a great bull. You can't go home empty handed, Pat" was the response. Pat's mind was made up. "Lets go, Yami, what do I need?" I was already packed, I wore my favorite pack frame and meat sack, I had the 7mm STW and bullets, the camera, my custom long bladed skinning knife and a bottle of water. "Grab a bottle of water for yourself and follow me"
We marched down the open side of our mountain to the thickets below. We used the cedar and alder cover to hide our approach. This was the mountain that Jasoon had taken his bull on, I had hunted this direction many times, so I had a plan. We came out of the thick stuff on to the open tundra. I stopped to let Pat catch up and show him my plan. We were now out of sight of the herd, we were on the right side of the mountain, as seen by the guys anxiously watching from camp. We worked our way up the lower part of the peak the bull was on. As the ground got steeper, we had to zig zag to avoid sliding back down. I looked back at Pat and I got nervous. Pat's exersion was really showing now; his glasses were steamed to the point of unusable, his shoulders were now hanging and he was wet with persperation. "I am getting worn out Pat, let's stop and eat some blueberries and catch our breath. That herd isn't going anywhere." We sat for a few minutes and devoured the plentiful ground fruit, dark and flavorful. Pat finished his water and I put the bottle in the meat sack. With a fresh set of legs we stood up. "100 more yards Pat, that is all we have to go up, 100 more yards." I tried to make the final approach more achievable. We were over a half mile from the caribou, and most of it was up! We passed the 100 yard mark and I took a trail that ran parrallel to the peak. We were almost to the edge of the rock slide, where Jason had taken his bull, when I saw cows trotting below us. They were cuttting down the slide and below us... had they smelled us? The winds swirl a lot in the rugged peaks, but they shouldn't have smelled us! We stopped and I gave Pat the rifle. His glasses were steamed over again, and the weight of the rifle was more than he could shoot off hand, in this condition. The wide bull appeared in front of us at less than 100 yards. We could see the upper half of his rack, but the rest of him was hidden by boulders. The bull looked after the cows that had parted and finally turned and went back up hill to where we had first seen him! The hunt was on again. I took the rifle back, Pat had seen the bull and had a renewed sense of excitement. "He is huge" Pat whispered. "He is 40" or better, I guarantee it Pat, he is awesome. We are almost there, just one last move and we will be on them." I encouraged him further, he was ready. We turned uphill, I figured to move to the highest ground and look over the top, from there we could either shoot the bull or move to one side or the other for a shot. We came over the top, a stiff wind in our faces... they were gone. Did they push off the side? Did they pass below us with out me seeing? I didn't show my doubt, they had to be here. "There is a bowl in the ground, maybe 50 more yards, they have to be in that bowl due to this wind." I said it more confidently than I felt, I pointed towards the rock outcropping that would put us right over the bowl. We were just short of the rocks when the herd moved into the open. One of the cows must have seen us and they ran to open ground. The entire herd stopped and looked back at us. Handing Pat the rifle, I was nervous. The end of the barrel swung in a loose circle, even at the close range I wan't sure he could hit his target. "He isn't clear, do you see him in the scope? Don't shoot... are you sure you are looking at the wide bull?... They are moving, I will stop them, get ready." I whistled and Pat jumped. He wasn't sure how I was going to stop them and I caught him off guard. I nearly laughed as I watched the barrel jump. "Not clear Pat, hold on, he is moving again" I whistled again and the bull finally was close to the edge of the herd. He took a few extra steps and seperated further from the closest cow. He was broadside and looking right at us. 80 yards and standing.... the gun waivered, the gun swung in a big circle... the gun... BOOM... went off! I caught the bull in my vision just in time to watch it fall! Pat had done it, he had pulled off an offhand, 80 yard shot that spined the bull, dropping it in it's tracks. We could hear the guys back at camp. I turned to my left and they were all jumping up and down and waving their arms like crazy. In our focus on the bull I didn't realize we were about as high as them and totally visible. They had laid behind binocs and spotting scopes to watch the entire hunt unfold! Now they were gathering packs and cameras and they started down the valley towards us. Pat and I went to his trophy bull, with 42" inside spread, it is a monster! I stood back as he got to know his trophy. We had done it. I felt as much joy in helping all of my friends to harvest great bulls as I did in getting one myself. The gang arrived, with hugs and high fives, we told and retold the story as seen through each set of eyes. This bull represented alot of things to our little group, special things of friendship and companionship, only earned through hard work and team play. We had each worked to help the others and we had survived, succeeded and become closer. The best reminder of our trek was the picture of the 4 of us, with Pat's monster, on the last full day of hunting in Alaska!

The trackers froze in midstride. They started to kneel and I mirrored their actions. From my knees I could see one of the most awesome animals I have ever seen. They were dark, almost black in the shade of the canopy of leaves. They were strange, the chests were huge and the back ends lesser and lower. The necks were thick, like a draft horse and the head was sleak and horse like as well. The contrast between the white facial markings and the dark body was magical. The ears were lighter, almost tan in color. Each had long sweeping horns that widened at the tips. I couldn't believe it. I was in the middle of a huge herd of over 50 sable! Bulls, cows and calves, mixed together, feeding and moving carelessly at less than 70 yards. Even with my jetlag, I knew this was special. The herd moved on, I didn't have a sable on my list yet, but I was debating harvesting one after that encounter! We rose and talked about the herd. I thought the bulls were huge, but my PH Allan explained they were yearlings and a couple of other older but immature bulls with the cows and young of the year. The best bull would have been under 18" long, a far cry from the 40" trophies taken in parts of Africa. I was amazed, what would a 40"er look like? Those horns would sweep back and almost touch the front shoulder at 40". I was getting very interested in a sable.
We continued on foot for a hour or so. We were trying to get thru this jetlag. I felt miserable, I couldn't sleep, I wasn't fully awake, my head hurt. I was not as happy as I should have been. The hours and hours and hours of plane travel and the miserable ride in the back of a small pick up truck for 4 hours had beat me to a new physical low. The walking was helping and I felt thirsty again. With prolonged hours of being awake, forced to stay upright, forced to hardly move, multiple time zones... I am not even sure what day it is....
The drive was comfortable, we had returned to the truck as I was getting a headache. Migraine headaches were my bane as a younger man. The pain is only mental, but the total lack of vision cuts a hunt short. We pulled up to an old burn. The grass was almost a foot tall now and the animals used this area heavily. I remember Allan saying something like "big land" and I just smiled. My eyes had been closed for some time and I wasn't about to open them and feel the knife cut into my head as the sunlight would surely be. "3 big land... That one is a really good bull" I still didn't know what he was talking about, what is big land? "You should shoot the bull on the left, that is a really good bull" I forced myself to sit up straight and I opened my eyes. The discomfort was more like a pocket knife stabbing me than the machete I was expecting so I tried to focus. "What should I shoot?" I whispered "That big ELAND BULL" the excitement finally gave way and he was very impressed with a large gray blob about... I don't know how far it was, I couldn't tell. "Allan, I can't see it"... "What the hell are you talking about, they are right there, at 50 yards!" He finally looked at me, I was as white as a ghost and fading fast. "You have a migraine don't you... I get those too. We will find this herd in a day or two."
My first afternoon in Africa was turning out to be a bust. My guns were shooting well, I saw a huge herd of sable, we drove up on a pair of eland bulls, one was a good shooter... I was missing Africa as I couldn't even see! "Shall we return to camp for a while?" "NO WAY", was my thought, but I just shook my head from side to side. I don't know if we stopped the Landrover or if I just slept for a while as we drove, but I remember starting to look around and my head ache was gone! We saw several different animals, monkeys, baboons, duiker, impala, warthogs. The wildlife is fantastic. The quantity, diversity and quality of animal life is overwhelming and staggering to a simple Iowa boy. We passed a couple of herds of zebra, but all were too spooky and ran as we slowed to look for a trophy. We rounded a bend in the primative 2 track road and there stood a herd of almost 20 zebra. A friend back in Iowa had given me the trophy fee for a well colored rug. He didn't care about stallion or mare, just vivid and spectacular stripes. I thought they all looked alike until I started glassing them. Most were sort of dirty looking, the white not as pronounced as some. Many had broad stripes and little character. Each had a slightly different pattern on the face and head. Some had less stipes on the ears.
I knew she was the one as soon as I looked at her. The herd was broadside to us and they had their heads turned to look right at us. I got a perfect facial look and chest look at the same time. "That is the one" I hissed as I moved the .375 onto the bonnet (hood). The windshield was folded down to allow me a perfect 80 yard shot, except for the vibration of the running motor. "Turn the truck off" I whispered as I looked thru the scope. Why we whispered, sitting in a blue landcruiser, with the engine running, is beyond me. "They will run if I do, they are about to run now, hurry up" I knew the entire hunt would be based on how well I shot here. The first shot sets the stage and gives or removes confidence to the trackers and the PH. I can shoot average or better, but with the pressure of a crowd, the head ache, my first day in Africa, a small target (she was only about 400 lbs at 80 yards). I was a little nervous. The toughness of zebras is constantly written about by bullet makers, gun reps and the popular hunters that frequent safaris. "Turn it off!" he did as I asked and they did as he said they would. I held tight to the shoulder, no wait, on the shoulder with a gun this big... she is starting to move... another is in front... not clear... not clear... follow thru, she is going to open up in about 2 strides. I put the cross hairs on her shoulder and squeezed as the leg went back. The vitals of most game in Africa, are more forward than the deer we hunt in Iowa, so I figured in front of a leg going back as opposed to a leg going forward. I knew the bullet would break both front legs if they were hit, but I was thinking like a bow hunter. BOOM! That gun is loud and the recoil is substantial when leaning into it like I was. I lost site of the mare as the herd took off. I got a pat on the shoulder from the tracker, who now was pointing over my shoulder, at the one that split from the rest of the herd. 4 men watched as the herd kept running and the mare rejoined.... I know in my heart the shot was good. How could it be? She was now over 200 yards away and back in the herd. It didn't seem right to me. "I killed her" were my first words. The trackers were running toward the spot where she split from the others. The ground was open there and dusty, any blood would be easy to spot. They tracked the single, no blood, no sign of a hit at all... "NO WAY!" was my argumentative statement when the 2 trackers and Allan got together. I knew they were saying "He missed, no sign, no blood, this guy can't shoot... they don't get any easier boss." I stepped closer and got there attention by butting into the conversation. "Send him", I pointed at the very short older man named Kefice (maybe Kefis), "to where she was standing. I don't miss" They all stood there for a second. 3 men watched me shoot at a zebra, they thought she responded to the shot, she acted hit and then acted like it was a poor hit. They all watched the entire episode from next to me. Now I was telling them they were wrong, go back to the beginning... who was this guy? Allan was young enough to humor me with out wanting to look doubting. He said something in Afrikans and the tracker ran the short distance to the original shot. He whistled almost immediately. "He found her didn't he?" was my hopeful yet confident statement.
I had hit her perfectly in midstride. She had fallen so quickly as she went behind the next mare, that no one saw her fall! She was laying about 4 feet past where I shot. The blood pattern from the pass through was very visible as they tried to figure out how they didn't see this unfold! The mood now went from gloom to celebration! I had taken my first trophy of the trip. She was spectacular to say the least. We rolled her over for examination. I had to touch her, to smell her, to feel the texture of the hair and mane. My senses were now alive with the thrill of such an experience. We paid our respect, cleard the area around her for pictures and then loaded her into the back part of the truck. I felt fantastic as we pulled into camp. I would soon be eating zebra steak and telling the story of my first trophy while on Safari. The very word gives me goosebumps.

The flesh of zebra is very lean, tight grained and flavorful. I enjoyed this one at 2 meals while in Africa.

The morning was spectacular, crisp, clear, and quiet. We parked the truck and entered the pasture from the South. I usually take a small boat across or down the river here, as I have 3 large farms in a row, and on both sides. I use the boat as access to where ever a tom is gobbling. Mobility is my usual method, I was hoping this wasn't a mistake. We slipped along the open part of the pasture, this is where the cows have knocked down the tall grass and the multiflora rose bushes have been cut out. We waited on the ridge as the world came alive. I love the small song birds that flitter amongst the branches so noisily in the morning. They are ready to find breakfast, but the darkness keeps them on the roost. They chirp and call and are usually the first sounds of the day. This stretch of the river has a large populatiion of owls living along it. Today was a treat as several pairs got in a vocalization contest and we were right in the middle of it all. I started with the usual "Who Cooks For You" cadence, with no response I went louder with the "Who cooks for you, who cooks for you alllllll" and I really rolled the end. That did it! The first pair of owls answered and gave me an aggressive reply and then the next and the next. Soon the owls sounded more like a troop of monkeys with their screams, "HO HO HO HO WHOOOOW" replys and bickering. When they finally let up, I could hear at least 3 different gobblers on the pennisula we were at the base of. I was really excited about the day now!
Rick Soyglean was a friend from TJ Construction on the edge of Cedar Rapids. He has lots of gound to hunt in Northern Iowa, but his work schedule left him with only a single morning to hunt. Tommy asked me if I would take Rick, and IT WAS ON! Rick pours cement, one of the toughest jobs there is. He is a huge man, broad... really broad shoulders and as deep through the chest as most normal men are wide! At almost 6' tall, he is a mountain of a man. The only thing bigger than his physical size, is the size of his heart. He is one of the nicest "gentle giants" a man could ever know. I actually ate the first batch of canned venison at Rick's house... I can't make enough of it now! We were only able to hunt for one morning, so he took his shotgun, figuring the bow might be too much pressure on me.
We slipped down the cattle trail towards the most vocal of the toms. He gobbled in groups, 2 or 3 at a time and then he was quiet. I took this to mean he had hens, but was still active. The other toms would only shock gobble and even that was weak. We got to my magic 100 yard distance and we picked our trees. The cows didn't frequent this area nearly as much and the rose bushes were thick. I know of a lane that comes from the tall oak patch to this little clearing and I hoped he would come right in. We set up and started calling. He hit the ground and was done. Not another gobble for almost an hour. Patience was running very thin when he fired off about 200 yards to the south of his roost. He was on the other side of the pond from us and along the open pasture we crossed to get here... so much for always getting it right. We moved along the lane and under his roost, his lonely gobbles marked when his hens left him for their nests. We were closing in on his constant calls when the world went silent again... another hen beat us to him. I shocked him with a crow call and he gobbled one time. I cut like crazy and he gobbled... one time. We slowly worked to the pond dike and we used it as cover as we skirted the field the tom was showing off in. I set up against a huge tree trunk, as tall laying down as I was sitting up! I sat in a couple of branches with the main trunk at my back. Rick moved about 40 yards ahead of me to the base of a mature oak tree. He was about 15 yards to the East of the pond, facing away from me. I could only see the end of his gun from my position.
This time of the morning is usually best spent stationary. The sun was high and the heat would soon drive the birds into open timber and shade. We were near the best water and there were several dusting bowls along the pond. These dusting areas are often overlooked by most hunters, but to me they show where birds spend long hours grooming and loafing. I decided to occasionally call with my copper pot call. This friction call is really sharp and loud, perfect as I wanted to be heard through all of the vegetation. We had been sitting almost an hour and hadn't even heard a peep from the turkeys. I was wondering if we messed up by not sneaking up on the tom and ground swatting him. This isn't a very gentlemanly way of hunting, but it gets a bird for the pot... our main objective. I was in the middle of a series of calls when I caught motion out of the corner of my eye. A huge tom was standing on the other side of the log I was against looking for the hen! I couldn't move. I held my breath and waited. Rick couldn't see me and I am not sure if he was even awake. The tom slowly moved towards the decoy, which was set between us in the clearing. I had positioned it thinking the turkeys would come from infront of Rick and look past him for the calling. This old bird had slipped in though the back door. I stayed silent as the tom moved towards the pond. He was a little suspicious of the decoy and that was funneling the bird between the pond and Rick. The bird went over the bank of the pond, still behind Rick, and started walking along the sand, exposed by the lack of rain. The bird was now less than 15 yards from Rick and he couldn't see it. Either the bird was below the bank enough to hide it or he was sound asleep. Fearing the worst I trusted Ricks hunting experience. I knew he would trust me and be able to make the tough shot. I yelled "ON YOUR LEFT! BIG TOM ON YOUR LEFT!" The bird was startled and stood up staight as it picked up the pace. Rick's shotgun lept to his shoulder and he connected on a straght away 20 yard shot before the bird started really running! The morning had turned out perfect! We laughed and repeated my yelling over and over. We laughed until we cried! Trusting in me, he shot that bird. He didn't know what sex it was, he had only seen it for about 2 seconds, but we counted on one another and it all worked out!

This is Rick's turkey, harvested after I yelled to him to be sure he even saw the bird!

The rain was coming down in sheets now. I could actually see differing levels of water fall as the clouds rolled thru. We had light misty rains, the ones that got the mountain grass and blueberry bushes slick, as if walking the mountain trails wasn't already tough enough. We had the steady down pour, heavy enough to turn the mountain side into a 1/2" deep lake... even on a 45 degree slope! We had horizontal rain, like what forced us to seek shelter from the winds on the slide we were laying in right now! We saw all types of rain today... every type actually.
I was with long time friend and hunting companion, Jason Able... "Abe". I was at Jason's wedding, actually played a special part with Matt and Pat. I have known Jason through thick and thin... he is the kind of guy you can bet the mortgage payment on. Tall, even taller than me, handsome as all get out, his Italian back ground helps there, and strong as any college tightend stand out can be! I still remember the time he snatched me up by my groin and my throat... he actually picked me up like that and military pressed my 230lbs over his head before I could grab onto anything... I felt like a rag doll. That is a different hunt, but I bet you get the picture about Abe! The last thing I remember his mother saying to me was "Matt, you have traveled and hunted a lot more than Jason... no, look at me... bring my boy back." I thought it a little dramatic, but I promised her, to make her feel better. I knew right there, I would have stand between a grizzly and Abe.
We had sought shelter on the calm side of a mountain top. We were in a grassy spot in the middle of a rock slide. From our position we could see the basin where several mountains came together and we could glass a long pass that proved to be a great migration area over the past days. I had taken a nice bull and Abe had packed most of it out for me, and I was hoping to return the favor. We had our backs to the rain, wind and miserable weather, as we talked about the 'bou he planned to shoot. He wanted one with his bow in the worst way. We talked about the world's problems and I think we solved some of them while up on that wind swept hill. We finally got tired of the rain, even good conversation gets old, and the miles we logged that morning left us worn out. We rolled to our bellies and dozed off. I don't know how long I slept, maybe only moments, but when I woke up the rain was gone and the sky was beginning to clear. I sat glassing the bare hillsides for any movement. I was shocked to see a pair of nice bulls only a few hundred yards below us, working their way towards our slide. "Jason... Jason... " I spoke up the second time to wake him. "What?" was the sleepy resonse. "You want to shoot a good bull right? Is one of these big enough?" He rolled over and sat up. He was as shocked as I was to see the 2 bulls. They were now less than 200 yards and the course they were on would put them in our laps. Abe grabbed his bow and tightened the release around his wrist.
I followed as we crawled our way behind a roll in the ground. We used this cover to slide into great shooting position. Abe peeked over the rise and the bulls looked as though they would pass out of range. "Give me the gun" he said as he handed me the bow. Jason is a lefty, but my rifle was sighted in, and he can shoot... "OK", I took the bow and he popped open the scope caps. We waited until the bull turned and with a squeeze, Abe had his trophy. The bull traveled down hill for a short distance and dropped amongst the cedars that fill the valleys. We took photos of the bull and started the field dressing... The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I don't know what was watching, but I have no doubt... we were being watched! I stepped back and picked up the rifle. It was only a step away, but right now that was too far! Abe, who was looking the other way as he butchered, stopped and looked around. "It feels like we are being watched!" he whispered. I was now feeling a little out of my elemet. Only hours earlier we had seen a huge grizzly working this valley, I was afraid it was moving towards the smell of fresh caribou steaks and the two crazy hunters creating the smell. Abe loaded the back pack as fast as he could and I put it on. He helped me to my feet and he grabbed the 4 meat sacks that held the rest of the meat. We leaned into the task at hand and didn't stop until we were a couple of hundred yards up hill from the kill site. I pulled out the GPS and found the Home waypoint. We were 1.5 miles from camp and about 600 feet lower in elevation. Abe couldn't hold the meat sacks and his bow, so he started off ahead of me. He was much faster than I was, under the heavy load of antlers and meat. He was going to get back to camp and come back with help to get the last bags. I took a route that was a little longer, but would keep me well away from the alder patches that dotted the hill sides. It was a grueling haul, the 10 plus pounds of rifle didn't help the cause. I finally made it and waited for the guys. Soon we were eating fresh steaks and clebrating another successful afternoon.

This was the bull Jason traveled so far for, a great 340 class bull caribou!

"Tea Sir?" a friendly, mid pitch voice with a serious british accent, said to me through the door. "Yes please" was my quick and very tired response. So started the first morning of my safari in Zimbabwe. I rose and dressed in the dark, I gathered my boots and entered the main room of the lodge. The british accent was connected to a pleasant man. He was of medium build, a little thin, as most young men are before age fills their chest and shoulders. He was handsome, clean shaven and well groomed. He had very bright round eyes and was quick to smile, his white teeth like ivory against his black skin. I would soon learn that Milton was his name. He was, and still is, one of the finest cooks I have ever had the priveledge of being served by. He was hired by Allan, who was putting together his own PH business. They had met in the apprenticeship program a couple of years before. Milton was very articulate, smooth with delivery and had a genuine pleasure for doing his part in the whole safari experience. Milton cooked everything in a bowl shaped depression in the cement landing just outside of the kitchen doorway. The coals were just loosing their bright red look, for the cooler and more controlable gray. Breakfast was wild guinea hen eggs, over lightly, and warthog ham. The ham was cut in thick slabs and a little dry when compared to pen raised swine from back home. The tea was fantastic. It was a British sweet tea, served with milk and sugar. I miss that tea almost as much as mother Africa herself.
Allan joined me at breakfast. He was a young man, in his early twenties. His father had been a great soldier in the wars, and his family was forced to move to South Africa when the political winds changed. He was back in Zimbabwe, after his 2 years of schooling to earn his Professional Hunters License. These individuals study animals, tracking, business, first aid, and a myriad of other information required to run dangerous game safaris. After the schooling they are required to work as a back up PH on several dangerous game hunts and to prove their shooting abilities. Allan had just finished everything required and was now a full fledged PH.
I assembled my bow, arrows and heads, gathered my daily gear and packed a hunting bag. After gathering my archery equipment I got my battery of rifles and ammunition. I chose the Remington 700 in .375 H&H magnum, and I would be shooting Federal Premium ammo. This is the finest factory ammo I have ever used and the Trophy Bonded BearClaw bullet has taken every large game animal on the planet. My second gun was my favorite Remington of all time. I brought my 700 Sendero in 7mm STW. I purchased several custom loads for this gun before I left the states, it is was a sampler pack to find the best load. I paid hundreds of dollars to get a load worked up with Swift A Frame bullets and Trophy Bonded BearClaws. I should have saved my money, I ended up taking Federal Premium. The magicians at Federal have awesome loads with both of my favorite big game bullets and they proved to be as accurate as the best loads from the custom shop. I brought both guns, my bow, optics and GPS, all packed together in a 4 gun safari hard case. This diamond plate aluminum hard case has wheels built in, pull handle on the opposite side and with a few modifications to the inner foam, I got it all transported safely. All of this equipment was loaded in the rangerover and we headed to the target range. The rifles were still sighted in perfectly, I credit Leupold Optics for their top quality equipment. My bow took several shots to get back on. I was having trouble with form and I couldn't group to save my life... archery hunting would have to wait until my jetlag cleared.
The sun was warm and pleasant when we finally got organized. I was as excited as I had ever been. I was aboud to go on my first hunt in AFRICA... I was here, after all of the Peter H Capstick books, "Death in the long grass", "The last ivory hunter", I own his entire series actually. I was finally here! Lets go searching...

I asked my PH to stop the truck, I had to look closer at this. I had to understand how such a thing came to be. There was no explanation, as there were many of them, rows of them, singles, even areas of many close together in a small area. I had traveled to Africa to hunt one summer not too long ago, and we were driving to a recent burn to look for Zebra. I will never get over the feeling I got when I saw the piles of rocks, perched on one another in such precarious ways. There is no way we could do this with today's best equipment and engineers... yet there were thousands of such piles. After talking to the trackers, medicine men and other locals I came to the only logical conclusion that fit everyone's stories. God spent his time building a place much like heaven. He covered this ball of rock with water, he started the perfect blue print for life and he gave it a spin. That perfect blueprint evolved and followed his divine plans, the animals and the fishes came to be, the insects and the birds, the world was beautiful. God soon got bored, perfection can wear on you, you know, so one day in his treks around the new world, he stopped to day dream. During his mental wanderings he started stacking rocks, not for show or special purpose, rather, just to pass the time. Man finally showed himself and God hasn't been bored since! I really don't know the truth, but I sure felt spiritual when I was near them. This is one of those mysterious rock piles, I believe were stacked by the hand of God himself!

I have started a couple of series stories, Turkey hunts, and an Alaska caribou hunt. I am also going to start another about hunts in Africa. This is a rock pile from Zimbabwe, photographed while I was there on safari.

The small birds started their morning salute to the sunrise and an owl hooted it's "Good Night", having hunted all night. The rustling of leaves was sure sign of a mouse or a shrew working down the log we sat against. We could just make out the shadows, that were a doe and her twin fawns, that fed in a clear patch down the valley. The morning was perfect. The big tom was still on his roost, illuminated by the moon, we could see exactly where he was, when we roosted him the night before. He had gobbled over and over last night. We knew he was alone and our confidence was enough to get us out of bed an hour earlier than normal. We quietly crossed the valley, a chore as it was full of tree top piles from the recent logging work. Slipping up the hill to the ridge he was on, we were convinced we would have a short hunt for this monster tom. We set up at the edge of the ridge, just far enough that we could be hidden, but close enough to see him with little movement.
I was with a special man this morning, one of my favorite people in the entire world. He isn't my brother by birth, but he is one in my heart. Jody and I met in college. He was the quiet, very smart, athletic guy with the hair down to the middle of his back. His physical stature is not intimidating, but his quality sure is. We both were young guys involved in sole proprietor businesses. I was more into construction and he was more into lawn and golf course work. A scratch golfer, he has a complete game, and that passion led him to this line of study. Jody is also into volleyball, actually one of the best in our area, voted to the all tournament team at nationals. If he was over 6' tall, he could have tried the pro circuit and done very well. His 6 pack abs and his 40" plus verticle... Thank God he was short, my wife was infatuated with him, but wouldn't date guys shorter than her! She might have been Mrs. Chalupa and I would be...
The tom woke with a resounding gobble. He stood and shook, strethed his wings and gobbled again. We waited as he got excited, egged on by the band of shallow gobbles from down the valley. It sounded like a batch of jakes had roosted near where the deer had been earlier. The tom showed the usual signs of fly down time; fast movements, leaning and almost falling off the limb, constant looking to the ground for a landing patch, he stopped gobbling, so I knew it was time. I motioned to Jody, he raised his gun towards the largest clear spot in front of us and I did a super light fly down. I only used the wing, no calls. He heard it and flew right at us. He landed as we expected, less than 30 yards away! It was perfect, except the hill was higher than we thought. We couldn't see him on the other side of the rise. He hammered a double gobble and held his ground. I whispered a series of calls and he cut me short. He was holding his ground! I told him I was sexy, he held his ground. I told him I was hot, he held his ground. I let out a "please stick your head up for me to see" call and he actually moved a little bit away. We crawled to the top of the ridge and the tom was about 50 yards and strutting slowly away from us. Neither of us wanted to let this bird get away, but we were stuck with no cover to move in. We watched as the big tom met up with a few hens and went up the next hill. I had misjudged the landing zone by about 12 feet and we were out of position. I was sick, and I felt as though I had let Jody down. "Lets go down and see what the Jakes are doing" I suggested. Jody smiled his pleasure with our close call and shook his head in agreement. I led the way to the valley below.
The clearing was beautiful, 50 yards by 30 yards of perfectly manicured grass in the middle of a recently logged timber. A small tractor road led south of us and was the only way to this honey hole. We decided a pile of tree tops was the only cover we could sit in to hunt the area properly. I called softly, a short series to identify anything close. Gobl, Gobl Gobl... the short gobbles of the jakes shot back at us. I quickly staked out the single hen decoy and motioned to Jody to sit at the end of the brush closest to the oncoming turkeys. I moved to the far end to try and pull them past his waiting shotgun. I called a little more aggressively now that we were in position. The jakes were almost in view and their running feet were easily heard in the leaves. I was about to call again when motion behind me caught my eye. I slowly turned and saw a pair of mature toms walking down the length of the pile we were in. I slowly laid over into the larger branches. At 3 yards, the toms were now too close to try and alert Jody, I had to hope he saw them before he shot a jake. Having passed me, laying on my side, the toms were almost even with Jody. I called, a quick set, and the birds Gobbbbllleeeddd. The chorus was so loud that he flinched and I almost laughed. Composure is Jody's stregth, he held himself together and watched as the mob came together. We had 4 jakes and 2 toms in a clearing together. The farthest bird was 20 yards and they were challenging each other for the hen. The noise was fantastic, purrs, putts, clucks, wing slaps and a quick launch onto the closest jake. The dominant bird spurred the smaller bird and they stood upright with their chests touching. The young bird held his ground for a second or two. The mature bird towered over him by several inches and he retreated to the group of his supporters. The toms immediatley did their pose down, one bird at low full strut with tail slightly tilted to one side. The less dominant bird did the tall bird, slightly puffed, "I am cool too" thing, but not enough to challenge the strutter. At 8 yards the birds were quite a sight. The sound of Jodys safety clicking was my warning of the ensuing action. His gun roared and the birds scattered. With a few wing flaps tommy passed to the next hunting adventure. Jody had taken another monster tom. Long beard and thick spurs were further proof to this birds age. I was blessed to have been able to sit back and watch it all unfold. A hunt for the ages, a hunt with Jody Chalupa.

"I will crawl to the right and draw his attention, when he is looking at me, you shoot him" was my brain storm idea as expressed to Matt. I had my frame pack, a huge 6000 cubic inch, taco compression bag, on a Max Freighter Frame with comfort belt, over my shoulders as I crawled away from Matt. I was counting on the bag showing over the slight rise, that was between us and the huge bull caribou, that we were stalking. I crawled to a lower spot and I could see the entire bull. Not only had my plan worked, the 'bou was looking at me, but he was curious enough to be walking my way with peaked interest! The bull had turned broadside to Matt, less than 100 yards now. I watched him raise the rifle, my stainless Remington 700, and take careful aim. The rifle is right handed, for me, but Matt shoots left handed. We both knew at this range, with a gun this accurate, this bull was about to meet our entire hunting party!
The trip had been fantastic, 3 small planes taxied the 6 of us into the wilds of Alaska. We had driven from Cedar Rapids to Minneapolis, where we left the truck and trailer, boarded a plane and flew to our present location... somewhere around Taylor Mountain. I had taken my bull a few days earlier and my good friend Matt Schrantz was about to take his. He had taken time from his sporting goods business to hunt Caribou. We had tried for days to get one with a bow, but the area we hunted was just too open to close the deal. We were now running out of huntable days, and Matt was not going to go home empty handed. He had resolved to take the first "decent" bull. We had located this bull, much better than decent, from the camp. We planned the stalk quickly and I carried the meat pack and the knives. We were both hoping to take this bull.
The stalk had been perfect and I was about to watch my friend take a super bull. The bull staggered at the sound of the rifle, his entire body showing the hit. He attempted to run, but the well placed Swift A Frame had done it's job. Matt was thrilled, it is always good to see him smile. We caped and butchered the bull and loaded as much of the meat into the pack as I dared. I struggled to my feet, not as gracefully as Jason had with my bull, but I got there and we started for home. With the length of the stalk I figured we were on the next mountain, but as I cleared the first small peak, I could see the camp only a few hundred yards away! The winding stalk had brought us back to our base and the bull died less than 1/4 of a mile from our tent! The stalk was fairly short, the shot not too extreme, the bull wouldn't make the books, but this was one of the greatest hunts I have ever been a part of. Matt was exstatic, the bull was beautiful and we were going to eat fresh Caribou back straps on the tundra tonight! To have been able to be part of this hunt was a dream come true. I hope to get back for moose or sheep, because when you travel to Alaska.... Now you are hunting!

The sun felt great on my shoulders as I waded out from the beach. The tide was falling, perhaps half way thru it's cycle. The day was beautiful, light wind, high sky, very minimal wave action, a typical day on Sunset Beach Island. I fished about knee deep in hopes of catching redfish, black drum or any one of countless small fish that search for crabs and blood worms at the waters edge. I was using blood worms, a strange looking worm, it resembles a night crawler with spines down each side. These simple snake like creatures turned out to be a fantastic bait. I caught several 1 to 3 pound fish and after throwing the first few back, I felt like eating a couple. I used the long stringer I had brought from Iowa and I strung up the fish in usual style. I inserted the pointed end through the mouth and out the gill of the first fish, then ran the point back through the ring on the end. This effectively tied the first fish to the cable and the rest of the fish, slid gills to mouth, were held on by the bulk of that first fish. This stringer was a 9 foot long, multistrand aircraft cable that was sealed in heavy vinyl. I had the fish on one end and I tied the other end around my waist. I had 3 or 4 nice black drum on the stringer, floating next to me, as I worked my way deeper, along a sand hump.
Saltwater fishing is very much like freshwater, but the fish are much stronger, swim much faster, and everything in the ocean eats everything else in the ocean! The normal rig for the fishing I was doing is a harness set up. The main harness is a very heavy monofilament, perhaps 100 pound test, that has a clip on the bottom and a swivel at the top. The clip is attached to a weight or sinker and the swivel is attached directly to the line coming from the rod and reel. In between these two anchoring points is a pair of lines that are tied so that they stick out 90 degrees from the main line. The out line is kept stiff by a thin wire that is wrapped around it to prevent bending. The line is loose and can present bait naturally while being held from tangling by the wire. The entire rig is cast into the breaking surf and the line is kept tight. The weight holds the rig in place and the two baits float back and forth in the crashing white water. The lower hook gets most of the bites from the drum and the redfish, which have a lower type of mouth, and the upper hooks get more bites from croakers and saltwater fish more like a bluegill.
I was enjoying fishing for these small edibles, as I waded along a sand hump. This hidden ridge ran parallel to the beach about 15 yards out at low tide. During high tide this had to be under at least 6 more feet of water, by looking at the water line. There is a deep channel that runs between the ridge I was on and the shore, a perfect structure for bait fish trying not to be swept into the ocean and awaiting predators. My stringer was moveing with the wave action, towards the shore and then down and then back toward the shore. My attention was drawn to the stringer by a strange feeling. I still don't know why I stopped and looked at those dead fish, lazily floating in the surf, but as I watched a long dark shape swam by. I was now in tune with the world and I affixed my gaze with purpose. As I watched a big sand shark moved up to look at my lunch! He slowly moved towards them like a bass moves up to take a grasshopper. The protective eyelids shut and the mouth opened! I was amazed and in awe at what was happening about 3 feet from my legs in almost waist deep water! My first reaction was to snag the shark with my rod. I reeled up the rig quickly and realized that there was too much slack line to be able to control the hook. If I was using a crankbait, I could have reeled in the line until the bill of the bait was tight to the top eyelet and I could have reached over and hooked it easily. The floppy hook rig on my line was worthless. The mouth was opening as I went through this, the world slowed and my brain went into overdrive. The rows of teeth grabbed onto the fish! It hung there, chewing and slightly shaking it's head. I grabbed the stringer and pulled up the slack... I was going to pull him in and stick a hand into his gills! I slowly pulled the mass towards me, so as to not pull it free. The head of the shark was at the surface and the eyes were now solid looking, the eyelid was still closed. I held the cable in my left hand and I reached with my right. The shark must still be able to see in this state because as my fingers got close to touching it, the eyes opened wide again!! I realized how big the fish was now, with my fingertips only inches from it's skin. The eyes were easily 10" apart, as the tip of my thumb to the tip of my pinky finger were almost 2" short of touching both eyes! At this point the shark decided my hand wasn't a friendly object and it started to thrash and pull. It turned enough to get its thick tail into the action and it's leverage increased. I could not hold the cable and it was pulled taut against my body weight... it was still tied around my waist! The power of the shark was incredible, every swish of it's tail made me step forward to prevent being pulled off balance. I have no idea how the fish didn't get bitten off, but with only a few pulls I was as deep as I could go and still have enough weight to keep my feet on the sand below. My bouyancy was now becoming a problem, I had no desire to be swimming, into the deeper water no less, while trying to keep my head above water as a shark used me as a cork! I grabbed the cable with both hands, my rod was tucked into my waist band so it stuck straight up over my head, and pulled as hard as I could. I was gambling that the stringer would come free as my head went under water. I could no longer touch the bottom and breath at the same time. I pulled one big time and I was at the surface again. I kicked like crazy to right myself and move towards my sand ridge. My feet hit solid bottom and I worked my way to the beach. I was excited and fierce as I stepped from the water. I pulled my fishing rod from my waist band as the shakes and nausea finally set in. I had to sit down to calm myself. "No one is going to believe that" was my only thought, then I looked at my stringer, that thin cable that had held my lunch just moments before... everyone is going to believe me now!

I don't wear a stringer around my waist anymore while I wade fish, the reason is easily seen!

The rod tip bent slightly, tiny little tugs made the rod wiggle. I was poised, knees bent, arms outstretched, I was in position for just the right pull. I stood there, like a guy who just dropped his keys off of a tall building, stuck in time. The rod wiggled, the rod popped, the rod just started to bend and I sprung into action. I grabbed the handle and swept upward with the rod... nothing, I missed again. I was trying to perfect my hook set on the strangest of spring fish, the sturgeon. I had the best hookup ratio of the 4 of us. We stood along the bank of the Cedar River just below a sand bar. The sun felt good on this chilly spring morning. The grass was turning green, the buds on the trees were starting to grow, soon we would be looking for mushrooms and hunting turkeys. Today we were drowning nightcrawlers in the hopes of catching a batch of prehistoric sand sturgeon.
I found a single aberdeen hook of size 1 to be perfect. I threaded the upper inch or so of the worm on the hook and I left the barb exposed. My secret weapon was the walleye trailer hook I used. I use the type that uses 4" of monofilament line and makes a small 1/16" loop. This loop is dipped into liquid rubber and left to dry, once dry it is tough enough for the main hook to be pushed through past the barb and it stays on! I put this on over the worm and I then let it straighten out. Once it was straight, I hooked one of the 3 hooks on the small treble hook into the body of the crawler. I pinched the worm off about 1/2" below the stinger hook. I was using a 1/8 ounce slip sinker to pull the worm down a little, but not enough to allow the fish to feel too much resistance. I fish this light rig behind normal current brakes usually, but sometimes fishing it down the edges of sand bars can be really good too. I gently set the bait out about 10 or 12 feet and I lighly walk down the sand bar, allowing the current to slowly push the bait. This presentation looks like a worm that was washed into the river, lighly drifting in the current. I slow the bait a little and I pick it up and reset it at the bottom of the swing. I pick up a lot of differet types of fish with this natural system, but the sturgeon was the fish of choice.
The fast tip bent a little and stayed that way. I lifted the base and the quick bend in the rod said one thing "Fish On"! I played the scrappy fish to the shore and started bragging, I was now up by 5 or 6 fish. We were all getting bites, but with out trailer hooks the others were just keeping them fed. We ended up with almost a dozen fish on our best day, but 4 to 6 was the norm. Light line, small hooks, simple equipment and great eating, makes this type of fishing fun for everyone. If you haven't been sturgeon fishing before, you owe it to yourself to try. These 25 to 30" fish are fun to fight, easy to find and simple to fish for. Tired of the boat, the hassles of long runs and lots of hours to find crappie in the spring? Try Strugeon, some unusual spring fishing.

The tom was several yards into the field when I first saw him. Full strut, tail raised and rock solid, he stood as the dominant bird for all to see. The colors of his head were magical, from light blue to vivid red with a pure white cap, against his jet black body. The tips of his barred wing feathers were worn flat, broken from constant contact with the soil. He finally moved, his chest pulsed and he stepped forward one step. I knew the "spit... spit.... drummmmm" that he sounded during those movements. That deep hollow chested sound heard only when the tom is at intimate range. At 100 yards we were too far to actually hear it, but I swear I could FEEL it! We needed to get closer, I wanted this bird, and he was showing me where he was... a fatal mistake proven by the toms of many years before. I looked over my shoulder and again was amazed at the size of my hunting partner for the day.
I was asked to take Brad Lohaus on his first Eastern Turkey hunt, and I already had him in the birds. Even bent at the waist, leaning forward and crouching down, he was the tallest person I have ever hunted with. His 7' plus height and proportional width made him an overwhelming figure. The stats have him at 6'11" and only 230 lbs, but next to my 6'2" and 210lbs, he looked huge... I don't believe the stats! He was dressed from head to toe in original treebark camo, he claimed it was the only pattern on clothes big enough for him. I have to admit, he did look a little silly carrying that childs BB gun... until I got up close to him and realized it was a longer than normal 12 guage, still shorter than his arm!!! Brad played college ball at the University of Iowa and then played ball for many years in the NBA. He was good enough to play with many of the very best of all time. I felt even more insignificant, as he actually got a call from Larry Bird... about tarpon fishing... at Larrys house in Florida, while we were at lunch. I will say this about him, his heart and his generosity are even bigger than his stature, he is a fantastic man.
Brad is a big man, I knew he would not be able to slip into place as I usually do, so we were holding back a little bit. "Our" tom slipped over a slight rise in the field, and we rushed into position against a pair of trees along the fence row. I felt lucky as there was a fallen tree that Brad could lean against, this further broke up his gigantic silouhette. My calling was smooth and quiet, I knew he was just yards away from us. We could have walked right up to the rise, stood straight and shot him if that was the desired goal. Instead, we wanted to romance him, to bring him into us and to let his lust lead him into the gun. I struck the right chord... I got an almost instantaneous reply, from a very unhappy hen! She lit into me with a tone and verbage that would have made a lesser hunter blush! I egged her on with some aggressive challenges of my own and she waded right into the field, ready for a fight. My jaw dropped, I was dumbfounded as a bearded hen came into view at less than 10 yards. Not just bearded, she had a 8" long, thumb thick beard hanging as though from the tom himself! I whispered to Brad "SHOOT HER", bearded birds are legal in the spring, and this was a "once in a lifetime" bird. "Shoot her.... shoooot her", my pleas became a whisper as she got closer. I froze and refused to answer her challenges now. After several minutes of silence, she was content that her rival had been run off, so she followed the tom out into the field.
"I want the tom" was Brad's response... he would learn later of the rarity of the bird he had just passed. The flock worked it's way down a grass fence, South into the corn field. I couldn't believe our fortune! We were on the South end of a huge timber plot and the birds were heading into a flat open series of fields... they had to come back up this fence to get back into the woods. Seldom do turkeys put themselves in a position this perfect. I wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth, so we ran up to the perfect pinch point, set up the decoys and kicked back. I knew the bright sun would warm the birds quickly and they would parade back by us into the protective shade cover of the new spring leaves. We waited a short 10 minutes and the first bird back over the rise was our tom. He saw the decoys, ran right into 15 yards and went back into his strutting pose. I was about to purr to him to get the drumm fired up again when BOOOMMM!
The hunt was complete, we had a great morning, Brad had his tom turkey and I got a hug from the biggest man ever! My head was only up to his shoulders! I was lucky enough to spend some time with a great guy and a passionate outdoors man named Brad Lohaus.

I was hungry, a feeling I don't particulary like. The massive quatity of calories the body burns at this altitude, temperature and activity level is staggering. I had been walking several miles per day, crossing mountains and valleys in search of the perfect ambush location. It was Wednesday morning, I was almost out of pancake mix already, 2000 calories of trail mix per day, wasn't cutting it. I was ready for some protien. My body was used to 5000 or so on a normal day, and this was even more grueling than tearing off roofs, my normal occupation at the time. Today was going to be the day. "Does anyone care if I use my rifle today?" was my question. I was with a group of bowhunting purists, so I thought I should atleast ask. The question, actually more of a defining statement, wasn't up for debat. I was going to harvest a bull today!
We were seeing hundreds to thousands of caribou per day, many were huge bulls that would score close to B&C minimums or better. I had tried for 4 days to take one of these brutes with a bow, each stalk fruitless for all of the effort. We had been hunting in pairs, all of us experienced archers. The terrain, the movement of the animals, and the normal "Iowa" bow set up, were a severly limiting factors and I just couldn't get a good bull inside of 40 yards in the really open ground we were hunting. I left the bow in camp and set out with my rifle. The day would soon prove to be one of my all time favorites.
I was with Lazlo on this day, a great hunter from Colorado. He was a friend of Pat's and soon became a friend of mine. We did the normal routine of glassing, watching the trails that were now clear to us after several days of hunting, and just enjoying the day in the wilds of Alaska. Morning turned to midday and I finally saw what I was looking for. I watched a herd move toward us down the center of a wide clear lane between mountains. I had plenty of time to move to the center of the valley, where I used a large boulder as cover. I anxiously watched as 3 good bulls appeared over the top of the swale. I glassed the three and anounced "The middle one". Lazlo agreed and I laid my rifle on the rock. This was almost too perfect. I actually had a shooting bench to shoot from! The herd passed by about 100yds out, and I waited for a clear shot. I knew the 140 grain Swift A Frame bullet would be more than enough out of my 7mm STW rifle. The bull looked absolutely huge through the Leopold 6.5-20X scope. I made my adjustments, steadied my breathing and started my squeeze. The echo was overwhelming, flowing down the valley and back again. At the sound of the shot, the herd pulled together and stood facing outwards in a rough circle. The wounded bull moved to the center of the group and stood stiff with his head hanging. Moments passed and the group relaxed, obviously convinced the sound was not dangerous. The bulls chest opened again and he went down with another shoulder shot. I was thrilled, a 330" full velvet bull with unbelievable tops... I was overwhelmed. Jason and Matt got to witness the entire hunt from the mountain on the other side of the valley, and they were on the way towards us, before the 2nd shot. We proceeded to cape, quarter and butcher the beautiful animal. We loaded the meat pack as full as we could and helped Jason into the shoulder straps. Jason is big, his days as an all american college tight end, had conditioned his body for jobs like this. With very little help, he rose, and started for camp. The pack I have is good, one of the best actually, with a great suspension system and huge padded belt. I have carried some big loads in this pack before, but Jason had over 1/2 of a full grown caribou, plus the cape, head and antlers on his back at one time!

We took this photo of the pack out, it is one of my all time favorites, the successful hunter doing it the old school way... no motorized vehicle here!
Matt and I packed the remaining meat and we brought the bull back in one trip. I was overwhelmed, the beauty of the day, success in a harvest and help given to the task were fantastic. The evening only got better as we ate fresh caribou steaks cooked with blueberries from the bushes that actually covered the tundra we hunted. Matt had harvested a couple of ptarmagin with his bow and we grilled them up as well. I must admit, sitting around camp, eating like kings with some great friends, looking at the best pair of antlers... in full velvet...I had ever taken, makes this one of the best days I have ever had.

Wow, what a great show. The layout was pretty good, the number of vendors was really good and the people that showed up were fantastic. The archery booth next to us sold several PSE bows, the Great Outdoor Traditions booth next to us, sold lots of camo and St Croix fishing rods. Matt's booth was alway busy, he was very happy with the results! Greg and I had a lot of fun, we sold the canvas print of Top Heavy, and some regular edition prints, we sold several personalized pieces, the ones with mailboxes or road signs that he puts your name on, these pieces always sell. Overall it was a great time and I had a blast.
I didn't see as many Iowa Deer guys at the show as I had hoped, but I did get to meet Lyonsden. What a super guy, sharp, professional and very pleasant to talk with. That guy has taken some big deer! Thanks for stopping in and seeing us!

The banquet was a blast and the house was packed! HS was a top sponsor again, this company is fantastic, not only do they make great products, but they give freely to the sport and all of the conservation organizations. Please use their products, we need to support companies as giving as this one. I sat with Boysen and a pile of other friends, many of whom won items in the raffle drawings. The meal was great, turkey and roast beef, salad and tons of extras. I left very full and happy. I won a loaded HS turkey vest, a pile of turkey calls and some other accessories. I also won a gift cerificate donated by a local butcher shop, which will come in handy this fall. There was a raffle held for the pick of the auction, the man who won chose the framed print of Top Heavy! I was really flattered, it felt really good for a man I have never met, to choose the painting of my deer over anything else in the entire live auction! Everything considered the banquet was a huge success and a really good time. Thanks to all of you that I saw there, and I am sorry the rest of you missed it!

Friday night is here, so the first day of the show is over. We had a blast, the crowd was bigger and friendlier than I expected. Usually it is "tire kickers" and lookers, but our area had a great night. Top Heavy got tons of attention, G.O.T. had a great afternoon selling camo and Under Armor, and the bow shop across the isle sold 3 PSE bows. The people of Cedar Falls are alway friendly and interesting, and tonight just proved that again. I hope to have time to walk the show in the morning, we start at 9:00!

I was barely able to hear Pat over the sounds of the engine. He was pointing down with his face plastered to the window. I looked where he was pointing and I could see the small plane carrying Matt, another good friend on this dream trip. I focused harder on the breath taking scenery. Green tundra covered with a spider web of trails. These trails were the annual migration routes for the millions of caribou that moved through this mountain pass. I could not help but wonder what fish swam beneath the surface of those silver blue lakes. These lakes were spread across the landscape to the horizon line, their very number uncountable. The lakes were replaced with pockets of alders and evergreens as we neared our destination. The hills and knobs grew into ridges and sharp drops, soon we were over rough and rocky terrain. The mountain peaks grew out of nowhere, their snow capped peaks rising from a pallet of greens, grays and browns.

The tundra tires bouncing across the sponge like ground cover bounced me out of my day dream. I could see the blue berry bushes were loaded with ripe berries and I watched as a flock of ptarmagin flushed from our make shift runway. We were deep in the Taylor Mountains of Alaska, we had finally made it. The smaller planes followed us down and we all piled out to unload our gear. The gear was dumped from the belly storage, the back seats and any other cranny we had found, into a pile and the planes reved up and headed back to civilization. I was now very far from anything with Pat, Jason and Matt, a group of very good friends. Camp was made on the top of this rolling mountain, as it lacked a high sharp peak. This would be an easy place to start a stalk in any direction, there was water in a creek at the bottom, and there was a big alder patch for shelter from the wind. We tied down our tents, unpacked our bags and checked our gear. I double tied down the rain fly, I had a feeling that was going to be needed during the next week. Hunters can't hunt the same day they fly... our day was almost over!

The Linn County National Wild Turkey Federation Banquet is this Saturday night at the Longbranch. I have my tickets! The prizes are even better than most years. The guys have worked really hard to make this one of the best in Eastern Iowa, there are so many prizes everyone should win something, the auction is great and most things go for really good prices, this isn't a rich mans meeting, where you feel out of place. The kids are a big part of the evening, unlike most other organizations, this is great for your little ones. I know most hunters don't think we need to worry about the turkey populations anymore, but NWTF is a lot bigger than just Turkeys. Please try and be a part of the NWTF or at least come party with us at the banquet!

I will be in the Bordignon Inc booth with Greg, for most of the show this weekend. He is the wildlife artist that painted "Twilight Encounter", the big deer I harvested in the urban hunt in 2006. This deer is the urban world record with a net of 226 3/8". The full body mount will be on display with prints available at the show. Please stop in and see us, I doubt we will be at any more shows, this might be the last public viewing. Great Outdoor Traditios will be in the double booth next to us, I know Matt has some awesome specials and blow out prices on Under Armor and winter weight camo, please come down and see us.

"I am telling you, this field is the best spot you have ever seen for turkeys" I exclaimed. "This field has never failed me, the birds are always vocal, tons of birds... It will be a slam dunk... Trust Me!" Maybe I had played too many wild cards in a row, the trust me was probably too much. I was trying to convince long time friend Matt Schrantz, that he should let me take him to one of my leases. We were trying to find a place to hunt in the morning, I only had one day to hunt with him, so I wanted it to be good. I kept questioning his ground, he still hadn't killed a bird this year. "Ok, we'll go to your ground, but I am taking my bow!" He really was calling me out. He was throwing all of the cards in the middle and going for broke. "Great, that will make it take atleast an hour" I said sort of cocky. "Anyone can slip into gun range, but with a bow you really have to do it right. Do you have a blind?" I asked. "I will meet you at the gas station and I'll bring my Double Bull".
The morning was planned, a chance to spend some time with a great friend and maybe get a bird. Matt works way too many hours, he is a great father, spending as much time with his children as possible, he is in every sportsmans group you can think of, he is a committee member of most of the groups, he is at every banquet... Matt doesn't get much time to hunt in the spring, so I was nervous. I had to produce. The 4 hours of sleep I finally got were not nearly enough. The anxiety of the hunt left my body feeling "run over by a truck" and my stomach was already in knots. We met, got in my truck and headed to my dream field.
The Dream Field is a 20 acre field surrounded by large nut trees, open pastures and good nesting cover. The river is just south, and a huge bluff is the the northern boundry of the property. The turkeys tend to work up and down the river in this area and this field is the core strutting grounds for dozens of toms and jakes. I called in over a dozen birds in 3 years here. This field produces lots of action. We arrived early, the short walk from the truck warmed us up and we were ready for some gobbling action. The song birds awoke first, as usual, and the coyotes howled... no turkeys. I did a couple of owl hoots... no turkeys. I did a couple of aggressive and exotic owl hoots and I got a pair of nesting owls ticked off, but we heard no turkeys. My nightmares were coming true. This was the first time in 3 years I couldn't get a bird to gobble in this field. We decided to work South towards a tractor road that led into a big open hay field. I was hoping the birds were with hens and already strutting in this field.
We slowly made our way to the dirt 2 track. As we were able to see down the lane, we were greeted with the site of a batch of jakes, all of them coming our way, towards my piece of Turkey Heaven. We quickly stepped back out of the view of the flock. Matt put up the Double Bull. That blind popped up, quick, quiet and perfect. These blinds really are worth the extra money. I set one hen decoy, and we piled into the blind. Matt set up his swivel seat and I dug out the calls. We both started to seduce the youngsters and they fired up quickly as we had hoped. The goal was to get them making noise and attract an old long beard. The jakes passed by, one after the other, I had set the hen on the far side of the blind from the tractor road so they would be looking at her when they rounded the corner. We let the little mob go by and we waited for our Tom. We waited, and waited, and after almost an hour we both started to wonder. "We could be eating breakfast right now" Matt said with a hungry look.
I hit the calls again, loud and sexy. I wanted to let the world know there was a hot lady looking for the first suitor to come calling. Within minutes, a really big jake showed up. Matt carefully got ready and as expected he made it happen when the bird turned broadside. Matt is one of the best bow shots I have ever hunted with, if he gets excited or nervous, it never shows. We raced from the blind and recovered our trophy. Every bow turkey is an accomplishment, and to take one with a friend, in less than 2 hours... I love it when a plan comes together!

I was a young man when I fell in love with a fat little puppy. Her black coat was dirty and she was always on the go. The farmer wasn't fond of her, she had chewed a rubber fuel line and caught the barn on fire. I was freshly moved to Texas and I needed a dog, a man can't chase endless flocks of ducks, geese and cranes with out a good gun or a trustworthy dog. He laughed when I offered to pay for her, puppies were too much work for him anyway, he wanted an old farm dog. I was elated, I had to get this barely weaned little dog cleaned up and retrieving! With a careful bath and some special attention, I soon had the rolly polly puppy following me and responding to her name... "Dog". A name in my life is earned, worked for, lived. She was as simple as I was... a dog for a boy. Soon enough she was retrieving everything in site. I finally decided it was time for something live! I shot a rooster pheasant one afternoon, I tried to just wing it as it rose off the ground. The shot was perfect and the bird dropped right back into the milo field. I quickly learned what a bad decision that was. A 6'2" man chasing a winged rooster through knee high milo, while trying not to kill it, OUT OF SEASON, only yards from a county road, is not a pretty site!!! I managed to catch that old bird and get him into the truck cab. I got the bird home and devised my plan.
I tied a long piece of string to the roosters leg, so he couldn't get away. I turned him loose and got that puppy so excited she smothered him. I would toss him into the air, shoot my 22 pistol and pull on the string. The struggling bird would crash to the ground and the pup would drag it back. This proved great fun for my 3 year old daughter as well! After several drag retrieves, the poor bird was about dead. I picked it up and tossed it without the string. The distance was much greater than before, with a little coaxing, D was able to pick the bird up and carry it back. I was lucky enough to capture a picture of her first real retrieve.

Branta Canadensis Delight, only 14 weeks old here, made retrieving look simple. This was the first of thousands of birds this wonderful dog brought back to me.

The boy was out of breath as he burst thru the door. "I GOT ONE, IT'S HUGE... I GOT MY FIRST RACCOON" The group walked down the fence row towards the back of the farm, father and sons, in retrieval procession. Along the back of the family farm runs a small trickle, a tiny creek that stayed open year round from the tiles and seeps. The boy knew every inch of that creek, it seemed so much bigger then... It was Christmas eve, he had been running his trap line for the entire season, now almost 2 months old. He had finally caught his first animal! The trap line consisted of a single #1 1/2 longspring trap. This trap was found along another creek that summer while fishing for chubs and other small creek fish. The trap was still wired to a log, obviously carried off in a flood. The boy had claimed his prize and carried it the entire way home. The entire summer was spent thinking about the huge piles of fur that would be harvested. The pictures of a cabin wall covered in stretched furs filled the poor boys dreams. That single raccoon, a huge female out of it's den during a warm spell, was the start... His father handed him the .22 rifle, his dream now a reality.

The truck slowed in the early morning darkness, a young boys face was pressed against the passenger side window. His eyes were straining, searching with whole hearted enthusiasm for the sign of something... anything... The truck stopped and the boy lept to the road side and shined his little flashlight over the bank. Nothing, a bank hole set still untouched. This routine repeated itself another 3 times that day, and the next, and the next. At the end of the week, the boy had caught 2 raccoons and a 'possum.

The binoculars, the bird book and the bird feeder were not the present the boy was hoping for... he actually cried when he opened the bag of bird seed. He ran upstairs to his room, running as fast as the tears drained down his face. No erector sets, not an action hero, or even plastic soldiers... he had gotten a book and a bag of corn. Soon a stately figure filled the door. Words of advice, words of possibilities, words of wisdom were spoken. Soon enough the young boy, still vulnerable, crept back to the family... That feeder was set, filled and watched, with in days the young boy was shooting every type of bird imaginable. He would take the birds and lay them neatly in a row, then use the book to identify the beautiful feathered creatures. The bag of corn and the book were showing promise to the young outdoorsman to be. I wonder if the same gift would have been offered, if the giver could look to today, and see what it inspired?

"I GOT ONE, A BUCK, A BIG ONE. GET UP, I CAN'T MOVE IT ANYMORE!" he hissed to his sleeping father. His excitement almost too much to contain, but his respect for his father enough to keep him from yelling. The man, never having hunted deer was amazed. "You really got one?" rubbiing the sleep from his eyes, he spoke of friends, grown men, whom had hunted for deer for years, with out ever getting one. How could this little boy, not old enough to drive, have harvested a buck in only 3 days? The man, seeing the overwhelming excitement, quickly dressed and entered the snowy outside world. The two trudged across the pasture to the edge of the field. It wasn't far from there and they came upon the body of the boys hard work. He had sat for 3 straight days, sunrise to sunset to harvest this deer. The man congratulated his son, still in awe himself. The two pulled the 5 point buck up to the house, it's body pulling easily across the snow. The deer was hung over a garbage can to catch the entrials. It took a considerable amount of time, but the father showed the son how to field dress his first deer. That boy, now a man, has been known to repeat this process in less than a minute, having harvested hundreds of animals since.

He unwrapped the present slowly, partially for fear that it might not be what he believed, and partially because he was engulfed in a new feeling. He had not received a gift of this magnitude, of this much importance to him, in his short life. The bow that lay before him was magical, it gave his immagination a connection to the Zumbo stories, the world opened before him and he heard the calls of animals. He looked again and he saw a Browning Deluxe Nomad, wood riser, laminated limbs, quiver and arrows. The first bow a boy ever gets is a special gift.

"Here son, use this. I bought it a long time ago." The boy was amazed. He was just given a Mossberg 500AB 12 guage pump shotgun. Modified barrel, BB front site, with blue steel and deep colored wood. That gun opened the world of gun hungting to the boy. He shot birds, small game and dozens of deer with that gun. The boy refinished it after years of use started to show on the stock. The boy kept the gun, as he grew into a man, saved for the sons that will soon be big enough. That gun, the only missed by the thieves that broke into the house so many years ago, represents far too much to ever part with, it sits amongst the most improtant possessions the man has.

His father has never hunted deer, bears or any big game, these were not easily found in Buffalo, New York. His mother, a little more rural than dad, was from Detroit, another hard place to find animal adventures. This couple came together long before he was born and decided to test the theory of Nature Vs. Nurture. They wanted to raise this son, one of three, in a rural setting with a tire swing and a creek. They gave him country toys and hunting accessories. They drove him to check his traps, before work each day, to give him another experience. Mother walked with him to hunt for squirrels, pheasants and rabbits, as he was too young to go alone. They showed him to skin, butcher and clean animals, often the first time for themselsves as well. They allowed him to bring skins and dead things into the basement, to bring the smells of mud, work and animals into their very lives. These wonderful parents took the adventurous youth where ever he wanted, allowing him to experience a foriegn type of childhood. He was given encouragement, guidance and taught respect, and the costs was considerable... They sacrificed for this boy, so that he might have a chance at a life far different from their own.

I believe they found the answer they were looking for. That little boy grew to be a man of principle, character and faith. A boy of desire, aged into a man with even more... he grew into a man of success and skill, most of all, he grew into a man who loves his parents. Inspired to be a father, hopefully as pure and perfect as his own, he had children... 4 in all. A man with such deep seeded respect for his mother that he chose a wife with similar character, so his children would be as blessed as he was.

I am often asked how I got into hunting and fishing, was dad a great hunter, was mom's side of the family into fishing or hunting? I always answer "No... my parents didn't hunt, but they sure helped me to be.... ME."

Even at 4 years old, I was in love with the great outdoors, Thanks Mom and Dad.

I am getting geared up for turkey hunting, even with a foot of snow still covering the ground! I have been on a lot of turkey hunts over the past 20 years. I actually guided for several of those years, usually not for money, but for the excitement a first time turkey hunter brings to the field. I have taken men, women, children, couples and even my wife! I will bring out some of the photos from hunts from the past and share them and the stories with you. Some of the hunters were friends, some short term acquaintances, and some celebrities that I haven't seen since. The one thing they all had in common... Taking A Turkey With Yami! I have taken a professional painter, a 7 foot tall NBA player, several businessmen and more. I hope you follow along, each hunt will stress a lesson or little trick that might help with your future hunts!

"Jess, do you hear that?" I asked "What is that?" was her reply. "A lonely tom turkey on that ridge" was my excited answer. I was fishing with KRNA radio personality Jessica Doll (known for her HUGE assets on the morning show) and long time great friend Jody Chalupa on a farm pond in Benton County. As the sun set, a gobbler announced his objection to being alone... over, and over and over. He gobbled until it was too dark to unhook the crappies that we were cathing on every cast. I decided to call the fishing trip a success and think more about that bird. "I am going to kill that bird in the morning" was my answer to the question of the next days plans. "As much as he was sounding off, he is alone. A tom that is alone is easy!" was the last statement about the morning hunt that was unfolding in my mind.
I know the property well, I would have to slip across an open grass field with out cover. Knowing this, I was in that field long before the light of day. Luckily for me, the morning was also cloudy and breezy, with thundershowers expected by mid morning. The point of timber the bird roosted in was typical for farm country in the Midwest. A field edge that slid just far enough down the ridge top to offer a little more acreage, but stayed just high enough to prevent the tractor from sliding into the ditches on either side. The big oak tree the tom roosted in was the largest tree on the point of the ridge, where it finally dropped into a valley. The roost tree had several horizontal branches, a huge truck as protection from big winds, and had easy access to the field where the bird strutted for attention. I was able to set my decoy spread with in 100 yards of the roost before he awoke. I used a decoy spread of 2 hens and a jake this morning. I did this as I knew he would come to the decoys easily, and I wanted the Jake to look like a possible competitor. The jake will help to get the bird to strut and get excited. A tom's head will change colors from red, slate blue to white as he gets more energetic. I knew this would be an easy hunt, so I was hoping to get them best show I could.
The morning finally dawned, the lonely tom didn't gobble. I heard a gobble down the drainage about a half mile... LT didn't gobble. Distant thunder crashed... LT didn't gobble... Did I mess up? Had he blown out during the night? Did I spook him, being so close? I tried a light tree yelp... nothing. My heart was sinking as I tried a louder tree yelp followed by a couple of cuts. GOOOOOBBBBBBBLLLLLLEEEE! He hammered his delight! I was in business and things were looking good. I use a wing from another season to do a mock flydown, when hunting birds on the roost. I did my flydown routine; cutting flydown calls while slapping that wing against my leg, followed by the wing in the air only (believe me, they hear the swishing sound very well, it adds to the realism) like a hen flying,followed by the wing brushing into the sticks and grass on the field edge. This was probably enough, he was so locked onto me already, he was on a string. I finished the sequence with a confident set of anxious yelps and he was hooked! That poor tom let out the longest string of gobbles I have ever heard. He was so excited that he flew down before legal shooting time! I have seen them on the ground early, but he set all of my records by 15 minutes! He landed less than 15 yards from the decoys and put on a show good enough to win an Oscar! I played with him until the lightning brought me back to reality. The rain was closing in much earlier than expected. I put the SP-10 to use and LT got a new fasion accessory, my tag, wrapped around his leg! I called the radio station on the way home, Jess actually put my call on the air, sort of an interesting way to start the day!

This bird came in so early on a very cloudy morning, that it looked like night time for the pictures. I ran for the truck to avoid getting soaked as the thundershowers moved in!

The wind was picking up, holding steady was going to stretch me to the limits of my known ability. A quick look at the flag across the street was the base for a decision. "Almost straight out... 12 to 15 mph. With this round I would say... (He turned the dial in silence) That will be close." I climbed into the sling and I slithered into position, my right knee moving forward as though I was crawling. My hand grip was off. "Over and through, to pull it tight" was his firm and sure advice. I controlled my breathing... "I wish I had more magnification, I miss my 20X Leupold". "Trust me, this is all you need, just practice with a few dry fires" he was sure, steady and confident. After a half dozen practice runs I was confident I could at least shoot the gun, where the bullet went in this wind was unknown to me. A box was handed to me, a small box of loaded ammunition. Some were bullet down and some were bullet up. My questioning glance was met with "Each group is perfectly matched, now shoot, the wind is increasing and it will be hard to group if you keep messing around". I picked three rounds from the same lot and I loaded the gun. Closing the bolt on the Nieseka action was a dream, so smooth and simple. The long bolt handle was a little strange to me, he showed me with a hand gesture the "sniper slap" to open and close the bolt. Not really a slap, but a quick up and down, more simple than a traditional hunting style rifle with it's curved and styled bolt handle. I settled the cross hairs on a 1" circle way down range and I shot a 3 shot group. "Good, now shoot again" and he reached across me and added clicks for elevation. I moved to the next target and the next. "Was that a good shot?" he asked, looking through the Leica spotting scope he said "shoot again, because you twitched funny on the last one". His guidance, adjustments and patience were very clear as we walked the almost 1/2 mile to the farthest target. I found groups at 800 yards, better than I had ever shot before even at only 400 yards. He smiled, impressed I think. "That might be the best rifle I have ever owned" was his only comment.

We went back to the rifles and this time he laid behind his favorite custom rifle. He has fired 1000's of rounds through this gun. He looked quickly at the flag, turned a dial, hesitated, turned another click and took the same position he coached me into earlier. He looked much smoother, his body obviously familiar with this pose. "The bottom left, bottom center and center center dots have been shot at" was my statement as I now looked thru the big lense. I could clearly see the 1" dots at 400 yards and my groups. "Center left" was his reply as he squeezed. He shot again and looked at me for a report. I used my fingers, my middle finger representing the black dot, and my pointer finger was his group placement. He smiled as there was less than the width of another finger between them! He had picked up a rifle, quessed the wind, adjusted the sights and shot a group that was less than an inch from perfect and the entire group could have been covered by a quarter! he moved to longer ranges and proceeded to show me what a skilled shooter can do. I was humbled, I had shot the best I could and he bested me easily.

The difference between a shooter and a rifleman is as large as the F-250 my friend drives. He put these rifles together, every component including the paint, was carefully chosen. He uses Mil Dot scopes, a system still foriegn to me, but simple for him, to judge distance and then hit very small targets at determined extreme distances. He has spent countless hours reloading ammunition, every detail measured and perfected until consistancy is achieved. Cleaning has ideal steps to achieve maximum consistency, loading has desired steps, the level on the scope shows the exact upright hold.... A rifleman knows his rifle, his loads and his ballistics like most of us only know our own name, unconciously! I was amazed and inspired at watching his movements, no wasted motion in set up or shooting. I was a good shot before I spent a couple of hours with my friend, I am a better shot after that time, and I will be a very good shot with his continued help. The true test of someones greatness is in how well he makes those around him... 222, you are the best I have ever met!

She burst into tears, her hands now empty, the wind finally too much for her 8 year old's strength. "DADDY!" was her scream, the tears now dripping down her cheeks. She tried to run, her youth was full of hope. I had been there before, it was lost, beyond my control, soon it would be ripped and ruined and our day would be over. I hesitated a second, something must be done, this can't be. "Here" was my command, a quick tap on my right leg set the stage. With hand extended, fingers tight, I pointed the path. The muscles coiled, she slightly crouched, anxious for the release. "Fetch!" The command, the sound she lived to here. Her body gained speed, the ground slightly tearing as her feet sought grip. Her eyes wide, wild with excitement, yet still with focus. She raced by the little girl standing in bewilderment. The motion so smooth, fluid almost. The sheen of the perfect black hair, almost making her look metalic in the sun. I watched with little hope as her foe skipped and bounced across the mowed field. The speed was too much, she couldn't get to it in time... could she? My hope grew quickly as I watched her gaining, her joy of purpose showing. She was gaining, faster and faster, the distance still not showing in her strides, all out speed is awe inpiring. As she neared the fence I grew nervous, she couldn't possibly slip between the wires at this speed, she would surely get caught on the tiny barbs that kept the cows off the fence. Those tiny barbs sharp enough to pierce the skin and hold. A flash of stiches and blood flashed through my mind... Where was my whistle, she is too far to hear my yell... why did I send her without having my whistle? One blast from that tiny whistle, even at that speed and distance, and she would have abandonded her mission. She would have stopped, turned, and sat, awaiting her next command. A simple hand motion for direction and 2 short tones and she would have been off again, in the direction required. Even at that range she would have laid down, with a single tone, a dropped hand and crouching motion from me. I know this due to years of field hunting together, her ability far beyond even mine. She sensed the fence, the urgency growing, she found a small burst of speed. With a drop of her head, mouth open wide, she grabbed it. Her quarry firmly in her jaws for the ride back to me. The kite was no longer flailing back and forth, barely able to keep itself aloft. With the string taut it was full of the breeze and scrambled for height. The pull that kite must have had was barely noticable, she kept her head straight as she trotted back to me. My daughter laughed with excitement as her toy was returned, the tears now a thing of the past.
D had once again been there to do as asked. She had proven so many times that she was special, this time it was for Korin. She listened to me, but she took the spool of line to the outstrethced hands of a thankful little girl. She waited until Korin had a grasp before letting go, she looked at me and wagged her tail. The pats, rubs and attention D received from that little girl were a reward worth running for. Sometimes, when someone tells you to "go fly a kite" it isn't a bad thing! D would have done anything for me, and I felt the same... there was a time when I would have waded thru 4' deep cow feces to save her... but that is a story yet to be told!

I checked my cameras again tonight, I changed batteries just before leaving for Kansas and I checked them today. I had 700 pics in just a couple of days! Only a Cuddeback would take that many pics and still have 75% battery life! I am noticing that most of my little bucks shed one or both sides over the past 4 days. I still have a couple of decent deer, including a big 7 point that are still wearing. I would bet that the 7 point keeps his the longest. He is the boss, the mean deer of the herd. He has only 1 full tine left, his G2 on the right, the remaining tines are broken off. I have several fight sequences with him as the star, beating up on anyone else around! I believe he will carry due to his higher than normal testosterone levels.
The does are showing pretty well now. I have a couple of big does that must be carrying twins, as they are looking a little thicker than the others. The deer are in good health considering the weather. I think this summer should be a fantastic year for pics, this landowner is going to let me put in almost 2 acres of clover and other food plot items! I will post pics from this spot as the antlers start to grow again!

My day in Kansas was absolutely fantastic. We started the day with a little long range rifle work. The range was fantastic, with targets set at 400, 600 and 800 yards. We started with some 400 yard warm ups. My groups with the custom rifle and ammo were utterly fantastic. This gun is the most accurate rifle I have ever used. We shot 3 round groups in 15 to 17 mph wind with 90 degree affect. Both guns we shot were in .308 caliber and were topped with 2.5-10X Night Force scopes. We moved to 600 yard and then to 800. We adjusted a couple of times to compensate for the wind and I shot groups again. My 800 yard groups were a hint over 2" to just about 3". That's right, sub 3" groups in strong winds at almost 1/2 of a mile!

After lunch we designed a custom rifle package for myself, action, scope, barrel, custom everything. I settled on a 6.5X47, a fantastic little round that should be able to compete with anything to 1000 yards. We picked ballistics, bullet weight and barrel twist... I love this analytical stuff!
Shed hunting was the next order of business. We shed hunted for about 3 hours total and we found 5 sheds. I found a small 5 point side, a 4 point side and a tiny 3 point from a 1 1/2 yr old deer. My partner in this shed hunt found a matched set of 200" gross nontypical sheds. They were perfect, not a rodent chew on either one! We were so lucky, the day could not have gotten any better.

I am excited about what tomorrow will bring!

"Honey, I am going to Kansas this weekend" was all I said. "What hunting season is open in Kansas" was her simple reply. "None, I am going to meet a guy from the site"

That was the start of this trip, a 5 1/2 hour truck ride after a day at work. I packed a couple of days worth of clothes and I jumped into my personal truck. I am writing from my motel room in Kansas! We are very fortunate to have some fantastic guys on this site, men from all walks of life, with varied financial means, with no families and some with 5 kids. We all find a little something that is missing in our lives here. For some of us it is a place to brag a couple of times per year, others like me, are looking for friends and friendships that start with common interests. Most guys are somewhere in between. I have made friends that were already friends of my friends... we never met in normal life, but we met through ID. We now talk regularly and hunt and fish together. I have met guys with real life issues, desires and families just like mine. This weekend will be another chance to meet someone new. Personalities click, bonds are formed and friendships mature, I really like the "regulars" on the site, my bunch of brothers.

I will keep you posted on the endevors of the weekend, we are going to start in the morning with some target shooting, and reloading. If the wind stays down it could get really interesting as we go out to 1000 yds. I will post target pics after lunch! Stay with me, this should get interesting!