Susan, (my wife)

Scott (our grandson) 

Welcome to our home and life. We live on a 20 acre, off-grid homestead in the mountains of northwestern Montana.

We began this life because we wanted to be free of the cash-based economy and the accompanying enslavement to a “steady” job where we were only slightly better than indentured servants of the 1600’s.  We wanted to declare our independence from the grocery store and from food that had been planted in “dead” soil,  nurtured with petroleum based fertilizers, bathed in herbicides, and insecticides, then picked green, injected with artificial coloring and shipped half-way around the world to be sold weeks or months later in the “fresh food” department at our local grocery store!  We especially wanted to give a one-fingered salute to the gas pump and utility companies (we’d already done that with network TV!). 

In short, like a teenager on his eighteenth birthday we wanted to declare our independence.  A person who’s reliant on others for the necessities of life will always be subject to and dependent upon the people and companies who feed, house, and protect him.  Whether it’s the grocery store, the utility company, an employer, or the government.

Compounding our frustration was the simple fact that all of these entities are extremely complex in operation and the break down of even a small part could deprive us (and the U. S.) of necessities for daily existence.  Oil embargoes in the Middle East have left Americans waiting in long lines for rationed (and expensive!) fuel. The irresponsible actions of the government and banking system plunged us into an economic downturn that may take decades to recover from. A large part of our agriculture relies on a steady influx of illegal immigrants for planting, cultivation and harvest.  The government’s response to even moderate emergencies is woefully inadequate.  I shudder to think of how long it would take to react to any wide-scale disaster, terrorist attack or unrest.  The entire system we depend upon for our very existence seems as fragile as a house of cards just waiting to collapse with the first stiff breeze. The truth of the matter is that we don’t have much confidence that the “machinery” of our world is reliable enough to trust with our lives and livelihood.

Not only were we seeking independence we wanted security as well.

We summed it up this way:  "We want to be able to live our life in relative comfort and security without depending on outside resources."

Our adventure began in the last week of July, 2003, when we took possession of our 20 acre homestead in northwestern, Montana.  It hasn't stopped since!    We began with 20 acres of logged-over mountain property and two dilapidated buildings.  Both were in need of a gallon of gasoline and a match but my wife said that she could clean them up (and she did!) so the work began.

This was our kitchen the first month while we cleaned out the cabin shell. 

This is what the cabin looked like on the day we took possession. 

The inside had been trashed by vandals, vagrants and pack rats while it stood empty for six years. 

The roof leaked and the insulation had fallen to the floor.  Vandals had destroyed everything that would break. 

The chinking between the logs had missing sections allowing the mosquitoes easy access so Susan made mosquito netting for our bed using scavenged wedding veil material. The kids slept in backpacking tents set up inside the cabin near the bed.  Boys (2) in one, girls (2) in the other. 

At the time we still had four children at home.  Home was a 16 X 32 foot log cabin that needed a new roof, the walls chinked, the floor replaced, and whole pile of windows installed.  We also needed to evict the current residents … a colony of pack rats.

As we progressed in our cleanup and restoration we began to move inside the cabin.  Here we have most of the windows finished.  The new roofing is on and the new flooring is leaning against the east wall.  You can still see gaps in the chinking in the north wall near the front door. 

Now we've moved the “kitchen” inside.  Susan cooked on either a campfire outside or used a propane, single burner camp stove inside.  Here she's using a Coleman camp oven for baking.  The solar driveway lights stacked against the window on the west wall are used for reading lights by the kids.  It was cheaper than flashlights and safer than oil lamps. 

The neighbors offered some advice that we adhered to:  have all your outside work finished by the end of October.  That gave us about 13 weeks to completely remodel the cabin, cut ten cords of firewood, build a root cellar, and dig the outhouse hole.  It would all have to be done by hand.  I was still working a full-time job and we had no cash reserves.  We put our “town home” up for sale, rolled up our sleeves and went to work.

By the end of October we were snug and warm in our cabin in the woods.  We had ten cords of wood cut and stacked for heat and cooking, no running water (we hauled our drinking water from town seven miles away), an outhouse, a root cellar, no electricity and six of us living in a cabin with 512 square feet of floor space.  We were thrilled!

We have the windows in, roofing on, a new back door in place and now we're ready to put in the wood stove and chimney.  By now we're living in the cabin full time.  We haven't begun cutting wood yet nor have we had time to begin cleaning up outside the cabin. 

The following summer we built a 12X16 foot, 1 ½ story addition for the kids and put a new door in the southeast corner of the original cabin.  We've moved the stove to it's present location in the southeast corner of the cabin.  A few years later (when this photo was taken) we'd increased our solar capability to 565 watts. 

We built a deck on the front later.  About half the lumber used was scavenged from various sources. 

Our first deer harvested at our new location.  This guy was shot near the cabin on the first day of hunting season out first year.  Note the firewood stacked in the background. 

We found ways to overcome obstacles.  We encountered this boulder while digging the hole for the outhouse.  After several unsuccessful attempts to remove it we finally set up a tripod and lever arrangement to lift it out of the hole.  These are the four children who made the move with us. From left to right their names are:  Tristan, Tim, Emily and Becky.  Tim and Becky are Twins.  (That's me in the hole.) 

Emily, Becky and Tristan playing a game of Uno by kerosene lamp light.  We didn't have any electricity the first couple of years. 

It wasn't all work.  This was taken on our way to spend the night at a restored forest fire lookout on top of a mountain.  We could easily see the peaks of Glacier National Park to the east.  At night there was not a single, man-made light visible in any direction and not a sound to be heard except those made by nature or us.   

In the years since we made our move we've learned a lot.  We'd like to share some of that knowledge with the readers of this blog but we're still learning and we want to hear from you as well.  Your comments are always welcome whether they are ways we can do things better, words of encouragement, different ways of looking at life's issues, and even short accounts of your own, similar experiences. Your interaction is greatly desired.

Joy is meant to be shared and burdens are never so heavy as when carried alone.  So please, join with us as we share our lives with you.

Steven Gregersen

Hunting season is just around the corner. While you’re readying your gear, be sure to clean your riflescope, your binoculars, your rangefinder, your camera. And keeping your optics clean on the hunt is critical. A dusty or foggy lens can cloud your views and affect your aim – or spoil a great trophy photo!

LensPen HunterPro kit includes everything you need to keep your optics clean, whether you’re tracking on a dusty trail, or out on the lake at dawn. All designed with a specific job in mind, and all included in a compact nylon carrying case that fits right on your belt.

The Original LensPen and MiniPro II keep your lenses clean, and are easy to use outdoors. Both function the same way: slide out the brush end first and use it to effectively remove all loose dust and dirt from the lens or eyepiece. If fingerprints remain, just take the cap off the other end and the flexible chamois tip – which is impregnated with a carbon compound – is ready to tackle the toughest prints. That carbon compound is similar to the one found in printer’s ink – and the reason why newspapers remain a popular way to clean windows. Use the Original LensPen to clean riflescopes, binoculars and larger cameras; MiniPro II for compact digital cameras and eyepieces. 

 And there’s more. Use MicroKlear, an incredibly soft microfiber cleaning cloth, to clean the housings of riflescopes, binoculars, cameras – any non-lens surfaces that need cleaning. And when you’re back home, just toss it in the washer, and tumble dry. FogKlear offers strong anti-fog protection in a natural fiber cloth – more than 200 anti-fog applicationsper cloth.

Use everything in the HunterPro kit with confidence – whether you are in extreme desert heat or arctic cold – knowing that it can do no damage of any kind to your gear or the environment. LensPen products are RoHS compliant and meet even California’s rigid Proposition 65 standards. And they sure can do a lot of good for your lenses. The HunterPro kit is a hunting necessity, not an accessory.

All this and a LensPen HunterPro kit costs less than $35! It’s available at high quality sports optics outlets.

For more information on LensPen products, go to www.lenspen.com. To see a demonstration, watch the “LensPen Lens Cleaning System” video at www.youtube.com/lenspennews.

This press release is presented without editing for your information. GRIT does not recommend, approve or endorse the products and/or services offered. You should use your own judgment and evaluate products and services carefully before deciding to purchase. 

I wish I had better news on the hunting front, but unfortunately all I was able to harvest were some good views. The upside to that is that, regardless of how much I'd like to sit around a table with all of you and share some fresh venison, it's a lot easier to sit around our computers and let me share the views.

Hope you all enjoy. 

This was at the top of a mountain about 45 minutes from my house. It's called Monte Cristo. It's regularly on the lists of best places in the west to view the fall colors. In this case, it was plum full of hunters on horseback and all the trails were rutted out really bad from it. I opted to only enjoy the views and moved on to another location.

At the next location, where I arrived a little later that afternoon, I immediately came across this doe and a yearling. Look closely, they're hard to spot. The doe's on the right of center and the yearling in on the left of it with it's head down. Hard to see huh? Imagine trying to spot them from 250-350 yards away? That's a common shot range when hunting in the west.

As I got up to the higher elevations, where the bigger bucks opten hide out during the hunt, the ground was covered injust a little bit (4-5 inches) of snow. It made for a beautiful hike!

Part of the area I was hiking/hunting in had been subject to a very very large forrest fire some years back. It was caused by a couple of Boy Scouts..?! Go figure? Makes for dramatic scenery though.

Finally, I made sure to get a video for you to take a look at from the top of the mountain where I was hiking and stalking a few deer. I didn't get them, but the view was almost worth it! This is in the High Uinta Mountain Range at about 10,900 feet elevation.

I'll be trying again this next weekend, but that will be about it for my season this year. Wish me luck!

Best

Paul~

You can reach Paul Gardener by email, or check his personal blog at A posse ad esse. 

"Yep, It's gettin to be dat time o' year... "  ~Da Yoopers.

Sorry, for the cheezy song line, but it's definitely a tradition around our house this time of year. It's hunting time. It's been a couple of years, but this year I decided to put in for a hunting tag that was a little more promising and I managed to draw out for it. So now, rather than hunt for our Rocky Mountain Mule Deer during the typical five day hunt with thousands of other hunters, I get to go out three weeks earlier, with many fewer hunters, during the Elk Season. Guess what else? I not only drew for a deer tag, but for an elk as well. So basically I have a double opportunity to hunt for game this season.

I know there are lots of people that are very much opposed to hunting and simply cannot stand the idea of someone out to take the life of "Bambi". In fact, to be honest, there are a lot of good reasons I think that people can be opposed to hunting, or more to the point I think that there are a lot of reasons for people to be opposed to some hunters. There are those that yell and whoop when they've harvested their animals and then parade them in clear view for all to see on their way home with it. I guess I look at the act of hunting in a little bit different sort of way. I have to admit that when I have taken a buck, it's been a rush; there's a certain satifying feeling that comes with the successful end of a good hunt. I do try to respect the animal though, and respect others that are still on their hunt or that are just out enjoying the woods.  

I haven't talked about it a ton, but there are a lot of ethical reasons I see for a person harvesting their own meats. Whether it is taking the life of a chicken, pig or steer, or harvesting a wild animal during the hunting season I truely believe that if a person is going to eat meat, they should be willing to be a part in all aspects of bringing that animal to the table. There's a personal connection that one gets from actually being a part in that process. From taking it's life, to knowing how it was handled and cared for, to preparing it with care and enjoying it with your family and friends.

Of course, there are a lot of other reason to hunt than just to put meat on the table. It's one of the few occasions in this busy, rush-rush time of ours that we have the chance to just sit... still... and watch. That and the fact that it takes place at one of the best and most beautiful times of the year makes for good times whether animals are found or not.

I thought I'd share a couple of pictures of the kind of country that I'll be hunting in this week:

Not bad huh? With any luck I'll be able to come back next week some time and share some deer photos with you...

Wish me luck!

Paul~

You can reach Paul Gardener by email, or check his personal blog at A posse ad esse. 

My most vivid memories from childhood days spent roaming the farm involve both horses and horsepower. My two older brothers and I had horses to call our own, and a Suzuki Quad-Runner 50 that we shared – oftentimes with two of us perched at the picnic table with a stopwatch, one of Mom’s safety and sanity mechanisms. Those days were the best, and God-willing, one day when I have a family and my own corner of land, my kids will get the chance to enjoy something as much as my brothers and I enjoyed our quad-running ways.

But just like anything, quad-runners and other ATVs can cause problems. David A. Lien recently wrote an editorial that was published in the Duluth News Tribune titled “Overuse of ATVs Threatens Backcountry Hunting.” That link will lead you to the article, only you may have to pay to read it, so I’ll briefly summarize.

Lien, a big-game hunter and lifetime member of the Minnesota Deer Hunters Association and the acting chairman of Minnesota Backcountry Hunters and Anglers, argues for common-sense off-road law enforcement and management practices. This includes limiting the number of public lands that are off-road vehicle accessible. The Department of Natural Resources did just that recently by closing some motorized routes in the Cloquet Valley State Forest, leaving 80 percent of the forest’s routes open to motorized use.

Honestly, it’s nice having motorized access to hunting and fishing grounds; driving out to field dress big game, emergency use, etc. The key is being responsible. On private land, it’s the landowner or a person who the landowner gave permission to (at least it had better be) that is operating with or without an ORV. It’s fairly simple to take the same route, park in a place that doesn’t harm wildlife habitat and responsibly access hunting and fishing lands with little adverse effect.

But on public lands, it’s an entirely different animal. Unlimited ORV access threatens habitat, private land access on surrounding properties (poaching and trespassing and all it encompasses) and fair chase ethics. Also, animals that once had an advantage on rough terrain now are at a disadvantage, and that threatens hunting access. These things combined are a threat to hunting opportunity in general.

I know I’d feel pretty discouraged if I didn’t have access to those public lands in western Kansas that are renowned for bird hunting.

Lien, in one paragraph wrote, “Hunting is more than a form of outdoor recreation. You don’t hear participants of other outdoors pursuits, even the most avid of participants, talking about our skiing heritage, boating heritage, bird-watching heritage, ATV-riding heritage or other heritages the way hunters talk about the hunting heritage. Our hunting heritage is separated from all other outdoor endeavors because hunting requires and imposes ethical standards on its participants.”

Same goes for fishing.

The actions of reckless individuals have heightened awareness nationwide, and 39 states have considered legislation to deal with reckless ORV use. Check your state at Responsible Trails America.

Photo: iStockphoto.com/Vladimir Kolobov

The knives come out again, and handy hubby begins the sharpening ritual. This time the beast to butcher is not an ugly feral pig but a spectacularly graceful deer, maybe the very same one I gaze at often from my office window. I am forced to deal anew with my own hypocrisy and those attitudes and habits born of convenience.

The “cute” animals, why is it so much harder to eat them? Why don’t we consider dogs or horses to be fair game at the table while other cultures do? Why do so many more people eat and enjoy turkey, than say, rabbit? Rabbit meat is delicious, taste kind of like ... chicken.

We don’t have many deer around here, not nearly as many as you would think, and I wonder why that is. I’ve seen more deer grazing in the suburbs of the east coast than I have ever witnessed on the vast acreage and sprawling countryside of all East Texas. Is that because we are over-hunting them? Or because they don’t appreciate sharing their wilderness space with cattle? Or because the coyote take down too many of their young? Or are there just as many of them hidden from sight – necessarily more wary of humans out here than those in the east coast suburbs who know they won’t get shot?

Hours, days, yes, ok, an entire lifetime could go by ruminating over such questions, which always take me back again to why I consider these issues over the plight of the cute deer, but not of the ugly pig?

Once I’ve had enough of such mental flagellation, I relate these thoughts to handy hubby: I know he will put it all into perspective for me. His eyes screw up after my five minute soliloquy where I again repeat maybe I should not eat animals, I am not willing to kill many of them or even see them killed. It is terribly hypocritical, and I should be ashamed that I can live my life in such a way! There’s no logic to eating the ugly animals only, so evidently the only logic is to eat none of them.

The vultures and crows are squawking “die, die, die” as they circle over the deer’s entrails. Handy Hubby listens absent-mindedly while carrying in parts of the carcass. When I am at last done and leave a space for his reply, he cocks his head back over his shoulder, a hind quarter balanced on the other one, and he says, “So because I have no interest, aptitude, will, or sense for growing cucumbers, I better stop eatin’ ’em, it sounds like, and by your kind of logic I have to give up veggies in general?” He LOVES a good broccoli almost as much as he loves a good steak.

Hmmm? Moral issue aside, he does have a point there. Doesn’t he? Well, he at least presented a whole new side to the argument I had never before considered.

Ah, handy hubby, thank God there’s men like you to keep women like me from analyzing ourselves to death.

Hunting season is here. The roar of ATVs and frequent gunshots pierce through the usual buzz of crickets and songs of birds. After midnight, on our deserted dirt road, there is a souped-up pickup moving at a snail’s pace. It pulls into our drive and from the other side of our gate, beams its brights across the lawn. The dog goes bonkers, and I grab the gun, which I was coerced into learning to aim and shoot, though I am still fully aware that any half-skilled hunter has a better chance of hitting me creeping around in the dark, than me hitting him in full flood lights standing stationary in the front lawn.

The truck sits there in the drive for some minutes as I tuck myself behind the door and peer through the blinds, imagining myself as Angelina Jolie in Mr and Mrs. Smith, only minus the mansion and the high-tech security set-up. Out here security means me, a barking black Lab, flood lights, and my little Smith & Wesson. And that makes me think of gun legislation.

What I really want is to be the woman who screams, “We don’t need guns in this world, get rid of ’em all!”

But then I have a reality check when I think how long it would take any emergency vehicle to drive in from the closest town, down the long country road, turn onto the pot-holed dirt “street” we live on, continue for several more miles until they reach our address and jump the gate to run to our front door in order to save me from human attackers or a mad roving boar or two. Good Heavens, I’d have a better chance of survival if I just play dead!

Sounds of the Night

Even out here, as rural as East Texas gets, there is the blowtorch roar of the plane, the distant droning motor of equipment or car, and, the only man-made sound I like, the echoing whistle of the train. You could close your eyes and imagine you are in Thailand, or Corsica, or the French West Indies, or anywhere else where the nighttime sounds that dominate all others are the buzzing of crickets and humming of cicadas. In each of these places it is becoming more and more difficult to keep the motored world from encroaching on the individual’s right not to have modern noise and chaos continually forced upon him.

All this noise and busy-ness, what is so necessary in it that my rights to silence are continually encroached upon? Now, if I want real silence, the kind that nature intended, one that is rich with subtle layers of sound, devoid of roaring motors and blasting shots, I have to purchase a mechanism to go over my ears to manufacture that.

But I digress. What about the gun legislation? I hate guns. I hate hearing them. I hate looking at them. I hate touching them. I hate thinking about them. Above all else, I really despise shooting them. But take away my right to own a gun, and you take away my only peace of mind out here, not to mention one of the last bastions saving me from giving away every single freedom to a modern social system gone nuts, along with any possibility of personal protection not only from madmen, looters, and beasts, but from the not-unheard-of calamity that it might actually be the government itself who wants to seize my life, liberty and property because their power has gone too long unchecked. I am not a conspiracy theorist normally, but I distinctly perceive there to be a continual sweeping of my freedoms away to benefit an ineffectual and hypocritical government, and that my life, liberty and property apparently can be manipulated by a steady succession of unfit, unscrupulous and self-serving officials.

They already tell me what I can grow, how I can medicate myself, how much I need to work, which wars are worthwhile, and which social programs I need to support. Can’t I please, please continue to be allowed the right to at least potentially protect myself against the stupid drunk hunters in my front yard? Or else, in this modern chaotic souped-up world, their rights will forever continue to trump mine. Without a gun, what realistic hope do I have against them? Shall I scream until the coyotes run from the hills to save me, because they can get here a hell of a lot faster than the cops?

I have to get this story over with. I never dislike writing, however, I dislike thinking about the 11-point whitetail deer I shot late last Thursday evening and never recovered, at least not yet.

At least I think it was an 11-point. The previous Sunday I’d been out sitting in a platform stand at GRIT Editor Hank Will’s house, a windy day for that platform stand, when just before the sun went down I heard footsteps coming out of the forest behind me on my right side.

Hiding my face, I turned and eyed a 6-pointer lazily grazing towards my tree. I’d just made up my mind to take him and was thinking about how to get a shot, when he lowered his head and started making a scrape in the earth to lay scent. That noise triggered another noise, slow, deliberate footsteps coming out of the timber. When a large buck caught my eye, I buried my face, tried to turn and prayed for enough daylight.

Once the larger, older, 11-point buck got to about 20 yards, he met the younger buck. They postured for about 3 seconds, and the smaller buck slowly backed off and headed to the timber, no doubt sure about whose area he was on.

If I’d have been a lefty, I’d have had a shot, but by the time the big buck made his own scrape and grazed his way behind me, now swinging to my left, there was not enough light left to see his vitals. I sat back and waited for the deer to leave before crawling out of my stand. It took about an hour, as more does and, judging by sound and the faint white of antlers I could make out, the 6-point came back near my stand. It was an awesome display of wildlife, and I was very thankful to get to observe it. Once it was clear, I stood, gathered my things and climbed down, completely psyched that this place was crawling with deer. It was a great hunt.

Which brings me to Thursday. I’d just finished “Nature’s Hidden Language” (a signs-of-wildlife article for the January/February issue of GRIT) and was headed back out to the woods at about 3:30 in the evening. Once in stand, I had one of those “Nowhere I’d rather be moments” and began glassing the land with my binoculars.

At about 4:30 (sun goes down around 6 now here in Kansas), a single fawn made its way from the timber behind me and walked right under me, emerging in the clearing out in front of where I sit (and most times stand).

Once out in the open, I saw a large doe (presumably the fawn’s mother) jump a fence and head towards it. They had probably 5 seconds alone together when the big buck – I think that same 11-point – jumped over the same fence and headed in towards the doe and fawn, trying to shoo away the fawn. After doing so he took to the trail that heads under my stand, grazing at a pace that seemed rather careless. At 10 yards and heading away, I drew back, praying that the arrow flew true and the deer would die quickly.

At about 20 yards, I steadied on the vitals, the deer was quartered away – a dream shot for a bowhunter – and released the arrow. It thumped him, halfway (up-to-down) on his body and a good three to four inches behind the shoulder, right in the bread basket (it would go forward once inside because of the angle) and, to this day, I still think a good shot.

I’ve never felt a better feeling, a great deer, good shot, now I just had to wait and go get him. After climbing down 30 minutes later and inspecting the impact site, I dialed my brother and other friends and began walking for the truck. “Let him stay the night” seemed to be the consensus, so after talking to Hank I headed home. The reason for not going after him right away was to avoid jumping him up and making him run for miles on adrenaline out of panic. I hoped he’d just go bed down and die a quick death.

At 6 the next morning on not much sleep, at daylight here, I was back out at the site, seeing no arrow but good blood. I’d seen the buck run off with the arrow still lodged, so I figured he would internally bleed until the hemorrhaging from the lung wound would end his life.

Good blood, no deer. I trailed it as far as I could, about 125 yards from impact, and lost blood. Hank has about 125 acres at his place, and I walked each and every one that I could that day, and then looked on some of the neighboring property.

My brother and one of his buddies from back home, both knowing what I was going through, brought up a hunting dog to cover the 60 acres of 6-feet-tall CRP on Hank’s land. They drove 4 hours, roundtrip, to help me recover this deer, which tells you how much they knew this deer meant to me and what awesome friends they are.

I searched Friday sunup to sundown, and never found my buck. Hank said he heard two gun shots at 3 a.m. My only explanation is that he never died or was poached.

And that’s the worst part about the sport I love so much; that’s bowhunting. But that doesn’t make it any easier. I may yet shoot a big buck this season, but I sure did love that buck. I’d seen him a total of three times, each time closer, and in the back of my mind I hope to see him again. I’m still sick over that deer. It sounds awfully romantic, but no creature on God’s green earth loved that deer as much as I did.

I hunted again Saturday morning, which helped, but I’m eager to get back in that same stand, with that same set of woods around me, sort of my way of getting back in the saddle.

On a positive note, my brother who I mentioned earlier – one of my best friends and one of the people who drove four hours for me and my deer – made me feel proud and altogether happy about bowhunting last night when he shot this tall 8-point, which green-scored 132.

Photo second from top: iStockphoto.com/Bruce MacQueen – This is not the deer I saw or shot, it's just to give you an idea.

Bottom photo: courtesy Josh Regan, taken by Adam LaRoche

Any person who’s ever shot at an animal and then undergone the task and responsibility of cleaning and eating that animal takes pride in how they prepare game. If not, that person is purely selfish in their hunting pursuit. I sure take pride in game preparation, and just last night I prepared five dove that we shot this weekend (dove season opened September 1). Here at GRIT, we’re a little under the gun with the November/December magazine deadline looming (it’s a good one too – grassfed beef, DIY cold frame, raising chickens for meat, to name a few), but I had to take a moment today and share one of my game recipes, given to me by a friend and enjoyed by family.

First of all, it’s important to admit the inefficiency with which we (Uncle Fred, brother Josh, Gwen and I) shot the dove. It was flat-out embarrassing and a little expensive. We did do better than a box per bird, but not by a whole lot. Uncle Fred didn’t shoot nearly as many times as we did, and admittedly got a kick out of watching Josh and I blast away, cuss, then throw our hats to the ground from a distance.

With dove hunting, they fly so fast that you have to lead them a little more than you would a duck, goose or pheasant. Dove are quick and come upon you fast. So I have no doubt early-season mistakes played a role in our inability to drop more birds.

Also, it occurred to us that 8 shot might have been a little light. I know I winged several birds where feathers would fly and they’d start to dive only to flutter their wings enough to make it to a distant hedgerow. I couldn’t help but wonder if 7 or, more likely in my mind, 7 ½ shot would have done any better. But, you should never put yourself in a position to blame your equipment, so I’ll just admit we stunk and get on with how I prepared the breasts of this tasty bird.

A friend of my family from Texas, Luke, let us in on this beauty of a dove recipe.

Really, all you need is some jalapenos (for five breasts I used one whole, fresh pepper), Cajun seasoning, bacon and two toothpicks for every dove breast. Remember, when you are cleaning the breasts to begin preparation, try and pick out all the birdshot.

On each breast, cut a slit down the side of it. Cut right in the middle of each side too, so that you have meat-jalapeno-meat rather than meat-jalapeno-bone.

Stuff the jalapenos in the gap, and sprinkle the dove breasts with as much Cajun seasoning as you think appropriate. This may take some trial and error, but this is how I did mine and liked it.

Now, wrap each breast with a piece of bacon, and secure the bacon in place with a tooth pick stuck horizontally through each side. You can stick it any way you want it, actually, so long as the bacon and jalapenos stay in place. The bacon cooks some extra fat into an otherwise very lean meat, and it holds it all in place, obviously.

Throw it on the charcoal grill, and slow cook it until it looks something like this.

I threw some corn on the cob in foil on the grill as well, and those two, along with Gwen’s pesto pasta salad and a green salad made a meal to be proud of.

Hunting is about a lot of things, camaraderie and enjoying the outdoors and securing your own tasty food, and I got all three with this experience.

And Jean and Jenn (GRIT associate editors and a K-State Wildcat and Nebraska Cornhusker, respectively), this is just to show you what a winner looks like (look in near background).

Anyone know any heirloom or personal secrets to better prepare dove or other game? 

Live dove photo (second from top): iStockphoto.com/Steve Byland

One of my very favorite books is Ernest Hemingway’s Green Hills of Africa, a story in which Hemingway chronicles a hunting safari in Africa and uses the story to illustrate his love of, and opinions about, hunting, nature, writing and life in general. Big game hunting is of another realm in outdoor pursuits, and while I’m perfectly content chasing whitetail deer in the heart of America, stories of hunting things like lions in places like the Kalahari Desert in South Africa do get my blood pumping.

While looking at hunting stories over the weekend, I ran across an Outdoor Life story, “Bowhunting Africa's Killer Cats,” that blew me away.

In it, the author is hunting lion in Africa, with a bow. I read a lot of hunting stories, and hunting big cats with a bow borders on insanity.

To summarize, the author is using a pack of dogs, which chase and apparently bother the lion. According to the story, the lion will initially run from a pack of dogs, until it has had enough. When that encounter takes place, the lion is so distracted by the pack of dogs, the hunter is able to get in bow range.

In this case, which is a fascinating story, the author sinks an arrow into the lion’s heart from 10 yards, but the lion doesn’t immediately die. It turned on him and as it approached, one of the dogs, a Jack Russell-hound mix named Speck, lunged and momentarily occupied the lion – in a courageous and honorable, yet fatal, way – giving the hunter enough time to notch a second arrow and send it into the lion’s vitals.

The author then goes on to talk about a few others of his big cat hunting experiences. To help you avoid confusion, the “Following the Hounds” section is repeated in the Outdoor Life online version.

I can’t imagine hunting in this way. I know it’s incredibly expensive, but it would be a true test. Your aim would have to be true and your nerves steady.

My sophomore year of college, while writing the recreation beat of The University Daily Kansan (the University of Kansas’ student newspaper), I came upon a story of a student who had bowhunted black bear in Idaho. I thought that was remarkable; there is something to be said for hunting an animal that presents a threat to you. Hunting whitetails out of a tree, the challenge isn’t so much about survival as it’s about mastering techniques that allow you to overcome far superior senses and instinct that deer possess.

But cats are a different thing all-together. The speed and tenacity they would attack with, especially in a situation where it’s wounded and confronted, is unmatched compared with other wildlife. And to not have one of the guides holding a rifle, standing behind you – this author and his group had nothing – that’s asking for it (the test), alright. This guy did something I admire but could not do at this point in my life. He asked for it.

Venison Chili Trial One went over well last night. It’s hard to say if it was more the quality of the meat or the mixture of ingredients I used, but the combination of the two made some dang-good chili. I do know this: Even though I didn’t shoot a big, old buck this year, last night’s meal – and today’s lunch, actually – made me very thankful for doe meat in the freezer.

I’d planned on using a Southern Venison Chili recipe, but once I got into the grocery store, the amount of green pepper – it calls for one large green bell pepper, cut in strips – and the inclusion of 2 tablespoons of sugar kind of turned me off to it.

So I kind of combined that recipe with another one to arrive at the one below. The only problem is, I estimate and add a little of this, a little of that when I cook – no matter my intention – taste as I go and make adjustments, so this is only my best guess as to what was in that chili.

The Amateur’s Venison Chili

1 ½ pounds ground venison
½ large white onion, diced
½ large green bell pepper, diced
2 tablespoons cumin seed spice
3 tablespoons chili powder
8 ounces tomato sauce (I went with the Kroger brand, inexpensive, and already peeled and in juice – “Chili Ready”)
8 ounces water
½ cup light-red kidney beans
½ cup ketchup

Now bear with me.

First, you obviously brown the meat.

You can sauté the onion and green pepper while you do this, but mine turned out tender and cooked enough in the end without doing so. The reason I didn’t is because I forgot – kind of a shaky start – and was in too big of a hurry to see how much grease the meat would make. It was very lean ground meat … just what I’d hoped for. After I diced the onion and green pepper – I didn’t have a knife for dicing so I was using my skinning knife that I hadn’t used since the GRIT sharpening experience – I added it to the halfway-browned venison.

Sometimes I feel like I get into some intense situations when I’m cooking.

After the meat had completely browned, I added the cumin spice and chili powder. Then I emptied tomato sauce and water in, added the kidney beans and hoped for the best (i.e., hoped the vegetables would cook to tender). On medium heat, I let the mixture simmer for 1 hour, tasted it, added some ketchup and somehow it turned out really good. Gwendolyn Marie did say she snuck in some more of the spices.

The whole thing was rather fun, despite my methods.

I’ve got plenty more meat, so the next venison-cooking experience for me will either be another chili recipe, or Lori’s homemade Summer Sausage recipe. Her recipe can be found at the bottom of this blog post. I’ll let you know how that one goes.

Anybody else this hectic in the kitchen? I feel like I’m in the weeds most times.

Bottom photo by Gwen Salmon.

Now that late doe season is over, and bow hunting season all together has effectively come to a close, stories pop up and hunters’ imaginations tend to run crazy. During the season, almost two months ago, I was emailed a photo of a man from Baldwin, Kansas, who by his own account was headed to pick up his son for an evening hunt when he happened upon one of the biggest and oldest-looking deer I’ve ever seen.

Since Baldwin is close to Lawrence, where I live – it’s true, I’m an urbanite trying to return to the country – this story was more than any of my friends could believe; even friends who’ve never hunted.

The story finally ran in the Lawrence Journal-World seemingly a good two weeks after word was out.

In two weeks, as is typical with hunting stories, Bambi could reach full maturity and be a Pope & Young buck.

In this case, the picture doesn’t lie and, depending on how the rack shrinks (or shrunk, by now), this deer could make the record books.

To me and my friends, though, it brought up age determination in whitetails.

Part of it is looks. Gray faces and the way a mature buck’s neck connects with the sternum – bucks at less than full maturity will have a noticeable bump where the neck hasn’t fully grown into the sternum; mature bucks will have no such bump – can give you an estimate that, for me, I trust about as good as a hunch. But spike bucks have never been on my radar, and once you’re in a stand the end-all, be-all is the size of the rack.

I have hunted on my cousin’s ground now for a few years, and since he's one of the Buckmen, of Buck Commander (Adam), he often describes deer that are off limits, either because they are still young despite the size of their rack, or because he wants the hunt on which those deer are taken to be recorded, possibly for a Buck Commander DVD.

That’s understandable, and I’m just always extremely thankful for the hunt.

Anyway, age determination in whitetail deer is one thing at which I’d like to improve. Finally, Wildlife Analytical Laboratories has formed www.DeerAge.com to help people determine the age of deer.

The only problem with this is their process offers little in the way of determining age before you put an arrow into the vitals.

Their method uses something called forensic cementum annuli aging, and they claim it is one of the most accurate ways to determine exact age. The process works a lot like determining the age of a tree by counting the rings in the trunk; wildlife teeth can be stained, and different layers of growth form annually, so these folks are able to determine exact age.

What that could do in the way of whitetail age determination is allow hunters to shoot a deer, send them the proper teeth – front two center incisors – have them age it, and learn by a sort of trial and error method. The cost of doing this is $19.95 for the kit you take into the field, and then anywhere from $19.95 to $49.95, depending on the package, for the test results. Also, when getting a deer mounted, I think it would be cool to have an age certificate hanging beside the mount. They’ll send you that for $15. All packages do take over a month to reach you.

Of course, I just need to get that mount first. In what limited time I did have on weekends this hunting season, I managed a doe, which I was thankful for. But I wouldn't classify my season as a success. Like others, I still want that huge, ancient buck that has roamed the forest and managed to survive for 4½ or more years. Or maybe I just want to be tested more than anything else, to have an old, experienced deer right on me, with the chance to screw it up.

A little over a month ago, the editorial team here at GRIT was engaged in a fairly spirited debate – they usually are spirited in my experience – regarding the proper manner in which knives are sharpened.

The discussion stemmed from one of the pieces in the January/February issue of GRIT, entitled, “How to Have the Sharpest Knife in Your Drawer,” written by Tom Larson.

Although a couple of us had sharpened knives before, the difficulty arose with trying to craft the words and sentences so people would know exactly what was being done, especially since being right and left-handed plays a big part in this skill.

This led us all to agree – after four of us editors spent a considerable amount of time sitting in a circle with props, sharpening plastic spoons and such on our personalized bench stones (our hands) – that the package for our online edition of the story should include a video.

The need to sharpen my skinning knife was imminent, so the timing couldn’t have been better for me, and I set about trying to acquire a bench stone that would sharpen a skinning knife.

I sprung for it last year and bought myself a new Gerber knife since I’d always used a grinder to sharpen knives. Come to find out, sharpening with a hand stone, and even a strop, is much better than grinding. Grinding your knives can overheat and damage the temper of the steel, and knives once able to shave hair off your arm are rendered dull. The worst thing that can happen to your knife through grinding is for the blade to become curved in places, making it completely ineffective. I was ready to try manually sharpening my blades.

First on my list in setting out to find a bench stone was www.sharpeningsupplies.com, and those folks didn’t disappoint. I was immediately attracted to a very cool-looking Hard Black Arkansas Stone (Model HB376). It came in a wooden box and is beautiful to look at, plus the stone is a hard black Arkansas stone so it’s for achieving the sharpest of edges.

But after talking with SharpeningSupplies.com Manager/Owner John Carmona, he urged me to also consider a combination stone, since he worried that the hard black stone was so fine it’d be tough to employ when dealing with extremely dull knives. He was absolutely right.

Within two business days, I not only had the Hard Black Arkansas Stone in Wooden Box but also the Norton Combination India Sharpening Kit, which includes a combination stone (this one was 8-by-2-by-1 inches), sharpening stone oil, and a black case (Norton IM50 Case-Black) that sits on four little rubber stoppers so you don’t have to hold the case in place when sharpening.

The case is more useful than one might think, since with it you’re allowed to sharpen without using a hand to hold the case in place – very important when trying to keep your extra hand out of the way and your fingers unharmed.

Come to find out, the hard black stone is great to use, but I could have gotten away with just the combination stone. I wouldn’t want to now though, since the hard black stone provides such fine, smooth sharpening that your knife truly will take hair off your arm like never before. I was sharpening last night to the point that I was out of knives and all my blades looked and cut perfectly, but I was so pleased with myself I couldn’t put the stones away.

In the future, after dealing with hides, I will turn to the coarse side of the combination stone (black side), then the finer side (red) before putting the finishing touches on my Gerber with the Hard Black Arkansas Stone. All three made my once-dull knife look and cut just like new once again.

I can only imagine how useful the stones will be when I resharpen blades for filleting fish, an experience that only goes as smoothly as your blade cuts.

The feeling I get when heading out into the woods before the sun has risen is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I feel a combination of anticipation, nervousness, hope, and usually a little bit of fatigue, since it’s right around 5:30 in the morning when I’m heading out to my stand.

For a hunter going out in the morning or evening, anything can happen. It could be the hunt you’ve been waiting your whole life for, or you could fall out of a tree (or some other unfortunate accident could befall you) and wreck your whole hunting career.

What shouldn’t change, though, is that you spend every minute out in the wilderness observing. One of my favorite things to do when I’m not seeing deer and allowing my mind to wander is to watch the squirrels, a habit I began because they trigger noise all through the forest, noise that can initially be mistaken for animals of prey.

While sitting out there, I try to be still enough that either a squirrel or bird perches on some part of my body. It hasn’t happened yet, but I’ve always thought that if that happens I’m doing everything correctly as far as my tactics, behavior and movement in the tree, or rather the lack thereof.

Anyway, I saw a blog this morning about the natural occurrence of frost flowers during this time of year. I’d always seen frost flowers and wondered how they are created.

As Patsy Bell Hobson explains, frost flowers only occur when temperatures fall to freezing before the ground has become frozen for the winter. The whole occurrence depends on water still moving up through the plant while sap freezes and makes a crack in the stem, allowing the water moving through the stem to slowly seep out of the crack (capillary action) and form very thin, petal-looking ice formations. She has several beautiful photos in that blog entry, and it was cool to read about what I’ve seen so many times, and why it was happening.

But this got me thinking. What else do I see out there while I’m sitting alone that I would miss if I couldn’t hunt?

One thing, for sure, is the attainable proximity with squirrels and birds that I can’t get in any other way. I seem to see the same squirrels each time out, each recognizable by size and distinguishing marks. Subconsciously even, I look for the squirrels to be in their respective trees and wonder about them when they’re not in the neighborhood.

Subtle changes in behavior of the squirrels also can make you privy to something approaching from the rear, although I’d rather see an approaching deer before any of my squirrel pals do the same – that way I’m in position to draw a bow and send an arrow if a shooter shows.

Icicles are another natural beauty in the wilderness--although they can be dangerous and looking directly up in search of them is not something you want to do, ever.

Watching animals behave is something I love doing anytime, but the occurrence of frost flowers is another cool phenomenon not all that many people get to witness. Yet another reason I’m thankful for being able to sit in a tree in the cold, watching and anticipating …

Good things come to those who wait.

At least that’s been my experience in most of my hunting and fishing pursuits, and I’m banking on that same notion proving true this deer season.

Since opening day, I’ve been out in the woods a total of about 25 hours sitting in the woods. That doesn’t include work put in ahead of season in preparation for the season: scouting, hanging stands, making sure my bow was zeroed in and, honestly, just driving around with binoculars dreaming.

So far, it’s been an abnormally warm early bow season, and hopefully the warm weather won’t last much longer. Either way, people all over are taking huge deer, and each email that I get from my brother and friends just makes me that much more anxious for the weekends.

What I do feel good about is I’ve seen the buck I’m hunting. About three weeks back, walking into the woods, I saw both a scrape on the edge of a soybean field I’m hunting on, about 70 yards from my stand, and a bedding area just in the woods about 20 yards from the scrape – very encouraging. Weekend before last, I saw an old-looking, 8-point typical come out and check the scrape before going out on the beans.

With a rifle this deer is hanging on my wall right now. But, that’s why bow hunting is so much better. Before I have a shot at this buck, I’ll know if he has any stubs on his rack and I’ll know exactly how many years old he is. And hopefully he won’t know what I smell like.

Maybe the allure of the sport can best be described by a story involving three brothers unrelated to myself.

Three or four weeks ago, my brother emailed me this story. Here’s the picture of that buck.

The story of the brothers – from Marquette, Kansas – began in 2005, when they spotted him as a 2-year-old buck measuring around 120 inches. Since that time he grew to a 160-inch buck last year and this year he’s expected to be about a 185, after grossing at 200 7/8 before the mandatory 60-day antler drying period required by the bow hunting record club, Pope & Young.

Each year they scouted him with trail cams, never being able to get a good look at the monster since he was wise enough to avoid many of the game trails used by other deer and also because he was largely nocturnal. But hours spent in stands and blinds gave them glimpses, and sometime around October 29 of this year, Scott White rushed home from work, showered and went to his stand. That evening “Big Nine,” as they called him, came rustling through the branches and he got his shot, which he didn’t miss. Turns out he was “Big 11” by this date.

 My immediate reply to my brother expressed how awesome I thought it was that this set of brothers  hunted the same buck for about four years. They scouted it every year, watched it grow and knew every time they sat in the woods this deer was lingering. My brothers reply, parallel to mine, was something like, “Those are the kind of stories you like to hear about. They deserved it.”

Then, a couple of weeks later, an older brother of Scott’s shot another trophy. Simply put, time in the woods always pays off.

Or, something like my mom’s bad luck turning good last Thursday can get you there by way of accident. On her way to work, mom hit a doe, a common occurrence all over Kansas, given the deer population. Thank goodness she was alright first and foremost. Then in good, old-fashioned rural resourcefulness, the sheriff who showed up on the scene gave mom a tag, and she had the deer processed.

Her words to me? “Caleb, I got mine, where’s yours?!” I can’t wait to eat a portion of that 30 pounds of summer sausage, and maybe listen to how my hunting methods are flawed.

To any of you readers who may have already filled your tags, email me any pictures you have (cregan@ogdenpubs.com). It may make me long for the forest, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. And I’d love to see the fruits of your labor.

When I was a child, it was a rare occurrence for someone to see a black bear around these parts. If one was spotted, it didn’t take long for the word to spread! Things have really changed since then. Now they have become a common sight, and in some instances, a real problem!

Our relationship with the bears started about 8 years ago, when we built our home. We were getting ready to lay up our basement wall. We had block, and sand delivered, and we got bags of mortar and a cement mixer to do the job. We did all the work ourselves. I am very fortunate to have a dad and uncles who used to be mason contractors! The day after it was delivered, my husband found someone had been playing in the sand. He was going to yell at the kids for knocking the sand down and spreading it out all over the place when he noticed the paw prints in it. It turns out it was not “someone,” but “something” playing in the sand. You could see where a bear had stood and rolled in the sand. It was also clear where the bear walked away, with the sand falling out of its long black fur.

That was the beginning of our black bear encounters. Since then, it seems the population has steadily increased. We’ve had bears take down our bird feeders numerous times, pull bird houses down, get into the garbage, and even push off the heavy cement lid that covers our septic tank. I have no idea why! They’ve also overturned stones that I use for landscaping around my flowerbeds, obviously looking for grubs and bugs underneath.

Although all these things have been a nuisance, and there is some cost in replacing bird feeders, we didn’t get terribly upset. It was cool to see them now and then, and me being me, I love the photo opportunities! Of course, most of the time the bears seem to show up at dusk, in low light conditions, making it very difficult to get clear photos. Two years ago we had six different bears visiting out place. There was a mother with three cubs, and two single bears that would visit at different times.  

Recently though, especially in the past year, things have gotten worse. The population seems to have jumped again, and the bears are now causing some serious problems for people. Many people in the area have had animals killed by bear, mostly rabbits and chickens. A neighbor over the hill had his chicken house raided, and all his chickens killed by a huge black bear. My friend, who is his neighbor, had to chase the same bear away from her chicken house many times. Fearing it would come back at night, or when they weren’t home to chase it away, they put electric fence around the building to try and deter it. So far this has worked for them. My uncle, who lives right down the road from them, has had his bird feeders destroyed many times. He also raises rabbits, and fears the bear will get into his barn sometime.

Another area resident had a bear break into his horse barn, after the horse feed. He had the barn locked up, but it broke in anyway. It didn’t hurt the horses, but they were so panicked at the presence of the bear in the barn, they broke out of the fence to get away.

Our neighbor down the road raises whitetail deer, and he has also been having trouble with a bear. I could go on and on. Many of these people have called the game commission, but have been basically told there is nothing that can be done, and that they should get a bear license.

I do hope many people get their bear tags this year. The population needs to be brought under control. My husband was fortunate to harvest a bear two years ago. When we processed the meat, we made steaks, roasts, hamburger, and we even made some jerky. We liked all of it. I also rendered the fat from the bear, and it was the best lard I have ever gotten! We used it to make suet for the birds, but I am sure it would have made great homemade soap too.

I have my suspicions that some people in the area may be feeding the bears. This is very dangerous and can cause some real problems. The bears learn to associate humans with food. They can become accustomed to people, and no longer fear them.

I had a small bear come walking up our drive one day. It was just nosing around, not really causing any problems. Of course I immediately went for my camera. I slipped quietly out onto the porch so I could get some clear shots. The bear was about 30 yards from me. It saw me, but did not get excited. In fact, it didn’t even seem to care that I was there. I had my telephoto lens on my camera, and I was snapping away. The bear had started to work its way towards me. I suddenly noticed that I could no longer get the whole bear in the frame anymore, and when I looked up from the camera, the bear was now ten feet from me! I don’t get too worried about the bears, they will usually run from people, but this one I realized, was actually walking to me. I left it go, till it turned as if to actually come up the steps of the porch with me, about six feet away. Then I yelled at it. It stopped walking and just looked at me. I yelled again, and it turned and made a couple small bounds to the side. It looked over its shoulder at me again, and then just turned and leisurely walked away.

I believe that bear was fed by people at some point. It was going to come right up onto the porch with me because it thought I had food. People might think it is cool to feed a bear like this one, but what happens when that bear grows up to be a 500 pounder with no fear of humans? I have a great respect for nature and wildlife, but I also know that in order for people and animals to co-exist, their population must be kept under control, and we must remember that these are wild animals and not pets.

Now is the time of year that I would normally be filling my bird feeders and suet feeders for all my feathered friends. I have decided to wait a bit longer this year. My husband and I now have chickens and ducks that range freely on our property. I am worried if I fill the feeders, it will be like inviting the bear for a lovely appetizer, then inviting them to the main course of chicken and duck just around the corner of the house! So far, we haven’t had any incidents of the bear bothering our poultry, but I don’t want to invite trouble!

Once the bears go into hibernation, we should be able to set out a banquet that the birds and squirrels can enjoy and have all to themselves!

Two weeks ago, I took part in the best bachelor party with which I’ve ever been involved. Two weeks before my brother Josh’s wedding – set for this Saturday, November 1 – my brothers and cousins (except for our older brother Danny) went down to T&C Wildlife L.L.C. in Arcadia, Kansas, and took part in a hunt modeled after what I’ve heard referred to as a European pheasant shoot.

First of all, I think it speaks volumes, and I’m very proud to be a part of a family that would choose to go on a hunt for a bachelor party. Complete credit goes to Adam, my cousin and brother’s best man, for organizing the event. It couldn’t have been better thought out.

The only regrettable thing that happened over that weekend was my brother Danny getting stranded eight hours from home, along the Texas-Oklahoma border, and not making it back. That was out of anyone’s control, though, and as crappy as that was for Danny and all of us who hadn’t seen him for quite some time, the chance to be together will occur again this weekend at the ceremony.

But back to the actual hunt. I think anyone, before arriving at T&C, probably had the preconception – as I did – that this would be a sort of Disneyland hunt. When you hear about a hunt like this, where purchased birds are released into the air and let fly among more than 20 shooters strategically placed encircling the point at which the birds are released, it’s kind of a turnoff.

It’s even more of a misrepresentation to call T&C’s style a European pheasant shoot, because at Europe shoots, birds are released from a tower, which conjures up an even more Disneyland-like perception. T&C simply used trucks to position cages on a hill in the middle of the blinds to release birds.

It doesn’t sound like hunting, more like just shooting. But I’m here to tell you we had a blast. Adam hunts all over the world, my brother Josh hunts a lot as well, and most of us had hunted wild pheasant and game birds in western Kansas. No doubt about it, the challenge in the wild is part of the allure of any hunt. But this was the best way to get people – like my cousin Andy, who never hunts but made the best shot I saw all day – who don’t have much experience or will to hunt out in the wild. Heck, all we really had to do was walk from station to station and wait for the whistle to blow signaling the beginning of another round of birds and blasting.

The folks at T&C said they let loose around 350 pheasant, 100 ducks and 50 partridge. I would venture to say of those birds let loose, far less than half escaped, although the number of fired shots per harvested bird had to have hovered somewhere around five blasts per bird.

It was one of the most fun experiences of my hunting life, and admittedly part of the appeal is the ease with which you can do this.

And I wouldn’t call it unethical. Maybe it’s not the most honorable way of doing things, but after all the shooting was over, the birds were gathered by dogs, and cleaned and packaged back at the T&C lodge.

Our afternoon was spent watching football, shooting skeet at the lodge’s skeet range, and laughing at, and along with, our closest friends in the world. To my cousins and brothers I say thanks, just for being the type of people who would gather in this setting (and thanks to T&C Wildlife L.L.C.), rather than in a casino or some other, more risqué setting typically thought of for a bachelor party.

For the first time of this early whitetail bow season, I was able to spend both morning and night sitting in the woods Sunday, awaiting that monster buck I’ve dreamt about since the end of last year’s season.

Even though the mosquitoes made it uncomfortable at times, my mind is now totally consumed with sitting in the timber and sticking him.

For October, it has been relatively warm this year. The high temperature of the day Sunday was 79 degrees F. According to the weather almanac, maximum temperatures for October 12 in 2007 and 2006 were 64.9 and 53.6, respectively. It’s been a warm, and wet, October.

That means two things. First of all, deer are still moving at night like they do in the summer. They bed down all day, moving only to feed once the sun is down. So your best chance at catching deer on the move is right before sundown. Secondly, mosquitoes are still in full effect.

I sat for about three and a half hours, Sunday morning. I was in the tree at about 6:05, plenty of time before the sun came up. I climbed down around 9:30, glad to have had the chance to get out and sit even though I didn’t see anything.

It was the first time I’d been out in the morning this year, and I felt grateful just to be sitting out in the timber while the sun came up.

However, all those pleasant feelings were tested once the sun was up in the morning, and were tested to the maximum that evening. On the positive side, walking in at around 4 p.m., I noticed a scrape on the ground, roughly a 2-yard circle (which bucks pee in pre-rut, and does add their scent to when heat arrives, allowing the buck to track her), that wasn’t there in the morning. It was about 50 yards from the tree I sit in, so I’m convinced there is a dominant buck right around me.

I knew before going out that the mosquitoes would be bad, so I donned a Wal-Mart bug suit, of the netted sort, and thought that would prevent my major mastication at the hands of those blood suckers.

They ate right through it. Monday morning, I counted 16 bites on the top of my right hand, which was ungloved for all of 30 minutes. Even though I tried to keep the netting fluffed up off the skin, I watched as skeeter after skeeter landed on the netting of my arms, stuck a proboscis through, and moved along until it found a point where the netting was directly on skin. And, after walking to my stand and making my way up the climber I use, I had a pretty good sweat going so the netting naturally clung to my body. The tops of my ears were another sweet spot, because the mask hangs off the hat and rests on the tops of the ears.

It was frustrating at times, but I came to the point about an hour before sundown, when I thought, I’m not going to let this ruin my hunt. Find a spot and enjoy the feast, bloodsuckers.

At that point, I used it as motivation and justification for my resiliency. My rationale for remaining out in the woods, which to some would border on stupidity, was that I was paying my dues, earning the right to kill a nice deer and the admiration of lady luck. Really, I know all that doesn’t matter, but it was more time I was logging in the woods, and I see that as an increase in chances of killing.

My hunting buddy, Bobby, also wore a bug suit and paid the same price. So, my suggestion after this experience is to not go cheap with your bug suit. You pay for what you get, and Cabela’s has a nice-looking, 100 percent polyester suit on their Web site that claims 26 out of 29 customers (90 percent) would recommend the product to a friend, a pretty high approval rating.

There’s no way around it, if you’re going to hunt that early in the season and don’t want to get eaten alive, spend the money to buy a bug suit mosquitoes can’t eat through. That way, come evening time, you’re not fidgeting in your stand and spooking that bruiser that’s out there.

If anyone has had good experience with any specific bug suits, I'm all ears. Also, does anyone know if there are any odorless sprays out there that would help?

On a side note, a couple of weeks ago I was able to make it back home and get some dove hunting done. It was especially nice for me because I was able to hunt on my family’s ground.

With bird hunting, you can coat down in insect repellent and remain comfortable.

On our crop fields, there’s a roost right by one of the fence lines which usually provides for steady shooting and everyone’s limit of birds. Although things didn’t go our way this time – my brother Andy and I took a few moon blasts to no avail – it was still introspectively rewarding to hunt my grandfather’s ground.

In these photos you can see a couple of the crop fields, the brush pile where dove roost and an old building that used to house a family farm restaurant. We still call this land the Chicken Shack today, and the business was sold long ago but still operates in Bronson, Kansas.

No animals were harmed in the creation of this blog – for the time being...

Tight lines and straight shooting,
Caleb

Early 20th-century philosopher and educator John Dewey once said, “To find out what one is fitted to do, and to secure an opportunity to do it, is the key to happiness.”

If that’s the case, I consider myself in possession of a shiny new set of brass that I feel will allow me to expand my knowledge, professional skills and acquaintances to new horizons in a facet of life I’m very passionate about – country living.

Until I was about 15, my family – my mom, dad, two older brothers and an older half-brother – called just under 200 acres in southeast Kansas home. Our place was over a mile from our nearest neighbor and 30 miles from the nearest town of more than 300 people.

As boys, my brothers and I had horizon to horizon to call our own, and that sub-200-acre farm still seems today as if it had to have been in the thousands of acres. From sunup to sundown, when we weren’t attending school, after the work for the day was done – animals fed, garden and yard maintained and anything else my father had for us to do – we were given free reign to run as boys and grow as outdoorsmen.

We each had a horse, pet (at times our own bird dogs) and plenty of hunting and fishing gear to test our aptitude and ability to self-sustain.

Hunting became the favorite of Josh and me. Josh is four years my senior and my favorite hunting buddy today. Two years each way between us, the middle child, Andy, developed more of a fondness for fishing, but both realms have combined in all three of us, and we share an appreciation for nature forged in that childhood setting.

Hunting, for me, was a right of passage. I can remember walking through the snow behind my Uncle Fred – who taught us how to hunt and harvest meat, since Dad didn’t hunt – with a BB gun, my mother’s brother laughing as I tried to pick up my boots high enough to make it through the snow without tripping.

I finally felt like a man after I passed a hunter’s safety course at about 9 years old and carried a shotgun of my own along the hedgerows searching for bobwhite quail.

Aside from the hunting, being so far away from others’ homes helped us develop a genuine appreciation for family, the solitude and serenity of rural life and all that that encompasses.

The chance to work in the magazine industry dealing with this type of content was a great opportunity for me. I’m happy to be the newest member of the Grit editorial team, and I look forward to getting to know everyone.

As I go forward with this blog, especially as fishing season comes to a close and bucks prepare to rut, I’ll share observations, experiences and analysis of important hunting, fishing and outdoors issues as they come up. The opportunity to share photos and experiences with you has me more pumped than ever for hunting season to get under way.

Tight lines and straight shooting,
Caleb