The Big Rub!

I have kept my eye upon this rub high atop a ridge in the Harrison/Crawford State Forest for several years now.  It is in a hard to reach area, accessible from the only pull-off the property has by climbing through the dense undergrowth that a recent selective logging has created.  I hunt this area only when times allows because of the time it would take to get a deer out if the hunt is successful.

 

 

Come October the ridge and its accompanying saddle will be riddled with scrapes and rubs.  Just like it has been every year since I have discovered the place.  Last year I was able to make it in one time.  It was my first hunt of the year and due to the long hike up, the morning sun was well up into the sky by the time I fastened my climber into the tree.  I always tie my bow to the pull up rope with a square knot, but as I felt the weight of the bow on the rope a sinking feeling churned in my stomach -- I thought maybe I first went right over left instead of left over right on my first bend.  My doubt was confirmed when the bow reached about fifteen feet and tumbled back to the ground.  About a minute later, as I unstrapped my stand to climb back down, I glanced to my right and watched a nice eight-pointer -- a deer I definitely would have been happy with -- move past me just within bow range.  If I had put in the locking half-hitch I typically do I think I would have been fine, but I was too anxious to get settled in.

 

Several years ago my hunting partner Kevin killed an ornery looking thirteen-pointer down at the bottom of the ridge.  Last year on opening day of shotgun season we chose this spot to hunt.  But, when we reached the pull-off there were already five vehicles pulled in, so we opted for Plan B instead.

 

 



 

 

 

  

  

 

This year I will go in during squirrel season and do a little prep work on the ridgeline.  There is a large rotting oak I can clear out around its base.  There will be no noisy stand on my back to grab against the underbrush and no pullup rope -- just a light pack with enough food and water to sit all day if I have to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On The Trail Of The Last Mountain Man!

 Shorty Lovelace -- The Last Mountain Man!

 

 

 

 

 Shorty's High Mountain Domain!

High Mountain Golden Trout for Supper.

Hiking The High Sierra's!

The Beaver Tree

 

Last year after deer season had shut down until October I felt the onslaught of cabin fever coming on strong and I knew I had to do something quick.  I looked over at the old sixteen gauge leaning in the corner against the wall and thought of the perfect remedy.  I slipped in to my my boots, stocked up the stove, closed the damper, and headed for the marsh hoping to bag a rabbit or two.

 

Outside of a few kicking towhee's and some scolding titmouse's I don't think I saw much wildlife.  But, I did stumble upon the tallest beaver tree's I've ever seen.  When I saw the first one I thought a deer hunter had cut the sapling down to clear a shooting lane.  I spent a lot of time investigating the tree's and came up with the only solution: they were the highest cuttings from a beaver I have ever seen -- and I have spent close to three decades roaming through beaver habitat.  I have trapped beavers that have topped sixty pounds but, even these guys weren't reaching up and cutting as high as these saplings were topped, so I was still a little skeptical about what actually cut the trees down.

 

Several weekends later I took a tape measure down just to satisfy my curiosity.  If memory serves me correct the tallest cutting was at forty-two inches and the shortest was at forty inches.

 

A couple of weeks after that I was talking to a neighbor who had suffered some beaver damage and had shot one that tipped the scales at eighty pounds. Someone told him it might be a state record, but the very next day he was crappie fishing at Patoka Lake and he talked to a couple of trappers who trapped a beaver that tipped the scales at eighty-four pounds.  Maybe because trappers are a rare commodity anymore some of these rodents are getting a little super-sized.  

A Winter Walk!

New Years Day Judy and I walked to a place I call Judy's Ridge in a section of Hoosier National Forest that borders the Corp of Engineers property along Patoka Lake.  We hiked up to a small wooded knoll where an old forgotten homestead lays abandoned.  As we stood and talked we caught sight of a group of bucks moving out of a wooded thicket a hundred yards in front of us.  We stood motionless and quiet as the four bucks -- two small four pointers, a basket racked six and a big twelve pointer -- worked toward us.  The wind was perfect for us and the bucks had no clue we were there.  When the bucks were fifty yards out one of the small four pointers turned on the big twelve and we watched them spar for a good thirty seconds.  The three smaller bucks moved along a trail off the knoll, but the big twelve gave us quite a show and moved in to about thirty yards before catching our scent and busting away.

 

We moved through the timber to a hidden cove where a large group of mallards had taken residence and we stopped our winter hike to enjoy the sights and sounds of the migrating waterfowl.

 

 

I stopped hunting this section of the Hoosier National years ago.  I always plan to go back, but for some reason I always find an excuse not to.  Some of the sign we found along our hike makes me wish I had made it back this year though.

 



 

 

The snowy hike was a great way to start the year and we knew we were lucky to be a part of the winter woods.  We cut our tracks at the lonesome hemlock and followed our trail through the snow back toward the knoll where we saw the bucks.  We soon found we weren't the only ones following our trail on out -- a red fox, too, had cut our trail and we followed him out of the woods.

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last Day Success!

Kevin has a knack for coming through in a pinch.  This year was no exception -- if it wasn't for him there would be no venison in my freezer -- cuts from this one and a button buck he shot the week before.

 

It was the last day of muzzleloader and the plan was simple:  Find the most inaccessible piece of public land we could find and simply try to kill a deer for the freezer.  And thanks to the good will of Kevins' brother Jay we got access to just a spot.  Jay knew a farmer who let him cross his property to hunt an isolated piece of public land that is about as good as it gets for a public land hunter in Indiana (the year before Jay pulled a heavy-beamed ten-pointer out of there that pushed 200 pounds) and Jay secured permission for us.

 

At the split in the logging road Kevin went one way and I went the other and we both had the uncanny sense a third party would be accompanying us on our way back to the truck -- if not a fourth party as well.  Yeah, it was just that kind of feeling on the last day of the season.  And if it wasn't for an error on my part while loading my muzzleloader we would have been dragging deer all day but, that is something I will talk about later.

 

Kevin posted up at a well used creek crossing where he had seen quite a few deer in the weeks prior and waited for something to move through.  This buck saw him about the same time he saw the buck and the buck tried to make a quick escape across the creek.  But, with the creek still swollen from the heavy rains the week before he decided it was too risky to get wet and he came back towards Kevin on a flat out run to beat all.  Kevin got him in the scope at seventy-yards with a sense of urgency that it was going to be now or never, followed him for a few moments and squeezed off the shot.

 

I was off across the thicket a way when I heard the loud boom and I had no doubt we had a little work ahead of us.

When it comes to true trophies this may be as good as it gets.  When I think about the lost sleep, the miles spent on the road and on the foot, the monotony of going to work every day all year long so time can be taken during the season, the effort, the money  . . . , I think you know what I mean -- and for it all to boil down to the last few minutes of three months of time spent, hard work, and hope -- and then everything comes together in just a few moments, well -- everything suddenly becomes worth it and this deer is the culmination of all of that.  And now all we can hope for is that next season is going to be just as good as last.
 

The Creek Crossing

I secured this camera on a log this September at The Creek Crossing hoping to get a few pictures of shedding bucks and maybe an otter, but I had no luck with either one.

Deer season is over now and if it wasn't for the persistence and patience of Kevin there would be no venison in the freezer, but thanks to him there will be deer steaks on the grill in July. 

This Barred Owl is a first for me.  When I zoom in on the picture it looks as if he is eating a big crawdad.  The largest crawdad I've ever seen was in this creek -- it was big enough to pass for a lobster and it could have really put a hurting on a careless finger or thumb.