Trail Camera Pictures

I wish I would have saved the series of pictures that went along with this coyote.  The first was a picture of a rabbit.  Two minutes later a raccoon was standing where the rabbit was, then this hungry looking coyote moved in two minutes after that.  I was thinking that was one unlucky cottontail with so many things trying to eat him, and thought for sure he was a goner, but five minutes after the coyote moved off, the rabbit was back sitting right in his tracks.

Every year I put out cameras at a few locations hoping to get a bobcat picture.  This spot has a little cave that I thought was perfect for a pair of bobcats to den in.  Turns out it's perfect for a pair of possums, too.

With so many coyotes around anymore these little canines aren't as numerous as they once were.

I was hoping the buck rubbing on these saplings would return for the camera, but they make a nice frame for this prowling coyote, too.

In the past, this spot along Patoka Lake's Corp of Engineers property, has always been a good late season area for deer.  I wanted to hunt it this year, but never made it over.  I still hope to get over there and do a little hiking this winter.

If there has been a season where I noticed my age start to catch up to me this one is it.  I never made the long paddle down to Stonehenge -- the river crossing that I spent so many October days at in the past.  I set out once to make the long walk into the marsh, but half-way there I stopped and sat on a log until the sun sank below the horizon.  I didn't hike up the steep hill to reach the remote ridgeline that every year is covered in rubs and scrapes on the Harrison/Crawford State Forest property I like to hunt.  Instead I did what I've never done in the past:  I hunted close to the road.  The deer gods were kind to me though and a heavy beamed, grizzled-old, brute of a buck stopped broadside at thirty yards during the early archery season.  The week before my brother loaned me his crossbow and the thing is deadly accurate.

With this arctic blast moving in and its accompanying horrible freeze I often wonder how the critters survive.  But, even the easy days of summer come with a hitch.  I'd take the cold any day over the nag of a swarm of biting black flies.

Deer Camp!

 The cabin on the river -- one room, four bunks, kerosene heater, covered front porch, no electricity, no running water: the perfect deer camp.

Mike, Ronnie, and Scott enjoying Ronnie's deer chili.  The food at deer camp is unbelievable.

The company is even better -- this is the real reason you go -- not really to deer hunt!  Scott, Ronnie, Mike and Kevin enjoying a story about a season in the past.

Ronnie and Jim with a good seasons catch so far: possums, raccoon's, grey fox, red fox and coyote. 

I remember this year well.  It was just me and Ronnie that year, and my first year home after a five-year Navy enlistment.  I thought I could navigate in the dark and fell down a fifteen-foot embankment into the river; a limb lodged between Ronnie's legs as we hiked our way down one of the camps rolling hills -- he couldn't quite break free and tackled me like an NFL linebacker coming down the hill.  I drilled a bunch of holes in a Folgers Coffee can, placed an apple scented candle under it and a glass jar of Tink's 69 on top.  The nine-pointer came to it like he was pulled on a string and I had to shoot him before he stepped on top of me. 

This year the weather was not only perfect for hunting, but perfect for catching smallmouth bass out of the river, too, and Ronnie was happy to do both.

Mike is one of those rare hunters -- he hasn't gave in to the trophy chase.  A six-point buck is just as good as a twelve, and a doe is just as good as either.  This hoss' field dressed at two-hundred and twelve pounds.  I don't even know if Mike took the time to count the points, he just cut em' off at the bases and gave them to his son.

A Couple of Good Bucks!

 

 

 

Mum's the Word on These Guys!  I've Been Sworn to Secrecy -- Deduct What you can.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There's not too many guy's out there like this one.  You will be hard pressed to find one with such symetry. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The season is starting out good for the hunters of this blog.  Last weekend a Hoosier National 200 pound brute of an eight-pointer walked within range and the shot was as good as it goods.  Someone asked me how long I waited, and I thought about the thirty minutes I sat on stand before he came along.  Then, I thought about the last time I killed a buck and the answer came clear and true:  "Seven years and thirty minutes."

 

 

 

 

 

 

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!