Muskoka Outdoors

It’s a fitting name. I bestowed this name on a huge buck that should have secured my entry into the ‘Legends’ of Rip and Tear Hunt Club’s history. I guess my chapter was yet to be written.

It started out harmelessly enough. All of the gang had returned from a long afternoon on the deer stands and we were anxiously awaiting supper to hit our stomachs. It became quickly apparent that one of our guys, Kevin, had not arrived yet. I forget exactly why the ‘old-timers’ in the camp felt it was so important that Kevin made it back in good time, but they delegated to me the task of his evac.

Then, the debate started.

I remember it quite vividly. Not wanting to tell the ‘Ole Guys’ that I did not want to agree to their request, I threw on my hunting vest and headed for the closest atv.

“You better take your gun.” dad said.

Grandpa and Bill Billingsley piped up with similar sentiments and I think went into story mode about some long lost time forgotten.

“I’m just going down to Spiers’ field. Besides, the atv noise will scare any deer off before I even get there.” I replied. The dice of probablity began to spin in my head.

Grandpa and Bill stopped talking for a second and looked at me with a puzzling look. I could have heard a .22 shell drop on wet leaves. They grinned, looked at dad and went back into their story. Dad ‘encouraged’ me one more time to take my firearm. Stubbornly, I said “I’ll be fine” and fired up the atv and tore off down the camp road to the field.

The dice were still rolling.

Somewhere in the distance a hound started on a deer scent. A feeding buck planned his escape route.

When I reached the field location where I was to pick-up the hunter I turned off the atv’s engine and waited.  That hound was getting closer.  Out of instinct I reached for where my gun pouch would be and remembered it was sitting on my bed listening to 3 men chuckling about the rookie who left it behind.

A buck picked a path down a ridge to Spiers’ field.

The dice in my head stopped rolling.
“Snake-eyes.”

After another minute, the hound sounded very close and then I saw a massive buck briskly walking across the field. He was 75 yards from me at full broad side. I watched with a broken heart as the deer continued his perpendicular path in front of me for another 30 seconds!

Moments later, Kevin walked out of the bush and asked if I saw anything. I said “Yup!”

Then, he asked, “Where’s your gun?

“Back at camp.” I sheepishly whispered.

When we got back to camp the smell of supper welcomed us inside the cabin. 3 heads turned towards me and asked me if I needed my gun.

The dice in my head started rolling again. There was not much chance of dodging that question.

Four old-timers jeered about what had happened that day. Three were in the cabin and the other was somewhere west of Spiers’ field.

Hunter orange. It is not exactly good camouflage. I mean, if it was, I would think you would see Mossy Oak and Realtree (and many others) producing rack fulls of the latest in Hunter Orange ‘stealth-ware’.

You know its rifle season when you start to see orange vests, orange hats, and orange jackets light up our forests like citrus-colored beacons in a wild ocean of grey, brown, and green. It can be a bit of an identity crisis for many hunters. It’s tough heading out into the wilds as the man trying to be stealthy – yet still seen by all.

This conflict would begin every time I would ‘suit-up’ and make the trek to my favorite deer stand. I would laugh inside over the irony of my hunting wardrobe when I would try to find a group of evergreens to mask my ‘presence’. Once there, the observant hunter would notice that green does not hide bright orange. Try it for yourself!  Attempt to hide an orange on an evergreen branch.

Sure, I have read the ‘science’ about the physiological make-up of a deer’s eyes. Researchers claim, that orange is not seen by deer. I am not buying it. If that is the case, somebody better tell the camouflage companies.

To resolve the conflict that exists in so many hunters, I have developed a hunting system that can be easily followed and adapted to any hunting camp scenario. I call it, The Art of Non-Camouflage.

Don’t be something you are not.

It begins with the principle that any hunter will be visible to man or beast when wearing hunter orange.

All components to my system flow from that one simple principle:

• It does not matter where you store your orange hunting gear during your hunt. Wear or hang it by the fire during breakfast. You might as well head out to your watch with a warm jacket smelling like bacon because the deer are going to see you anyway.
• Scents and other lesser animal urine sprays won’t hide your orange garments. Save your money.
• Become more visible at camp. Wear your coat whenever you venture outside. It will let your camp buddies know where you are during target practice and an orange coat hanging on the outside of an outhouse door can be seen from miles away. Everyone will appreciate knowing that the ‘Biffy’ is occupied before they make the long trek out there themselves.
• Tree stands are now optional. Orange is as glaringly obvious up high as it is down low. Again, save your money folks.
• Blue jeans are allowed. The staple of many deer hunting clothes, blue jeans are thought to attract a deers attention more quickly. I say, if they are going to see the orange anyway, what does it matter if your pants are blue? We have all seen Blue Jays. Blue is a ‘natural color’. The denim stays!
• Meet the safety requirement and enjoy the moment. In Ontario, you need 400 square inches of hunter orange on your upper body. Brand name, or generic name, or new, or old it does not matter how much the orange costs. Buy it or borrow it – the obvious nature of hunter orange is still the same with a $2 price tag as with a $200 price tag. Just get out there and enjoy the view – and bring a kid with you.

In case you were not able to determine if I was serious or not. I am totally kidding. That being said, my initial post today triggered some other train of thought that I hope we all can take ‘to heart’.

I think that in our everyday relationships with the people we come in contact with, we frequently wear camouflage. We are afraid to be honest with people who ask our opinions, thoughts, and ideas. How many times have you responded with a, “Everything is fine in my life.” when a concerned person asks?

It’s just like camouflage. It hides what really is there. Unfortunately, hunter orange is not a requirement in everyday relationships with people. How many times today have you camouflaged your answers? I wonder if we would be better friends, workers and employers if we more honest in the relationships we nurture every day?

I would propose to you that one step on the journey to being a better person will taken by those who understand the Art of Non-Camouflage.

*My reloaded blog posts are some of my favorite previous posts made current again.

I get excited when I am about to hit the publish button on one of my blog posts because I enjoy sharing my outdoor experiences with my visitors. Today’s blog post is particularly special because it highlights recent hunting memories of a father and two of his daughters.

Virginia, Dad, Josie (middle knees) and family

Virginia and Josie are two siblings, of a larger family, that I know and have learned to appreciate through my current job at a local public school. When I found out that they had recently been turkey hunting with their father, I could not wait to pull them aside and hear all about their hunting adventures. I quickly found out that the two girls not only loved the outdoors as much as I do, but they can’t wait for the next opportunity for their father to take them out hunting!

The hunters were kind enough to answer a set of interview questions that I submitted to them. Here is what they said:

Q1. (For Dad) I was excited to find out that Virginia’s and Josie’s dad took them hunting. How have your hunting trips impacted your family and relationships with your daughters?
I believe our hunting trips together allow us to spend some quality time together at a slower pace. It lets us break away from the hectic and busy grind and spend some father daughter time together one on one enjoying the simple things like watching the sun come up – I believe it brings us closer together and it is important the girls spend time participating in something their father enjoys and expanding there own interests. Hopefully one, if not all, will want to take up the sport of hunting so we can continue to enjoy our time together a field.

Q2. (For Daughters) What is cool about hunting with your dad?
(Virginia says) Hunting with my dad is cool because we just get to hang out and have some bonding time. We get a lot of good opportunities to learn good skills which will be with us forever. When I go hunting, I love the adrenaline rush that comes with it and it is fun to track the animals!
(Josie says) I like seeing all the deer and turkey with my dad. I just like sitting quiet and looking at my dad – like this is so cool! I also really enjoy eating the meat after all the hard work!

Q3. (For Dad) What ‘life lessons’ do you think your daughters learn from hunting with you?
I think the girls start to learn the importance of teamwork, respect for the great outdoors and hard work. Virginia has experienced the moose camp and learned to four-wheel and scout at the camp. She has seen that hunting is a lot of hard work. I think she will learn that the rewards of the hunt are worth all the hard work and preparation. I hope they will learn that when you work hard you will be rewarded in all aspects of life.

Josie (left) and Virginia (right) inspect dad's deer

Q4. (For Daughters) Please tell me about your favourite hunting trip with your dad.
(Virginia’s Story) One of my dad’s and my favourite hunting trips was one morning when we were hunting turkeys before school. We were sitting in our little hunting tent and there were probably around three or four hens in front of us. They were eating and two big toms were just out of range. Well, there was one bearded hen that was legal to shoot. My dad has his gun up and I started whispering, “Dad shoot, shoot! Come on dad. It’s right there. Shoot it. Shoot it! He never did shoot it, I think he should have since he still had one tag left at the end of the season!

(Josie’s Story) One hunting story was when me and my dad were out and we were going into the forest. We were just entering the forest, when a deer jumped in front of us. We had spooked it and it ran away. Anyway, after that, we just kept on walking to our tree stand. When we got there my dad told me to just stay at the tree while he went out to place scent markers. As he was putting out the scent markers, I started walking towards him.  He saw me and he waved at me to go back, but i just kept walking toward him. When I finally got to him, he asked me,  ”Josie what is it?”. In a hushed voice I replied, “Dad, Dad the deer came back! I just thought I should let you know.” The deer was standing about fifteen yards away!    -End of Interview-

I would like to thank Virginia, Josie and their father for taking a moment to answer my questions. It is encouraging to know that outdoor skills like hunting and fishing are still be shared with future generations. Kudos to you (Josie’s and Virginia’s), dad. Would love to hear your buck story sometime.

I can’t wait to introduce my daughters to hunting when they get older! It will be time well spent.

The eerie howls of a tracking coyote or wolf started just after I scared the forest-cloaked deer off it’s hidden bed. It was slightly unnerving and part of me wondered if the second hunter would have better luck than me. It seemed pointless to stay where I was (with all the howling in the area). So, I slowly walked off the watch we call the ‘Grand Canyon’ and began to plan where I might hunt until dark. I picked up the pace of my slow retreat (and planning session) when the four legged hunter’s shrill voice began to change direction.

It sounded like it was getting closer. There was a quickening silence across the frosty beech leaves I was walking on as I stopped to listen.

I remember muttering under my breath, “No way. There is no way that wolf is coming my way.” The freezing air made my whispered words come to life as they were whisked away in wintry condensation. Instinctively, my finger reached for the safety on my rifle as I waited for another howling volley from the beast.

It came sure enough and it sounded closer. Much closer and more excited.

I shrugged it off as coincidence and continued my hurried walk towards a tree stand at the ‘Evergreen’ watch. The homemade tree-stand, that dad made for this upcoming hunting season, was still a ridge and swampy ‘gut’ away. It did NOT feel close enough as I trudged through the frozen forest – with a potential bogey on my ‘six’.

The animal’s next howl was close and loud. It was on top of the ridge I had just left and I hoped it would continue along the top of the ridge (dad if you are reading this – the mad howler was on the hydro line heading toward Aspdin) away from me. This would put me at the bottom of a capital “T” with the howling hunter in a travel line the same as the top of a capital “T”.

I stopped to catch my breath and hoped to confirm that the ‘following’ hunter would continue his tracking across the top of the ridge away from me. The sound of crunching leaves and another hair raising howl confirmed that my follower was coming off the ridge on MY trail and heading towards me!

I had become the hunted, and to be honest, fear began to trickle into my mind and my rising heart rate. I must have read ‘Peter and The Wolf‘ too many times as a kid. Quickly, I picked my way across the muddy low spot (known as the root gut) and hit the logging trail leading to the fortress on Mt. Evergreen Watch.

Now, I know what you veteran hunters and bushmen (and Dad) are thinking. You are thinking, “Bill…you were armed with a .308 rifle. Whatever is zeroing in on your trail is about to open up a can of lead ‘whoop’ butt from the barrel of your firearm. Suck it up!”

You would be right – but I wanted to pick ‘the ground’ this epic ‘hunter vs. hunter’ battle was going to happen on. My under pressure shooting has not always yielded great results.

When I hit the logging trail, I bolted for the tree stand some 75 yards away. Under the circumstances, I quickly debated whether or not I should unload my gun before I scampered up the tree-stand’s ladder. I had visions that a snarling, sharp-toothed, frothing-at-the-mouth creature could lunge at me at anytime. You will be proud to know that I decided to empty my magazine before I began my ascent up to the welcoming fortress.

Once at the top, I reloaded my gun and braced my arm against the the trunk of the tree and picked a spot on the trail through my scope. I could hear the sound of four legs splashing and struggling through the mud and water of the low spot I had just crossed.

I took a deep breath and waited.

A howl echoed across the snowy ridge I was fortified on and I knew the tracker was close.

I clicked off the safety on my gun and began to visualize the shot to a wolf’s front shoulder…

What happened next made me relieved and somewhat sheepish. A small beagle materialized on the trail. His wild sounding howl was nothing like the hound noises I was used to. I sat down with my back against the tree and laughed wondering how I was going to explain this one. The little hound came to the tree stand and began to paw at the wooden ladder. Looking down, I saw a beagle shaking and soaked to the core. I climbed out of the tree stand and clipped him in to a free strap I had on my back pack.

We walked back to camp together both slightly more happier to have a partner to walk with in the fading light. Dad listened to my ‘official’ story as we waited for the dog’s owner to pick it up. I left out the brisk run from the ‘root gut’ to the tree stand because I thought the little beagle (sleeping at my feet) was the big bad wolf.

I guess I’m no Peter.

The excitement of trophy class buck running by you is no different than a first chance buck that suddenly materializes in your line of fire. Disappointment was the last thing on my mind when I saw the spikehorn running towards me on the top of the ridge.

Monster snowflakes helped conceal my location on the ground. The falling snow also covered the noise of my trek across the crest of the ridge I was going to watch on. It was one of those cold, damp mornings that made getting out of your warm bunk seem like a bad idea. Until I saw the buck – I was still wondering why I bothered to wake up. I used my camera (video right) to record the misery of the morning I thought I was going to have. The video is just a quick pan looking down the ridge I was watching on.

About 2 minutes after I put my camera away, I spotted the the young buck running towards me at 40 – 50 yards. It had been startled from his evergreen hideout by dad approaching from the north end of the ridge. I could tell very quickly that this deer was only a spikehorn and somewhere between telling myself to calm down and take a deep breath – a brief debate raged in my mind. Do I pass up this shot and hope to see a larger buck in the two remaining days of my hunt? This thought was countered with the reality that we had yet to shoot a deer this week. It was far from a ‘buck of legend’ and I doubted there would be ‘songs of victory’ sung for me at the hunt camp table.

Still. There he was coming closer. This first chance buck. He was preparing to jump to Mach 2.

Memories of past hunts with the guys began to flash into my mind. The excitement of hearing shots fired, the thrill of radio chatter announcing that a deer was down, the camaraderie of processing the deer and dragging it through thick forest undergrowth to a waiting ATV, the satisfaction of a freezer full of meat that you played a part in preparing� are all things that make a hunt worth of memory. They are all things that occur despite the size or gender of the deer.

It was decided.

The silent debate in my mind ended as I placed the crosshair just behind the spike’s shoulder. Three shots thundered across the ridge and the first chance buck fell. Elsewhere on the ridge, cold hunters turned up their radios and listened for 2 words that would warm their memory makers,

“Buck Down.”

*it turns out this was the only ethical shot deer I saw this rifle season.

Two days after Kyle missed the ‘Brow Tine’ Buck, the huge buck returned to the same location and left a glamour shot on Kyle’s trail cam.

You can see from the photo how close Kyle came to bagging the large buck that was at the bottom of a steep ridge when Kyle shot. If the wound wasn’t from a ‘rut fight’ – Kyle’s near miss is heart breaking.

Here is what Kyle had to say,

… I have been trying to decide if I was going to show anyone else this picture since I got it yesterday afternoon – it’s a whitetail hunter’s worse case scenario. This picture was taken 26 hours after I missed it on Tuesday night… It’s back out and there and there is at least 6 other bucks in the area.  It’s part of hunting – so thats why i decided to send it on.  Maybe, some of your Bloggers can get something out of it. The only thing I can suggest is to always aim lower on a steep ridge. My only comment is “What a tough old buck”.

Thanks for the photos Kyle. I’ll keep my eyes open for this buck this weekend. Where is Heartbreak Ridge again…?