Wagons West

Annually, the first weekend of November brings me to the place where I grew up, the Weiland Family Farm, located just south of Brainerd, Minnesota.  Here, the Minnesota rifle season is opened amidst the peak of the rut.  The hunt is always interesting as this particular time of the year can produce weather varying in “degree” from ten degrees to fifty and can also produce high winds, rain, sleet, snow, and everything in between.

 

The 2015 gun season in Minnesota had a very positive weather outlook as the opening weekend neared.  The week prior brought with it above-average temperatures that seemed to insult the weather gods and probably even proved tough on rutting bucks’ daytime activities.  Grasses which are normally brown and drab remained quite green and full of life.  However, two days prior to the opening scheduled day of rifle season which was November 7, 2015, temperatures were predicted to drop off to more “average” levels, even though the thermometers would still only barely be cracking freezing.

 

The boys, Nolan, John Daniel, my brother, Nicholas, and myself were all packed up and heading back to Brainerd with high hopes of a big whitetail and a long weekend of R & R in front of us.  Grandpa Dan had sent over a few teaser photographs during the prior weeks of a few bucks that he had photos of on his property so far this fall and there was the added factor that absolutely anything could show up during the rut in pursuit of a hot doe and a little added pressure from any of the bordering properties could always bring something new to the area.

 

We ventured west and found ourselves pulling into the driveway of my parents’ farm a little over an hour after sundown.  As I began turning into the driveway we noticed a big buck coming to the road’s edge just a hundred yards north of the farm and drove up to see if we could garner an additional look.  Sure enough, a very large buck!  -It was difficult to see whether he was an eight, a nine, or a ten point, but it was easy to see that he was indeed big.  –Big bodied and big antlers.  This was enough to get the blood pumping right off the bat and we weren’t even parked yet.

 

The opening morning of the season began cool, but not cold, and brought with it nearly immediate action.  I had a basket racked eight point come to a grunt call on a string just minutes after the opening bell tolled.  With it were several shots around the area and the season was well underway.  At about 7:30 am crashing followed by grunting and then more crashing ensued.  It quickly became evident that a doe was being chased by a buck through some of the poplar trees that my stand overlooked near a beaver dam.  I readied my gun as I had a gut feeling it was something big chasing, but didn’t know for certain.  What I did know was that in all likeliness I would have only a few seconds, if that, to make a quick decision if the deer kept moving through the woods the way that they were.  With that, suddenly a big doe popped out and was looking over her shoulder.  She was about 160 yards from me and trotted up the slashing in the poplars before dipping back into the trees.  Only a few seconds later, on the same trail, popped out a long-tined buck trotting with his head down to the ground and stopping to scan up and see where his newly-discovered love for that morning was.  Immediately, I identified it as a buck I would shoot if presented with the right shot and clicked my safety to the fire position.  The buck followed the exact path as the doe and trotted toward the stand before going broadside where he too would duck back into the poplars in pursuit.  Just as the buck turned broadside I grunted loud to stop him, centered the crosshairs, and let ‘er rip.

 

–The shot was a little quicker than I would have liked it to be, but there was no waiting around.  In this instance, there would be “the quick or the hungry” as one of my friends, Pat McGrew, once stated.  Fortunately, on this particular morning we would be eating well as my shot rang out the buck dropped immediately.  I had a suspicion that I had hit him a bit high severing his spine, but the buck lay completely motionless on the ground.  I watched the buck’s antlers, which was pretty much all I could really see through my scope for several minutes to ensure that he was down for good. 

 

In fact, I did not even get out of my stand for the next three hours as deer continued to move all around me that morning.  Several other small bucks were cruising through the woods with their noses to the ground in search of fresh doe scent and another buck was seen chasing a few does immediately to the south of my stand.  I finally got out of my stand at about eleven o’clock when my brother and father arrived.  Once out of the stand I told them how the morning went and we all went down to check out the buck that I had shot earlier.  In complete honesty I knew it was a solid buck, but had no idea as to what exactly he was as the entire time I saw him up on his feet before shooting was only mere seconds.

 

Upon inspection, it was indeed a very nice heavy horned eight point buck, probably a 4.5 year old.  The hit was indeed a bit high as I did sever his spine, but took out the top of his lungs as well.  The three of us went back to the farm, picked up my boys, and brought them back out to clean and pick the deer up.

 

The rest of the weekend continued to go well as we climbed the stands strewn across the Weiland Farm for the next few days with Nolan, and JD joining us on many of the hunts.  We saw several more bucks and a couple handfuls of does.  Nick, who was hunting with his bow, had some luck as well.  He put a nice shot on a deer that provided a great blood trail for JD to work. Later on in the weekend JD was with me when we shot a doe as she was being chased by a young buck only yards from our stand.  Other sightings on the farm included a bear and several grouse over the long weekend.

 

We got the deer all trimmed up and ready for the meat locker with all hands on deck as the Indian Summer continued to bless us.  –This annual ritual is one we all look forward to sharing with one another every year and look forward to many more trips west with “the boys” back to the Weiland Family Farm where it all began.        

Big Nine

The 2015 Wisconsin Bow Hunting Season came up on us quicker than ever this year.   In preparation of this season we spent countless hours in the woods working on existing food plots, clearing trees, and maintaining trails.  Additionally, we also had trail cameras out for the entire antler growing season beginning in April of this past spring.  This summer we had a severe storm come through that had straight line winds that brought down several large trees across the property.  The chainsaw was ran many days straight for about a week and a half in cleaning up the fallen mess that was left behind.

                After reviewing thousands of trail camera photos over the months it became apparent that the deer had a pretty good winter and spring this past year in contrast to the past couple as there were more fawns present, the antler growth appeared better, and the overall health of the deer certainly looked a lot better. 

Two bucks ran together all summer and frequently were caught on film together, “High Boy” and “Big Nine.”  High Boy is a buck that I have known from years past and believe him to be a 5.5 or 6.5 year old this year.  –I saw him from my stand twice two years ago, had him on film many times last season, and had him on film again this summer.  High Boy is not a high scoring during by means of inches of antler, but is simply a very high racked buck that is a clean eight point.  Meanwhile, the buck that I was seeing with High Boy was the Big Nine.  Big Nine is simply a very clean nine point that I really didn’t know of prior to this summer.  I would guess him as a 3.5 or 4.5 year old, but that’s just a guess based on body size.  Both of these bucks were ones that I decided to try to target for the upcoming bow season. 

The opening weekend of bow season found me perched in a couple of my favorite stands.  I hunted one stand by the east side of the property and one on the west side property.  Both days the weather was perfect and I had activity around me.  I had a pair of twin fork bucks wrestling with one another directly beneath me on evening and had a smaller nine, eight, and an unidentified buck all within 50 yards of me on the second sit of the year.  Although I didn’t pull the string back I was feeling good about the year to come. 

The following weekend I once again found myself perched about 20 feet up one of my favorite stands.  –I had checked a trail camera close by and had seen Big Nine on it twice and High Boy on it once the previous week shortly after shooting hours.  (The weather had been warm earlier this week so I was optimistic that a little cooler weather may have the deer moving slightly earlier, which gave me an additional glimmer of hope.)  After sitting in the stand and watching a grey squirrel that had a snowball white tail dance around picking up acorns for a couple hours I gazed behind me as I ritually do from time to time while leisurely reading while in the stand.  When I looked back I saw a buck, Big Nine, standing in patch of sunlight about 80 yards away.   My heart jumped and was now kick started.

The Big Nine was coming from the south, just as I had suspected he would, and the slight southwest wind was perfect for me if he was coming to the food plot like I had suspected he was.  I sat motionless in my stand as I knew he was approaching.  I envisioned him coming straight off my left shoulder and had plans on drawing and releasing as he quartered away towards the food plot, which I was about 75 yards off of.  I envisioned him being 12-15 yards where I would likely get the shot... Unfortunately, he came around the right side of my stand over my right shoulder where I knew I would be extremely vulnerable to him with the wind and could not draw and spin as I am right handed.  (Seems like it is rare that things happen as planned!?)  As Big Nine continued to move forward it was evident by his body language that he knew something was not right and would take the smallest of steps and then scan, scan, scan.  He did this for what seemed like a half hour, but in reality probably was less than five minutes.  Although he didn’t ever visually detect me his nose was clearly telling him something wasn’t right as his body language said so.  He was now easily within bow range at maybe 25-30 yards however I was exposed in drawing my bow and Big Nine was ready to blow and bolt at any second.  In fact, I would have bet anything at this point that he would have busted out of there and I wouldn’t see him again until rut if I was lucky.  

Fortunately, a doe, which was walking the same trail about 5-10 minutes behind him decided to come to the food plot and go directly towards it like I had envisioned the Big Nine would.  She passed my LEFT at 12-15 yards and had not detected me as the wind was favorable on this side of the tree.  The Big Nine was now about 55 yards out and was looking like he would be passing on the food plot visit for the evening, however he saw the doe that had safely made it to the food plot.  His confidence increased and emotion to safety suddenly was tossed aside as he began bee-lining straight towards the food plot right in front of me.  Now, my fortune had quickly changed and I knew I would get a shot so long as I wasn’t busted drawing back.  Big Nine walked behind a large white pine about 25 yards away and I started to draw, but somehow my nock came off of the string as I was beginning to draw.  (I recall doing this once when I first started to hunt as I was usually shaking like a leaf at this point.) Although I thought to myself that I messed up the opportunity the buck continued to walk from right to left in front of me now.  I kept my cool and regrouped and got the nock back on the string as I weaseled it forward ever so slowly.   (To this day I don’t know what happened there outside of me possibly not having the nock snapped on tight???)  I started to draw back again as the buck  was now behind another white pine.  As he came out from the white pine I was at full draw and released the arrow from about twenty-seven yards as his forefront leg moved forward.  The arrow disappeared through Big Nine right where I was aiming with a “whump” sound.  Big Nine quickly spun a 180 degree turn and loped off.  I did not hear a crash or any running sounds after just a couple seconds. 

    I scanned the woods for the next fifteen minutes and then exited my stand as quietly as I could.  I found the arrow after a couple minutes of looking and decided to exit the woods and leave the tracking until I got my sons, JD, and Nolan.  However, immediately upon getting on the trail that leads me into my stand I looked down to where I thought the buck may have crossed and spotted crimson soaked leaves.  I looked up and there was the Big Nine lying dead not 30 yards off of the trail and only about 70 yards from where I shot him.  As much as I wanted to check him out I waited until the boys could help me “track” him as they both live for this and it’s a wonderful learning opportunity. 

Once I got the boys back in the woods with me the two easily found Big Nine. Upon inspection,  I had taken out the top off one lung and the bottom of the other with the shot.  JD and Nolan both helped me load the deer and get him back.  –I think the best part of the hunt was seeing the smiles on their faces as they found the deer.   Another great kick-off to our family’s favorite time of year!

Late Season Tom

Mornings get earlier and earlier as the turkey season progresses.  Coffee becomes the all-important essential as there is just no way around it, 3:45 AM is early!

 

I rolled myself out of bed and tossed my camo clothing on like a well-oiled machine as I prepared myself to head out on a hunt for the mighty May Tom.  I was particularly excited as I was out a couple of days earlier and had two toms circling up on a few hens and both were easily within bow range at less than twenty-five yards, however I was never able to get a clear unobstructed shot. -That is just tough to handle as everything was done correctly and the birds came in, but the moment of truth was absent.  This morning was going to be different though. (At least this is what I told myself.)  

Brother Gob

 I knew that there was a minimum of three bruiser birds on my property yet as I would catch them very frequently strutting their stuff on a couple of food plots I set up with trail cameras. Two of the birds I had nicknamed Brother Gob, akin to Brother Gib. (Those bell bottom wearing disco dudes called the BeeGees from back in the 60s and 70s for those not so musically following.) Brother Gob were two birds that enjoyed strutting together. And then there was the local heavy hitter, "Quarter Strut". This old boy had a real dangler of a beard, however he only had four tail feathers, which technically would land him as a 4/17 strut, but I gave him a little extra. -This Tom had cruised the gauntlet earlier on in the spring with one close call with what I thought looked like I coyote attack. We were out scouring the woods for sheds when I found a pile of Tom tail feathers all piled together. I looked for the carcass, but apparently the coyote must have drug it off, or at least I suspected... Until a couple of weeks later when Ol' Quarter Strut confirmed his place in legendary status showing off his four tail feathers in full strut mode! 

 

"Quarter Strut... Lives."

This particular late season morning was beautiful as it was clear and crisp. My wife had to bring her flowers in the night before as the temps dropped down around 29-30 degrees. After getting settled into the blind I patiently waited for some roost gobbling to commence, however the birds were extremely quiet this morning.-Not a gobble. Not a peep. The sun rose and I patiently waited, listening, and calling very sparingly.  At just before 6:20 AM a group of four hens came right in front of my blind purring at the jake and hen decoy I had out. I waited for a Tom that usually seems to shadow groups of hens like this usually looming like a mystery shadow 40-50 yards back. -No Tom here today though. The hens continued to loiter with the decoys and after about ten minutes a red-headed Tom was cruising up from the creek bottom. 

 

A beautiful May Tom.

I had the opening picked out as I envisioned the Tom would come right to the hens and the decoys as scripted, however this Tommy Boy writes his own scripts and stubbornly went into full strut on a trail 25 yards from me, but right behind a small deadfall that would definitely snag my arrow if I tried to sneak a shot through. I patiently waited as I encountered a great strut show. This was 1/2 of Brother Gob from what I determined. -A beautiful strutter. Two other Toms gobbled only a couple hundred yards away, but this bird stayed in strut and kept his beak shut. He had his gals located and was focussed on showing them his moves. However, I had seen enough of his moves and was ready to let an arrow fly. The hens had apparently seen enough as well as they exited the scene the same way that they showed up. As the hens walked by the (extremely horny) Tom he did something I've never seen a bird do. -He spilled his seed on the ground!  These birds are indeed odd creatures!

Turkey a-la-Wisconsin, a grilling pleasure.

Finally, the Tom took the smallest of baby steps while he continued to move in strut. These small steps brought him into an opening for me and as soon as he turned his fan I drew back. Once the Tom spun back he offered a broadside shot and I released the arrow from 25 yards. -Smack! The Tom was popped hard and he rolled onto his side and hobbled about fifteen yards and laid down just inside some timber, however his head remained up. I did look at him through my rangefinder and could see that he had some blood coming from his beak, the sign of a long hit more than likely. After just a couple minutes he got up and walked two yards and laid right back down. I could no longer see him as there was now a red pine lined up perfectly between us. I knew from past experience to just let the bird be, however he got up yet again as the hens started putting and he tried flying in the hurt/hobble/trying to fly technique that we've all seen once or twice? This maneuver got my blood pressure going as he was now completely out of site and moving into some young white pines that are very thick. With that, I quickly unzipped the blind and went into full caveman rundown mode with bow in hand. Within a few seconds the bird was secured and upon inspection my shot was about an inch back as it clipped one lung and blew up the top of the leg on exit.  I believe the Tom was a two year old as he weighed 19.4 lbs, a sported inch spurs, and an eight inch beard. 

What an unreal way to finish off the 2015 season!  I'm already looking forward to next spring. 

 

Gobble-gobble! -Luke

John Daniel’s Rookie Debut

John Daniel, or “JD” as most call him got information from his grandpa late in 2014 that Grandpa had found out that JD could legally turkey hunt in Minnesota as a youth at age six.  JD quickly became elated as he has been enthralled to say the least in hunting ever since he could walk and talk.  Over the next few months a calendar date was set and the spring turkey hunting trip to Minnesota materialized.  During this time JD continued to work on gun safety and blew through a couple boxes of .410 ammunition practicing for the moment of truth that he hoped would arrive in May.  Most importantly, JD handled the gun very safely.  His marksmanship showed great improvement over this time as well.  We found out that the biggest obstacle that he found was ensuring that his cheek was down on the gun and that the gun’s stock was properly seated along his shoulder.  (Although the gun was a .410 and not great in barrel size it still was an adult gun.)

As the spring turkey season arrived JD spent quite a few mornings and afternoons in the blind with me as I worked on getting a turkey here in Wisconsin.  -This was “training” for JD as he called it for his upcoming hunt.  He worked on staying quiet, did some calling, and continued to work on his general woodsmanship as he had for the previous few springs.

 May quickly arrived and we found ourselves packing up to head west to Minnesota.  JD was very much excited.  The weather for the weekend that we had picked looked less and less favorable, however this was not going to stop us as we were on a mission and had blinds to sit in and protect us from the elements.

We arrived at Grandpa Dan’s farm and JD and I quickly found ourselves sitting in an afternoon location not too far from the house.  JD helped set up the decoys and the two of us patiently waited and called sparingly about every twenty minutes or so.  The afternoon wore on and JD became less focused so we decided to pick up and call it a day.  Turkeys: 1, JD: 0.

The following morning arrived early for me as JD kept me up all night.  –He said that he couldn’t sleep because he was so excited.  (I am all for excitement, however I hope that this sleeping deal cures itself sooner as opposed to later as the 4:00AM wake-up calls are tough even with getting “a full night’s sleep”!)   This morning we were off to one of Grandpa Dan’s other hand-picked “honey hole” locations that he had been watching all spring.  After arriving and getting set up in the dark the gobbling soon began.  Several toms were located to the south of us and were all roost gobbling for at least a half hour before getting off of the roost.  We scanned the field in front of us and had a few hens show up along with a few jakes through the morning.  We also watched a mature tom strut for a hen for nearly an hour about 300 yards from our position.  There was no sweet talking that would lure that gobbler from the hen.  All in all, it was a very eventful morning and we even saw a coupl coyotes and a few deer.  Once the morning hunt was deeded as over we made the group decision to reposition the blind to the corner of the field where we believed the tom was roosted along a small island of trees for the next morning’s hunt.  Turkeys: 2, JD: 0.

The next morning arrived and brought with it thunderstorms in epic proportions.  If JD hadn’t been hunting and it wasn’t his final day with Grandpa Dan I would not have thought twice about tucking myself back into bed and catching some additional sleep, however we were going hunting---hell or high water.  (High water it was!)  This morning, Nolan, JD’s younger brother was additionally going to join us for the early AM adventure.  Nolan is always a wildcard and is guaranteed to offer laughs even if things are ugly, so we couldn’t go wrong?!  Once again, we arrived at the blind in the dark, however this time there was light rain and the skies were filled with lightning.  The walk to the blind was a bit interesting as we slopped our way across a recently planted oats field that was more like Louisiana Gumbo.



Ok, so even a six year old runs out of energy sometimes...

 After getting settled into the blind we all patiently waited for the storms to subside and for it to start getting light out. I was particularly proud of the boys and how quietly they made it into the blind believing that we were fairly close to a roosted gobbler.  After about fifteen or twenty minutes of listening to the rain as we sat in the dark a closer raincloud let out a thunder and with it followed old tom, the thunder chicken, with a gobble that had to have easily been within 50 yards of the blind.  I thought to myself that maybe, just maybe, we’d be rewarded for our foolish choice to hunt in the rain.   Another half hour passed and the skies let up and it began to get lighter and lighter ever so slowly.  I knew that we would have a short window this morning to work the birds as the radar was littered with heavy rain.  With that in mind, I told JD to get ready because the tom could pitch down into the decoys at any given moment.  This didn’t happen, however, after a few short clucks we did hear a bird or two hop off of their roost along the wood line.  We looked up just in time to see a couple of toms that were easily within gun range however JD was only shooting a .410 and was not even set up to shoot that direction.  The birds proceeded to walk to the south where they met another tom and a few jakes.  The birds did not spook, but for whatever reason they were not even moderately interested in our set-up or calling.  Maybe we had got too close to their roost?  Maybe it was the blind?  Maybe they weren’t into hen turkeys?  Who knows?  All that we knew was that the birds were close, but gone now. 

 We hung out in the blind for another couple of hours as it continued to rain.  Disguising the blind as an ark became an increasingly more popular idea to lure in unsuspecting animals looking for shelter.  Meanwhile, Nolan consumed his time with picking night crawlers from the ground under the blind as he became more and more enthralled with them.   Our patience and foolish pride was once again rewarded as a couple of hens appeared and picked their way through the field and soon thereafter some magical jakes just showed up to the east of us about 400 yards, poof!  The jakes were in no hurry to do anything as they meandered this way and that in the field.  They were kind of making their way towards our side of the field, but really didn’t look all that interested.  Over the course of the next ten or fifteen minutes every call in the bag was scratched, struck, blown, or beaten.  These jakes were a Hail Mary and we were desperately hoping these guys would come and take a look at the decoys so that JD could get a shot.   As if our prayers to the turkey gods were answered, two jakes broke away slightly and showed moderate interest.  Within another couple of minutes these two crazy hombres were on a string coming to the decoys on a mad bum rush that looked like a jail break.   (This is what we call the "jake hustle".)  I told JD to get ready and I could tell that he was getting excited by his eyes. 

 Within seconds the two jakes were rubbing up against the decoy.  I told JD to take a deep breath and take his time.  The safety clicked off on his double barreled .410 and a moment later a shot rang out as the birds stood at twelve yards.  The birds continued to stand at twelve yards following the shot though!  I am not certain, but I think JD shot right over the top of the birds’ head.  The jakes scampered away and we nearly coaxed them back for another volley, however it did not happen.  I looked at JD’s face and although he held back his tears I know he was welling up.  (I felt like I may cry!)  Grandpa Dan consoled him and he told both of us that he was sorry.  We both told him that there was absolutely nothing to be “sorry” about.  Everything was done right on the hunt with the exception of the shot, which is not a big deal.   After a few minutes of dejection JD bounced back and was back in the right mindset and was smiling.  

 The weekend was one that JD will never forget as he had the opportunity to share his first hunt with Uncle Nick, Nolan, his dad, a good friend of our family’s, Brandon Cizek, and most importantly, Grandpa Dan.  I am sure that the JD and Grandpa will share many more great mornings together in the blind, however this one will not soon be forgotten.   And JD, I never missed a turkey until I was twenty-four years old; however I never hunted turkeys until I was twenty-four either!  You're years ahead of me! FINAL SCORE: Turkeys: 3, JD: All smiles! J

Spring Thunder

The 2015 turkey season kicked off on April 15 with “questionable” expectations.  The early morning scouting missions that I had worked in the weeks leading up to the season yielded very poor results. -I had heard absolutely no roost gobbling and the overall number of sightings was significantly down in contrast to years past. This was particularly concerning considering the winters of 2012/2013 and 2013/2014, which were unbelievably brutal coupled with the 2013 spring that had extremely wet brooding conditions.

 I found myself scratching my head wondering which location to hunt as the season approached.  With only four days before the opening morning my oldest son, JD, and I decided to put my blind up in a high ground location along a small ridge line in hopes that it would serve as a possible travel corridor and would be a good starting point to simply listen for gobbles on opening morning if nothing else.  Adjustments could always be made in the following days. After talking with my hunting partner, Nick, he was in full agreement with the starting location. Upon setting the blind, JD and I saw a tom strutting a short distance of 250 yards away with a group of seven lady friends... With that simple sighting I felt a least a little better about the outlook for the opening season.

 Opening morning brought perfect hunting conditions. -Clear skies, very little wind, and temps starting around 40 degrees. I was optimistic that the birds would be vocal and ready to act, however after a couple hours of the season occurred there wasn't a single gobble to be heard. The optimism quickly faded to pessimism and the head scratching started again.  However, right before leaving the blind to head to work a couple of distant gobbles sounded off and the optimism returned. We did have a lonely hen additionally come to our calling that morning.  This hen hung around the jake/hen dakota decoy spread for quite some time, but the "real deal" even failed to lure in a tom despite vocalizing her want for a boy toy.  

 On Saturday morning my trusty hunting buddies, Nick and JD, joined me at the blind.  The morning started off a little shaky as I forgot the decoys and had to double back and make some time up.  I managed to make it to the blind yet just before opening light and we all got settled in after a few jabs were taken at me by Nick.  Once again, no roost gobbling, however a couple hours into the hunt we heard a distant gobble off a few hundred yards. As we patiently waited and listened a couple more gobbles ensued as a crow had this gobbler fired up.  We continued to call sparingly and a couple more gobbles were heard. Within a few short minutes a lone hen appeared and a tom erupted with a thundering gobble as he was quickly closing the distance. Our eyes focused on the line that the hen came on as we figured this tom was shadowing her.  A jake then appeared and I readied my bow as I was in full "kill mode" now. I began determining potential openings in the young white pines where I may potentially have a shot opportunity while Nick lightly made hen music on the slate call.

 My focus on the jake was suddenly interrupted when Nick informed me that there was a big tom coming in hard at our twelve o'clock at seventy five yards and closing quickly amidst the white pines. Although I didn't immediately see him through the pines in just a brief few seconds I did as he closed the gap to 30 yards. We anticipated a very tight shot as the jake decoy was at eight yards, however the tom settled right at twenty yards directly in front of the blind next to his hen friend. I told Nick and JD, who had a front row seat now, that I was going to take this shot. I readied the bow and had a tight right corner shot through the blind. Despite the tight angle I felt extremely confident with the shot as his head was down and centered itself right in front of his body. I decided to shoot for the base of the bird's neck as I determined that it would be a center punch hit even if I slightly missed the base of the neck.

 I drew back and let the montec laced arrow fly. Instead of hearing a "wump" sound that I was expecting I simply heard a simple "swish" as it sounded like a clean miss. I quickly questioned myself on just what had happened, however the turkey's reactions made it quite clear as he crumpled to the ground and lay motionless. A perfect shot! The broadhead nearly lopped the tom's head completely off.  A number of high fives erupted from the blind and JD ecstatically took off from the blind to check out the bird.

 Within just a few short minutes the question marks were answered and an odd opening week with great weather brought a 22 lb long beard to us. The overall numbers of turkeys could be down, but all it takes is one bird to make a season and a great memory with two best hunting buddies, my son and my brother. 

 

Gobble-Gobble! -luke

Making Memories...

My oldest son, John Daniel, and I set out to the woods on the Friday afternoon of the Wisconsin rifle season together.  Earlier that day we sat together for the morning hunt and did not see much of anything.  Although we both had high hopes of getting a deer sometimes not seeing anything can serve a purpose as well.  –The two of us talked about patience over lunch that day.  We also talked about persistence and how when persistence is coupled with patience over the long haul one will be much more successful not only in the woods, hunting, but also in life.  I realize that this is me talking to my six year old son, but I just hope that he can take even a little away from this kind of talk and apply it sometime in life.

As the afternoon unwound John Daniel and I started to see some deer up and moving around, which was a great sign.  By 3:00 o’clock we had already surpassed our morning total, which wasn’t all that difficult as we had only seen two, but nonetheless it was promising.  The next half hour brought more and more deer to their feet and we were both constantly scanning this way and that in search of a buck that may have eluded everyone so far.  Sure enough, on cue, a nice buck stepped out about 250 yards away.  Both of us quickly tried to get our binoculars on him, but just as we got settled in on him he cruised into the woods.  We had a good idea where he might come out if he stayed moving the same direction we saw him moving on and I readied the rifle.  As the buck stepped out he was facing left and John Daniel noted that he was a “shooter”.  I centered the rifle and told John Daniel to cover his ears.  With a “boom” the buck went down and we knew that he was down for good.  When I turned to John Daniel he was smiling from ear to ear and was already getting ready to go clean the deer!  He then said something that gave me a good inner-chuckle as he said, "Looks like our patience paid off, Dad."  Yes, JD, looks like it did.  :) (If only it was that easy every time.)

The two of us got down from the stand and walked to the downed buck, a nice eight point.  Certainly not one of my largest deer ever, but a trophy that will forever be etched in my mind as a hunt with John Daniel.  After we finished cleaning the deer the two of us drug it back to the truck to open the tailgate and realize that we had an Otter Sled aboard and could have made the dragging twice as easy if we’d have only remembered it.  The two of us laughed about it and I shook my head.  –There’s always a next time, right?  I certainly hope that there are many “next times”.  I look forward to dragging countless deer out of the woods with John Daniel and his younger brother and sister by my side in the many years to come.  This is truly what it’s all about. 

Good Huntin’ ,

Luke

"Lucky" Luke Strikes Again...

The word “Luck” is thrown around all of the time… It seems as though it has often been synonymous with me.  Sure, my name, “Luke”, sounds and looks a lot like “luck.” One of my boyhood baseball idols, Pete Rose, even went as far as signing an autograph to me as to “Lucky Luke.”  (In reality, he had just had a long day and had a lapse in the spelling of my name, but we’ll stick with it as it goes well with the story.) The word “luck” is originally derived from “Łuck”, which just so happens to be Polish and is pronounced as “lootsk”. So, there is that very distinguishable commonality.  The definition of “luck” in the form of a noun is as follows:

1. the force that seems to operate for good or ill in a person's life, as in shaping circumstances, events, or opportunities:

With my luck I'll probably get pneumonia.

2. good fortune; advantage or success, considered as the result of chance:

He had no luck finding work.

3. a combination of circumstances, events, etc., operating by chance to bring good or ill to a person:

She's had nothing but bad luck all year.

4. some object on which good fortune is supposed to depend:

This rabbit's foot is my luck.

            Some folks have often said that I am the luckiest man in the world. (-Usually this is said in a state of haste and not always in the friendliest of means with a bit of attitude along with it.) However, I couldn’t agree more and believe this is indeed a true fact.  I did state this in my very own wedding speech a little over eight years ago as I stole a quote from the Iron Horse, Lou Gerig. (I did quote him to ensure that he was credited though.) 

            To say that luck has been on my side throughout my lifetime would be a gross understatement.  I have much to be thankful for.  A loving, healthy family that includes the best wife I could ever imagine, three little rays of sunshine, JD, Nolan, and Kat, two wonderful brothers, loving parents that have been the constant oak trees to lean on throughout my life, a mother-in-law that is so kind and caring, and a great host of other family members and friends that have served as great inspiration throughout life.  I have also been lucky to share many moments with some extremely valued family members who have passed away, but shared memorable times with me while here. –These are the people and things I am indeed lucky for.

            As far as the other facets of life, I have had great fortune, that some may call luck, on my side as well.  Here, I attribute a few things to the fortune.  First and foremost, the persistence. Persistence, persistence, persistence. (And then more persistence.)  Some call it an addictive personality, however I call it persistence. There is probably a fine line between the two, but I certainly don’t need to see that.

Next, positive thinking.  My opinion is that positive thinking puts everything else in place and truly legitimizes the odds of a perceived “chance” falling in one’s favor.  Just think about it for a minute… When was the last time you accomplished anything going into it thinking that you did not have a chance to succeed? 

Finally, there is some type of horseshoe or rabbit’s foot involved, but this is the “chance” aspect.  The chance aspect, or luck as some may call it, is maximized by persistence and positive thinking.  Still, there are no guarantees, and someone needs to make the right cards fall into place.  Faith?  Luck? A mixture of both?  I don’t claim to have this answer. What I do know is that some call me “Lucky Luke.”  For the record, I don’t have any problem with the name and hope it sticks for a long time! 

Good huntin'. -luke