At dusk, a doe came by. About twenty five yards out. I fired once, a near miss. As I attempted to chamber another shell, the doe stopped in her tracks. I pulled the trigger. Click. I worked the action, and pulled the trigger again. Click. The water in the gun froze the shells in the magazine. I never got another shot all week.
Billy took a doe at my Pennycook blind on day two. Bill Totsline took a nice buck, as did Jason. Cousin Frank took a doe. Don, Frank’s friend took a button buck, and a huge six point. Dennis took a doe. The boys in his club took fifteen deer. Kent turned up his nose at seven deer, twenty five feet away, at opening day dawn. I was the only boy in town that got skunked.
I went to Saturday evening mass at Annunciation, in Portageville. After mass I went up to light candles. A tall white bearded man was also lighting candles. We had a short exchange of words. It was Wheelehan, who hassled me up on the hillside two years ago. He apologized. It didn’t seem possible that a man who could act like that would be in church. He said “I apologize, let’s go on from here. And good luck hunting”.
Still Frustrated Tuesday 12-05-00
Last Saturday I went down to Portageville. I hunted the flats, and the Hines property, to no avail.
On Sunday I spoke to Billy Totsline about hunting his land. But he was hesitant. I won’t be going there.
On Monday I gathered up my courage and went to see Mary Cartwright about hunting on her land. To my great surprise she said yes.
Last night I went into blind one. After a couple of hours a doe came by. I shot at and wounded her, and she went down into the ravine. There was quite a bit of blood in the snow. But the blood trail disappeared.
On the way out of the woods, I came out behind one Michael Oltan. As I rounded the edge of the woods, he held out a hand and whispered “quiet”. There was a deer feeding 300 yards into the field. It was almost dark. He watched it feed for about five minutes, and then began shooting at it with a semiautomatic loaded with three inch magnums. Fire leapt eighteen inches out of the barrel. The gun boomed, but the deer didn’t run. He reloaded, and fired again. The deer ran playfully in circles, and finally pranced off.
Then he turned to me, and began to speak. He was going to throw me off the property. I told him that that Mary, his aunt, had granted me access that morning. It all worked out.
Back at Rose’s Billy showed up. We got Kent, and took flashlights. We searched unsuccessfully for an hour, and had to give up. Bill and I went back this morning, again without success. I’m still frustrated, with two weeks left to hunt.
Let me note that Jeromy killed two beautiful doe. And Billy killed a second deer.
Bill bought a propane tank for his new mobile home. So we have heat and light. We’re carrying in water.
The new home will work out beautifully.
However Billy’s cirrhosis is quite severe. He was spitting up blood, and throwing up. He may or may not survive. I offer a prayer for his redemption.
Sat. 12-08-00
I’ll have to modify the four hour principle I discussed five years ago. I said that a hunter mustbe prepared to sit in silence for four hours or more if he hopes to succeed.
While this is an excellent practice, there are other considerations. It was five degrees above zero when I got into the woods at 6:45 this morning. I started to shiver after one hour. My fingers and toes were passing past pain into numbness. Gradually the shivering was becoming uncontrollable. It was time to come out of the woods after one hour and twenty minutes.
The four hour must be suspended in extreme cold. Stay as long as you can, without going numb. When you can’t stop the shivering, head for warmth.
There was quite a squirrel show at dawn and dusk today. Something about these moments that compels the squirrels to come out for a short while. Billy believes the deer become active at first and last light as well. I agree.
I figured why I missed killing the doe the other day. It was dusk. Black sights on my gun. A dark deer against a black tree.
I saw a hawk soaring overhead today. Lots of crows. A mouse. A huge flock of geese in the night sky.
A huge round moon rose in the east. The full moon will be in two days. I feel the energy building. Will I score and kill my deer at last?
Mon. Dec. 25-2000
The hunting season ended last Tuesday. Last weekend was my last chance to score.
I decided to hunt the corner of woods by Billy’s cabin. On Saturday morning at 10:00 am, a small doe happened by. She was curious about who and what I was, and came to within thirty feet of me to stop and stare. I dropped her with a perfect heart shot, and finished her off with a head shot. The exit hole from the first shot was as large as a coffee can. The fifty caliber bullet is devastating.
On Saturday night, at dusk, a procession of ten deer came up out of the park. At forty yards, in fading light, I chose not to shoot.
On Sunday evening, a nice doe came through about fifty feet away. I thought it was a slam dunk, but I missed again, to my great frustration.
Monday was my last day to hunt, this year. I posted at the back of Billy’s lot until four pm. As the weather was uncertain, I went out to the truck to warm up, and check the sky. Mom and Aunt Miska had warned me about the weather, but the sky was clear. I had one last hour to hunt.
As I walked back into Billy’s corner, I spotted twenty deer browsing on the property next door. Bucks does, big ones, small ones. I posted where I could intercept them, as the sun set, hoping for one last shot. At last shooting light, I turned m y head, and saw two nice deer coming close behind me. Again at forty yards, just a little far out. I made a bleat call. The deer froze, then headed away. This was my last chance, again I chose not to shoot.
I’m going to cut and practice with a shooting stick, paint my front sites with bright paint, And practice, practice. I’ve now killed six deer, in the last five years. All within forty feet. I’ve always waited for the slam dunk. Inside forty feet. But I’ll need to shoot with dependable accuracy at a much longer range if I’m going to harvest abundantly every year.
I’ll get more quick load tubes, bullets, and whatever else I’ll need. We’ll go shooting next Sunday. Justin, John, and myself. Mountain men we will be.
The hunting season is over. I hunted hard, and it was a great adventure. When I came out of the woods at the end of the hunting season, a power and a peace was upon me. A good hunting season is akin to a good religious retreat. Cousin Rose was a gracious host. I thank her for her hospitality.
April 2001 – Spring is Here
I just returned from a week in Florida. I spent my time fishing.
I was down at Wiggins pass on my first day. I was using two poles, baited with shrimp. I was working with one pole, while the other was propped behind a folding chair. The line was in the water, forty feet out. I figured if a fish hit, I’d have time to grab the pole and set the hook. But whatever hit the shrimp was big and moving fast. The pole flipped over the chair, and out into deep water, before I could grab it. I chased the pole, to no avail. An obvious lesson.
Later that afternoon a school of lady fish came through. Several of the fishermen caught them. I caught one about sixteen inches long. Marvelous fighter. It cleared water by two feet, three times.
I went down to Wiggins three or four times. It’s near Dad’s place, and very beautiful. The fishing is not always great, but it is always interesting. There is occasionally a great catch out of there. On my three times there I caught two cats, one manta ray, one leopard ray, one whiting, and a jack. I saw ospreys, egrets, dolphins, manatees, a huge shark on the prowl, and a jumping tarpon.
On Friday I went down to Goodland, to see Cousin Billy. I stayed overnight. The first day we went out to where the islands break the wind and waves from the ocean. We caught three trout. I cleaned them. Billy took them to the restaurant where he works, to have the chef prepare them.
After I got cleaned up and rested, I went to the Little Bar. First Billy put an NA beer in front of me. Then marinated amber jack, herring, cheese, onion and tomatoes. Then onion soup. Then he brought out the trout. Sautéed in butter, with a sweet potato, rolls and butter. Lastly a strawberry whip.
I offered him money. He refused, saying “just give me three dollars to buy the cook a drink, and buy gas for tomorrow’s fishing”.
On Saturday we were out on the water by 10:30. We killed ‘em. Thirty cats, two sharks, fourteen trout and whiting. We casted leaded jigs tipped with shrimp.
Billy caught a pin fish. We tossed it out on a tarpon rig, while we both worked a jig and shrimp.
Something big hit the tarpon rig. Billy was looking the other way. I shouted. He jumped, and dropped his small pole. The we had hits on the two poles, as well. Three rods going at one time. Incredible!
Billy curses the cats, and says they are useless. But I’d like to try one. If they are palatable, it would be an incredible resource.
A large boat across the bay hooked into something huge. We watched them follow the fish for an hour. Around an island and out into the ocean. They were still playing the fish when we left.
We found a deep hole in the estuary we were fishing. There we caught fewer cats, and more trout and whiting. They say trout live over grass.
Down at Wiggins the children come down to the beach with their parents. I found myself letting the children use one of my poles, showing them a little of how to fish. Or letting them play a hooked fish, untangling their lines, lending hooks and bait.
Yesterday a huge ray cleared water. It was four feet wide, six feet long, with stripes on it’s wings.
One man landed a snook, kept it in a pail until it died, then tossed it back in the water. That bothered me. However Billy, true to form, gave me a snook fillet to take home. About two pounds. Along with seven frozen trout, and seven whiting.
Tip, if you want to adventure like I do, find a cousin of mine down in Goodalnd named Billy O. The night he served me dinner in the bar, a fight broke out. Tables went over, glasses smashed, drinks spilled. The smell of tequila filled the room. Billy courageously stepped right into the middle of it, and separated the combatants. A good reason not to drink.
May 5 2001
Last night Justin and I took the new canoe out on Tonawanda Creek. We were casting artificials. It is early in the season. Justin hooked and landed a 29 inch Northern. The other fishermen at the creek were doing well too, landing pike, bass, and crappie. Applause broke out when we got the pike in the boat.
Most of the other fishermen were using large chubs under a bobber. They’d landed a bass, and a pike.
We fried up the fish, over at Justin’s house, and ate right there. Now that’s fresh fish.
June 24th
Justin and I went down to Portageville to fish on the Genesee. Bass season just opened. It was a two day trip. We planned to stay at Billy’s little trailer. The one he let me stay in.
Yesterday it rained all day. Justin made a trap for helgramites out of a squirrel cage fan, and sheet metal. We dug around in the river muck for a couple hours. We caught crayfish, minnows, slugs and worms. But no helgramites. However Kent, my cousin, gave us some of the ugly larvae.
We launched the canoe, and fished the back water by Portageville. We got some bites on crayfish, but hooked no fish. We got pretty wet, and went back to the trailer. We got the propane lamp lit, a candle, and a small catalytic heater. Then I lit a bonfire with wet wood. I got it going with kerosene. I got things situated in the trailer and set out dinner. Cold chicken, bread and jam, cut fruit. We set our wet clothes and shoes around the fire. They were steaming n the heat.
Justin came inside for dinner. He explained that the table could be taken down, and made into a bed. I told him to go ahead and try it. He pulled up the table, and started moving cushions. I held a flashlight, so we could see. And what should appear from under the cushions? A nest of snakes and several shed skins.
He was upset with me when I told him I couldn’t fish until after mass. I took time to explain to him why Sunday church is important to me. He accepted my reasoning.
Church was wonderful, as it always is in Portageville.
We went back to the trailer for breakfast. Then drove to Rossburg to launch the canoe. The river was high and fast. We hit white water several times. It took four hours to float the distance, maybe five miles. We never got a strike.
Justin was a bit disappointed with the fishing. But the scenery was terrific. We saw many interesting birds, deer, water rats, and fields of beautiful wild flowers. It was a peaceful and renewing weekend.
I’m glad we made the trip.
