Swamp Donkey with a Cannon

Deer hunting in Iowa is far different from deer hunting in South Dakota, especially when it concerns archery gear. It is a different breed of hunting out here and I now see why most forgo the archery gear and go straight for a rifled barrel.
I spent a weekend at Al and Karin's hunting at Cochrane's a few weeks back, and even screwed up my chance at a big beautiful buck. I made a horrendous shot and never recovered the deer. This was the first deer I had within range I had all season. This was the third I had seen while bow hunting all season. I am a spoiled brat from the heart of deer country, and I didn't deserve to shoot one up here. I have had duck, pheasants, and walleye at my finger tips since I moved up here, and my deer brain was destroying me. Once the rifle season opened, I hoped I could shoot the first brown one that showed up and be done with it.
My beloved Rachel brought me back to reality the evening before my hunt. I have not had an evening talking with her that has hasn't ended in reduced blood pressure. I just needed to get out and enjoy myself again without the stigma of shooting a booner, or a deer at all. My goals were to see a deer, and enjoy the rafts of geese that wafted through from Canada.
I was able to get permission from a landowner less than a mile up the road. In fact, I was on the property adjacent to where I hunting doves in September, and the same one I used to access my first duck hunts of the season. Because the house was empty at the time, and there were no horses in the pasture, I literally sat in the pasture right behind the house.
I sat beneath an overhanging cedar tree and watched the world wake up.
I finally got to see my deer.
I watched three bucks work the edge of the slough on the adjacent property, all three shooters, but one was a tank. It amazed me that at 700 yards I could see the splits in his G2's. When I lost them I watch another decent buck work that same edge and walked directly away over the crest of the hill towards Clark. When I lost sight of him, I watched a red pickup pull into the same field and park on the crest where the buck stood minutes before.
I continued to scope for more deer and watched another brute of a buck push a doe into the deep and chase off four other small bucks in the area. At around 9am I watched that decent buck from earlier come back over the top of the hill and lock up halfway down. The red pick dude was enjoying his nice toasty 'South Dakota deer stand', and the buck slowly made his way down to the bottoms, not taking his eyes off of the truck.
I was beyond freezing at this point.
I have struggled with the cold this year and I do not know why, but thankfully it has not cost me too much yet.
Nick texted me a photo of his unpreparedness of the winter onslaught. I responded with my own photo of clear and cold. My hands could barely handle my phone. I hit send and looked up.
Next to a lone, tipped boxelder in the pasture was that decent buck.

He took roughly half an hour to cover a half section and now he was in my pasture. I dropped the phone, moved my make-shift bipod, and settled the cross-hairs.

I thought, "lets see how close he can get before I-"
BLAM!!!!
I tried to rack another shell into the chamber and failed horribly. I watched as my first South Dakota swamp donkey pinwheeled around from where he stood last.
I made my standard incoherent phone calls and stood in awe. Normally, I would shoot a deer and regain feeling in my extremities again, but as I stood at the top of the hill, I was so cold I was nauseous. I went back to the car, all 70 yards to it, and did my best to collect my gutting supplies. My leg and toes were burning by the time I got back to my spot. I grabbed my bi-pod and headed down the hill. I got to share the recovery of Michael's buck this season over face-time, but since my phone is minimalist, I figured I would just have him on the line. It was a great to share the recovery of my rifle buck, even if it was over the phone. Pics ensued:

The shot was 218 yards with my Uncle Rick's 300 win. mag. I thought my muzzleloader barked...
Because he dropped on the spot and pinwheeled around, I thought I had actually smoked him. As I told everyone in my calls, "Smoked him, right through the heart. And by heart I mean hip..."
Less than ideal, but as my Uncle Rick always told me, dead is dead, don't matter how.
I have worked hard for this site.

Rachel told me awhile back that she would rather I just put a dead deer in boat instead of hanging it on the back of our nice vehicle. I will be damned before I miss out on that chance.

Michael Parker felt it necessary to send me this later in the afternoon:

I was able to bring it home, and then put it in the boat to cool overnight before we quartered him out. Rachel's boss gave us the green light to use there heated facilities and the calf jack so I was able to hang my deer and butcher it with tunes.

He was not the largest deer I have ever harvested, and in fact, he was likely the smallest in body of any none-button buck I have ever shot. There are two classes of deer in this country, small and stringy, and herford steers with antlers. I think we all know which gene pool I pulled from.
I am generally not one for sending off my deer to have someone else do the work, but after quartering, trimming, and cleaning, I sent the meat we got to the locker. Their reputation is stellar, and that's what the Mrs. wanted. I guess we will see in a couple months.


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Frozen Duck

The Friday before the rifle opener, I had a full day of flex time to use from work and I convinced a co-worker (from my office) to join me on what would likely be my last duck hunt of the season depending on the conditions. There had been a cold snap and some of the pocket sloughs were starting to freeze, but the gale-force winds were keeping them open. The night before I drove out to check things out, and there were swans and tons of canvasbacks on the slough I had been hunting but I would be hunting the one across the road. Not many ducks but my pocket was open.

By the next morning the wind had died down and it was snappy cold. I had not expected to show up and see it completely frozen over...

We busted ice for half an hour but it was crappy ice that crushed like pie crust. We slid as many of the large chunks under as possible but it only worked so well. We set out a few decoys and put some shell decoys on the ice and then waited for the birds. A few high flying mallards, and the occasional diver would swing past us. Hundreds of geese were in the air but nothing that wasn't headed straight for Mexico.
We had one mallard that came in just too close and my itchy finger woke up. I took three shots with the Big-Ben and came up short. We watch as he flew off but he cupped his wings and dropped into the winter wheat field behind us; he didn't act funny, but his actions gave him away. My co-worker was cold and wanted to go after the mallard. As Murphy's Law clearly dictates, when we crested the hill a flock of ducks were cupped and dropping into our set...
I told my co-worker that would could try a sneak jump them from our set. When we got close enough to jump them they were gone. We were watching the spot the whole time, and I still have no idea where they were. When we got back into the spot the fun began. I thought it was a good idea to bring some high test fishing line to create a pull cord to keep the decoys moving in the icy water on this calm morning. I forgot it was there when we got up to look for the mallard, and now the three of us were tangled in 30 lb test mono. I tackled the dog and literally had to cut her out of it, and then moved on to my friend. I no more than got him untangled and looked up. The flock was feet down in our spread and our guns were at our feet. I picked up the 10 gauge and emptied it. I was able to send a single BB to the right spot and I pulled one down. My friend took the pup over to recover our only bird while I dealt with the twisted debacle of fishing line.

We sat for another hour before we pull out of there. My pothole was frozen, but we weren't skunked!

I am hoping I will find the time to get out one last time before the big freeze. As of now, the big water remains open, but most of the ducks and geese have headed south.



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'Mud and Gun-powder'

"A hunt based only on the trophies taken falls short on what the ultimate goals should be." 

These words were spoken by a legend in the outdoor world, Fred Bear.
I love being able to mix up my hunting opportunities here in South Dakota, but I appreciate these hunts more when I get to share them with others. Even more so, I live for duck hunts with my Dad. We have shared a few fantastic hunts already this season and I have learned more in two hunts than I ever could have in an entire fall by myself. Dad and I are cut from the same stock, and each hunt out seems better than the last.
After my 'Day on the Prairie', Dad and I planned ahead for a Veteran's Day duck hunt. I was able to get permission for the same duck slough so we could get another crack at some divers. By shear luck I got Dad on pintail earlier in the season, and Dad told me it had been years since he had seen a canvasback. This was the slough to see some cool stuff, including a possible can.

Dad drove up early Wednesday morning, but we didn't get to the slough until a little after 8am.

When we got to the field approach at the top of the hill we were met but a couple thousand waterfowl. There were about 200+ swans, and more ducks and geese than we could count. The slough was covered. I stopped at the top of the hill and asked Dad what we do now.

Speechless.

He eventually just said "I have no idea".
He took a short video as they all got up from the water:

It was an unreal sight indeed.
When we got down to the water's edge there was still a small flock of specklebellies still in the nearest cove. I figured we could get out slow and make a sneak on them. We got almost close enough before they broke, and I was borderline panicky at this point. When we rounded the bend and got out there were still 30 or so swans and seemingly endless ducks still swirling around. I worked as fast as I could to get decoys out, and to make sure the spread was perfect. I was halfway through when birds started trying to filter their way back in. Every time I looked over at Dad, he had a grin on his face.

It took only fifteen minutes before we had big ducks in our spread. A small flock were feet down and swinging left. Dad called the shot and we pulled down a giant bull canvasback. I was astonished to say the least, and Dad's grin was permanently frozen into position. In less than 5 minutes there was another flock working in and again, cans. Dad let me take the shot and I dropped the drake from the pair.
This was unbelievable.

They just kept coming in!
Another small flock worked our decoy set, and again Dad and I pulled out another drake. The ducks were working like magic this morning and I was amazing at our unreal success. The next flock of course were cans. Dad let me have a crack and these, and again, I dropped another drake.
In less than 20 minutes we had our limit of canvasbacks, and all drakes. Quite frankly, it didn't matter if we shot any at all as we were both stoked to be hunting together. I however, believe my success is directly related to how much I want to shoot something. My greatest success is when I am in the moment, enjoying the outdoors.
It was amazing to watch the birds as they darted in and out of the coves, and swing around to give our set another look. A flock of 15 or so teal came screaming into our set and were in our face before we knew it. Dad was out for big ducks but I have an itchy finger. I doubled on the flock, and Mocha was able to get both birds for me.
We stood in the midst of the cattails and marveled at the ducks that worked around. We could have shot a dozen or more canvasbacks all morning; they just didn't want to be anywhere else. I videoed a pair that we could have shot multiple times over the course of 10 minutes. As I pan left when they are coming in, I see a mallard feet down in our pocket:

 

The duck thing has been nuts, but what amazed me the most were the swans. They are a lot bigger than I even thought, and seeing them decoy is like decoying Canadian bush planes. Flock after flock tried working their way back into this slough, but they are wary critters. Dad suggested we pull the mojo decoy and see if that will improve our heavy pressured birds. Not only did it help with the swans but it helped with the ducks.
I never knew they were there until Dad called the shot, but we had two drake mallards sneak in over the top of us and drop right into our pocket. We did some magnificent missing but we pulled one of the drakes down. Again, Mocha retrieved our bird for us, but she was slowing down.

Another flock of bigger ducks looped around us before we figured out they were wigeons. We called the shot late but pulled out one of them. It was a far retrieve and Mocha panicked. We ended up watching the duck as it floating feet up across the slough. We counted it to our limit and would grab it on our way out. It seemed like minutes, but it was another hour or so before, another flock came in and Dad pulled down another drake wigeon. This time, Mocha was able to bring it back to us after a break in the action. We were two birds away from a limit, and we discussed whether or not that mattered. The consensus was that it was the day of all days to be on the marsh, so we might as well enjoy it as long as possible.
As often happens while fishing, that "one more fish" scenario was playing out here. Dad would go back to his pack and get a sandwich and some coffee, and we would watch as hundreds of snow geese would fly 150 yards above us. It took a couple of hours before our last two birds came in. Most of the birds came in on our left this morning, but a pair of giant mallards lit to our right. I told Dad to shoot, but he wanted the pair. So we jumped them, and dropped them with two perfect shots. Mocha grabbed Dad's first, then came back out for mine, and that finalized an unimaginable day on the duck marsh.
After collecting the magic decoys, took some necessary photos of our hunt.

After leaving our spot we doubled back on the road and I waded through the deep water to the island to find our errant wigeon. There was one blade of cattail holding that bird from floating the rest of the way to the road, but oh well.

As we crested the hill at came to the stop sign I looked at Dad and said,

"Smells like mud and gun-powder"

There was Dad's grin again.



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Deer Frustrations and Pheasants in the Bag

Living in the land of walleye, duck, and pheasants obviously has it's major perks. Growing up in the heartland of deer country however, has spoiled me. I have been out enough times to have tagged any deer, and yet, I haven't actually seen one while bow hunting around Clark. I have driven around, and seen plenty while pheasant hunting but it has been frustrating. This last Thursday it was rainy, cold, and windy and I was out to scout. I cannot believe the amount of pressure these public properties get around here. Between parking and walking in, I had four trucks do the slow drive by to see what the hell I was up to. Two trucks parked before I could get halfway into the Walk-in-Area. I tried rattling, and slow stalking before working my way to the far side of the property. I noticed one of the guys waited for the rain to abate before walking my direction. I figured he would go south, but before I knew it, he was bearing down on me.
It kind of happened in slow motion. He has no idea where I am so I stand and wave.
A rooster gets up and crosses between us.
I hit the deck just as the pellets smatter the CRP around me.
I stand back up and get the hell out of dodge.
Once he sees me stand up the second time, he waves and turns to go the direction I expected the first time....
Dumbass.

I walk straight back to the car, busting many birds on my way, head home. Of course, I would see a bruiser on my way home...There are plenty of deer here, but it is a completely different game than back home.
Saturday morning I tried another giant public property west of town. 5 fricken trucks at the parking lot when I got there...
I drove around the section and tried another part of the property. I walked most of the way down a bigger shelterbelt and found a spot to set for the morning hunt. There were plenty of birds in the area and there was a mallard hen blasting away on the water behind me. There were two hunting groups on the marsh behind me and one of the guys called for 10 minutes straight. NON-STOP.

They were so close I could here their conversations.
"I don't like to chew when I drink cuz it gives me a headache in the morning."
I only chew when I drink. That shit is nasty."
"CRICKET GET BACK HERE."
Where are all of the ducks?"
BLAMBLAMBLAM....BLAM!

Absolutely appalling. I know public is public but damn.
I heard a noise in the shelterbelt I was in and hoped that maybe the deer would be used to the heavy pressure. Instead, I figure out it is another guy in the middle of the belt. Later, I would find out that it's three guys.
At this point I am mentally done with bow deer. As I drive home I am beyond frustrated with the whole deer thing when it hits me.
People travel from all over the US to hunt deer in Iowa. People also travel from all over the US to pheasant hunt in South Dakota.
Rachel and I had an afternoon planned and we were to leave at noon sharp. I knew it was playing with fire so I decided to not try a quick morning hunt.
When I got home I stood in the doorway for a couple of minutes.
When I got in Mocha was off of the wall. She was jacked and ready to go.
I promised Rachel I would not screw up this afternoon...
I quick changed socks, grabbed the 20 gauge and hauled ass to a CREP field. I got there 3 minutes before legal time. As I got out of the car a guy drove past slowly, backed up and rolled his window down.
"You hunting the whole thing?"
Well, I was just going to follow the dog wherever she went but it's public."
Nah, I don't want to screw your hunt up."
"Seriously man, it's public, I honestly do not care at all."
"You sure?"
"Absolutely."
"Thanks man, I really appreciate it."
This would prove vital to my success.
Karma pays.
As Mocha and I worked the field, she caught scent and was off to the races. She crossed a fence(which was still public) and I was unable to get that far before she flushed the rooster. I took two shots, one dropping the far side leg. I watched as he sailed over the hill and I knew he was hit decently. I marked the area and would work my way over there later.
We worked the draw down the middle when I looked up to see a rooster bearing down on me from west. The other group was on the other side of the property, and they pushed this one right into my face.
As seems to be my trend, I drop the legs on the first shot, and then paste him on the follow-up. I turned south in the field and worked Mocha into the wind. We were unable to find another bird heading into the wind, but a small depression on the other side of the rise looked promising. As we neared the car sized pot-hole, a small buck popped up 15 yards away. Nothing huge but killable. I walked ten more steps before the other one wigged out and busted as well. Another dink of a buck, but if I was any closer, I could have clubbed it with my gun.
When we came to the end of the property line, we turned and worked our way down and back towards the car. I again, let Mocha do her thing and follow her path. There was another depression and I knew if there was a place that first rooster would have sailed into, this was the area. I walked slow and waited for the pup to get birdy. She gave me her signal and again was nose down buried in the grass. She locked up twice. Closer and closer.
When she finally had true lock-down, the bird flushed, slow to get out of the grass, and cackled the whole way up. This time I took one shot and dropped him. Mocha picked him up and pranced her way over to me. If dogs could give a shit-eating-grin, Mocha was the poster child. It was sickeningly satisfying to have two birds in hand, and in less than half an hour. We walked our way back to the car, but without that 3rd limit filler.

I was able to get back to home, clean birds, shower, and be waiting ready to go before Rachel got home. Win-Win.

We were able to spend some quality time together in town, and check out a small craft show in Watertown. It was not quite as glorious as we had expected, but nice to go anyway. We enjoyed dinner out, and finished off the evening with Mary Poppins and chocolate.

Today, I did some winter prep and Rachel granted me an afternoon chasing birds again. She said it was better for me and the dog to not spend the day in the apartment. It was windy as usual but we needed the exercise.
It didn't take to long before we found a rooster. Into the sun, not a point flush but a rooster none-the-less. I need to work on my first shot as I dropped a leg on the first, and folded him on the second. Trending?...

We worked the field in long loops and she found a few more birds, one rooster I choose to pass as it was a seriously late hatch. We were taking water break when a basket rack 8 came right down the pipe at about 50 yards. He would have ended up in our lap if he hadn't caught me as I was standing up.
The rest of the day produced no more birds, but it was enjoyable to get out and walk a little.

 So, the deer thing has not exactly panned out for me here yet, but the roosters have been plentiful. This next week we have a lot planned so,



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Halloween in Sioux Falls

Rachel and I were able to make it down to Sioux Falls for Halloween this year, and we were also able to see Mike, Lisa, and the kids. There was no set agenda other than enjoy everyone's company and maybe get a few projects done in the process. Mike, the boys, Dad, and myself went over the Grandpa and Jerry's place to some leaf clean up and mow the yard one last time before winter reared its ugly head. Dad and I were also able to get the giant bench seat put back into Grandpa's van.

After that project we did some work on Dad's yard cleaning up leaves and getting the yard back into shape. As the afternoon wore on Rachel and I thought a distraction of pumpkin carving was in order. Unfortunately, the kids were not that into it, and Gabe was not feeling all that great. Rachel and I forged on and carved some of Mom's pumpkins anyway.

We were able to get a few carved up before the kids started getting dressed for trick-or-treating. I guess even the bird dog needed to be humiliated with a costume...

Poor dog...

We were able to split time between living rooms enjoying the company and the kid-lets.

The kids eventually got to get out and trick or treat some-

We had a bumblebee(Elsie), Superman(Jacob), and the Ninja Turtles(Griffin and Sophia).

Poor Gabe was having some gut issues and was sick enough to miss out on trick-or-treating. The next morning he lined out the candy he was allowed to eat once he was better again.

It was great to see everyone and enjoy the chaos of the kids. Mom had the place decorated up for the occasion and the kids were all enthralled by the Halloween Tree.




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Pumpkin Madness

Rachel and I are trying to figure out what traditions we can create throughout the year and one we have agreed upon is carving pumpkins. We were in a complete wealth of pumpkins, and we decided to spend an evening watching Disney movies, and carving away.
We set a blanket down in the living room and gave 'er hell!

Rachel had picked out some crazy stencils and spent a few hours tracing them out before the carving began. A good stencil makes all of the difference.
Rachel let me have the minion:

 And she took Tinkerbell. FANTASTIC!

We continued to carve until our hands were literally cramping.

 

Jack Skellington

Purple Minion (at least that's what we modeled it after...)

 Belle from Beauty and the Beast

 Areil from The Little Mermaid

Mario which turned out OK. The white ones are more squash like and it didn't light up well.

When we do things we don't mess around! I am an all or none kind of a guy. Next year will be off the charts...



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