A Very Strange Opening Day

Del and his "monster" 9 pointer

Today is the most important unofficial holiday in Michigan, opening day of firearm's deer season, the Orange Day, when we are supposed to see hunter's clad in orange perched in tree stands all across the state.

Well, this was a very strange opening day.

Although I could not hunt the morning I was up quite early, and there was a dense fog covering Grand Traverse Bay, and maybe a lot of our northern lower peninsula, that could have come from one of the best Sherlock Holmes adventures, perhaps the Hound of the Baskervilles.

Sometime during early morning Del texted me BBD, which he translated as Big Buck Down. I told him I would help him drag it out later in the morning. When I drove from my home at Old Mission Peninsula to Neverland I could not see any activity in the new constructions and renovations, which would be an indication that people were out deer hunting.

After meeting Del he told me that according to Neverland tradition he shot his buck three times, the first shot at well under forty yards, and that apart from that deer and those shots he heard very little activity and saw nothing else.

We dragged the heavy monster through remains of last's year August storm, and eventually got back to our cars. Buck loaded Del drove home and went to my tree stand by the powerline. And then it started, or should I say, never started.

Initially the day was unseasonably warm, and even the sun showed up threatening to cook me inside my camouflage clothes, but eventually the wind turned one hundred eighty degrees, from a south to a north wind, and clouds obscured the sun and the temperature started dropping.

The only action I saw was when the crows discovered the gut pile, but at about 250 yards, it was a bit far away to partake in any details, and apparently they left rather soon.

And I waited, and waited, and waited, until the light gave away to darkness, when the clear shapes of the day are replaced by eerie and uncertain forms that shadows present us during twilight.

During the five or six hours that I afield I don't remember hearing a single shot or seeing another orange clad hunter perching from another tree. Since my first opening day in 2002, this is a first for me!

Maybe the fog combined with the on going Super Moon could explain some of today's almost unnatural weirdness.

A Real Rage

The recovered Rage...

I guess it is true that we learn something new every day. I bought a TenPoint Titan Xtreme crossbow a couple years ago, but as luck had it I did not have the opportunity to fire it at anything but targets until Monday this week.

Although I am a bit of a traditionalist, at Neverland the expected ranges from our tree stands are a bit longer than I am comfortable to shot with my compound bow, so the investment on the crossbow. Also, it is always nice to play with a new or different toy.

The other "innovation" that I accepted along the crossbow was the use of mechanical broadheads, in my particular case Rage's X Blade 125 grains. As my compound bow is set to 56 pounds draw weight I felt that fixed-blade broadheads would guarantee me better penetration, but the crossbow has power to spare.

Anyhow, I hunted both morning and evening of Michigan's bow season opening day from the tree stand that overlooks the feeder at an overgrown clearing at Neverland, north of the bridge over the Mann Creek and west of the powerline. And apart from a close encounter, almost of the third degree, with a Cooper's Hawk that attempted to land either on my tree or my crossbow, but then decided it was safer to pick the next tree to the left, and watching cotton-tail rabbits, squirrels and blue jays stealing the corn intended only for the precious and scarce whitetails I had only a beautiful and quiet day at the woods.

After that the weather turned sour, overclouded or raining and windy most of the week. Maybe a very northern side effect of hurricane Matthew playing havoc in the more southern latitudes. Last Saturday I spent the morning bird hunting with Del, when we shot a couple limits of woodcock but saw no grouse, and in the afternoon I had a terrible earache that made driving home a terrible chore and would not allow me to hunt.

Sunday after mass I felt good enough to hunt again, and went back to the same tree stand, and had another quiet, pleasant and beautiful evening in the woods, with only the same cotton-tail, squirrels and blue jays entertaining me when I would stop re-reading Jim Fergus "A Hunter's Road". Driving home Sunday night I called my wife that is visiting our daughter and grandson in Houston and she mentioned that there was a weather alert for a potential frost on Monday morning. And that comment energized me, as a cold blast put the deer on the move.

On Monday morning I was comfortably seating at my tree stand a solid hour before first light, and had finally discovered a good way of balancing the crossbow on the rail so I had my hands free, to read, use the rangefinder, text to my wife, or whatever.

With sunup the frost started to appear in the more open areas, and my hopes were renewed. About an hour or so later I noticed a slight movement behind the trees to the left of the feeder and felt the all too common adrenalin rush better known as buckfever.

The grey shadow stood still for several minutes and finally a small doe came from behind the tree and moved behind the feeder. I positioned the crossbow on the rails, turned the green light on the dots and chose the proper dot for a 35 yards shot. When the doe cleared the feeder I pressed the trigger and was brutally surprised.

I heard the arrow hitting the doe almost as I pressed the trigger, and she went down immediately. By the picture below you can see that the spine must have been hit, but nonetheless the effect was nothing but definitive.

I will let Neverland rest before going back for the big buck that haunts my dreams, and that I am sure that I will meet one day.

...and the end game.

Opening Doe

Opening Doe

I haven't been writing much, and unhappily neither have been reading that much. The usual justification would be that work and other earthly responsibilities are taking too much of my time, but maybe, just maybe, there could be other reasons.

From mid-September through the first weekend in November I've been doing as much bird hunting as I could afford, with the exception of a weekend when my friend Bob Scott came bow hunting. And we had fun even if we never saw a deer and spent some great time together.

To say that grouse hunting was challenging would be an understatement. There was very little fruit, and therefore birds did not concentrate in coverts, and finding them was not only difficult but almost accidental. I only shot two grouse so far (my friend Del shot more, but logged many more hours and miles for those). The first was in the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore in a beautiful early fall morning. We flushed that grouse at least twice before it flushed from a tree and I got it with a right barrel. The only shot that I fired that morning. In order to celebrate such a prize Del and I stopped at the Western Avenue Bar and Grill in Glenn Arbor, the small city that is still recovering from the destructive power of the August 2nd storm. I had their fantastic Lobster Seafood Roll and a couple Two Hearted Ales.

The other grouse came in a rather gloomy and wet late October Saturday after Del, a couple of his friends and I had lunch at Jodi's Tangled Antler where I had their excellent Rueben. We were exploring a covey that was productive in previous years. Our group split in two and I was engaged in good conversation when I heard a call of BIRD! I pivoted counterclockwise and fired two Hail Mary shots at the fast crossing grouse. Either because I am an accomplished shotgunner or less likely for being lucky the best tasting bird in the world came down. Probably from a single gloden BB, but who cares? What a beautiful bird.

For as hard as grouse hunt was, woodcock was a different story all together. We hit local birds in late September and the flight came strong in early October and we had no problem in getting limits almost everytime we went out. I even had a one of the great moments of my hunting life when I shot a true double on woodcock. The right barrel dropped a bird that flew straight away from me and the left barrel got a bird that flew to my right. The only problem is that the two witnesses, my "good friends" Del Whitman and Bill Berghuiss are considered less than reliable by some! And since Bill was not shooting that well that day...

(Bill had to have another stent roto-rooted in his heart and now say that is the reason his shooting was off. Some people will find any type of excuse!)

But the great goal this season was to collect rent from the deer living in Neverland. Last year I had a glimpse of a doe on Opening Day and that was it. The weather pattern was so strange that the deer probably took vacations to better climates.

Well, whenever I was not bird hunting I was bow hunting at Neverland and although there was a lot of deer signs (tracks, trail cam photos, and disappearing apples) my tenants were very unpolite and refused to meet me. To add insult to injury Del shot a doe on November 5th when I was working in Texas.

Last week I did my first complete circuit around Lake Michigan and logged 1,300 miles during four days. And the mileage along with long working days took their tool on me and I was only able to hunt the morning of the silent day (14th), again without seeing anything and I slept almost all afternoon. That evening my wife asked where I was going to process my deer and I told her not to worry since with all the luck I had so far I had no great expectations for Opening Day.

And not having great expectations I had the best night of sleep before any previous Opening Day and woke on time and almost rested at 5:00 AM. I was in Neverland just before 6:00 AM and waited for Del. I decided to hunt the tree stand by the beehives, in part because it is much more comfortable than the one by the feeder and also because deer hunting is the best alternative to gambling that I know: why should you pick red over black in the roulette?

The sunrise was majestic with each star fadding away one at a time until only Venus, which is not a start at all, was visible. During those early twilight hours the shadows and light play havoc with the hunter's imagination and we see gigantic deer floating over and around every bush and even among the crown of trees.

And when light was just strong enough the shooting began just to reassure me that Sunday was another Opening Day. First a single shot due west, then northwest, following shots, and several minutes later more shooting to the southwest. And my turn came just before 8:00 AM when a small group of deer started walking from the cedar swamp just north of the beehives and probably not fifty yards from our parked cars. 

There I was looking at the deer, all antlerless, and remembering how fast they can disappear into thin air I set the cross hairs of my 1949 vintage Winchester Model 70, of course in 270 Winchester Center Fire on the biggest of them and all hell broke loose. I did not see anyone drop and there were deer running towards cover and one dow took the other directions into the power line clear cut towards Del. But the doe stopped and at about 120 yards I aimed for the neck, the first shot did nothing but made her turn arounf and the second dropped her.

I came down from the tree stand, took off my heavy coats, reloaded and went after the doe, and even with two bullets in her she tried to run away. Del made two shots from his tree stand and at least one hit her. We found the doe just before the old railroad tracks, still trying to get away, but done for.

We gralloched (isn't this a better word than gutted?) the doe on the new trail that Del had cleared on top of the old tracks and I had her to the butcher by 9:00 AM, the first deer of the day. I was home by 10:00 AM with enough time to shower and shave before church. We had brunch at Bistro FouFou to celebrate France an undying symbol of LIBERTY, EQUALITY and FRATERNITY.

Vive la France!

The Fruits of Neverland II

The sweet fruit of their labor

 

I will continue to tell about my latest "safari" in South Africa, but wanted to take a small brake to talk a little about Neverland, my own little piece of paradise in Leelanau county, Michigan.

 

Last Saturday, after shooting sporting clays at Cedar Rod & Gun Club - not particularly well mind you, and having lunch with my wife at the Rare Bird in Traverse City, I met Del at Neverland to set up a feeder for deer season. Of course setting up the feeder took a lot more work than planned since the brutal storm that hit northern Michigan on Sunday August 2nd caused a bit of havoc at Neverland, with many broken and uprooted trees, and we had to cut a new trail through the debris.

 

The bright side from the destruction is that the "Bridge over the Mann Creek" is intact, although surrounded with deadfall, and that all the downed trees should create space for new growth that will create fresh habitat for ruffed grouse while also increase the area where deer can feed. Eventually we would have to do similar work with a chainsaw!

 

Anyhow, after we were done with the feeder we paid a visit to the thousands of workers that toil daily in my domains. Of the three colonies where they live, each with a queen duly appointed and sanctioned by me, two are doing absolutely great, and we are concerned that the third will likely not make it through next winter. This is hard, but there is little we can do about it.

While examining the healthy colonies, we were able to savour a sample of the sweet fruits from the labor of my workers. One of the colonies was overflowing with honey and honeycombs, and in order to put the cover back on Del had to scrape the excess, and we would not allow that to go to waste. As one hand scraped the excess the other would bring light wild honey to mouth.

And everything went really well until due to either lack of attention or a bit of gluttony I did not notice that there was a bee stuck to a honeycomb and upon chewing on it I got stung in the tong.

I tell you, the honey was so pure and sweet, with a very light champagne color, that the sting didn't hurt that much, but eventually I had to stick my tongue out so Del could scrape the stinger away. The end result is that I could not comfortably close my mouth for a couple hours, but that isn't really a problem either.

And before I forget, Del - the experienced beekeeper - got stung a good dozen times or so. He had protective gear, but being an experienced beekeeper, he refused to wear it! Sorry, but I had to say it, as he is saying we will not a honey harvest if I continue to eat the bees (just like an old bear.)

The Fruits of Neverland

The first fruit of Neverland

Last Monday, "Star Wars Days" (May the fourth), Neverland beared its first fruit in the form of a twenty pound gobbler with a nice long beard that was harvested by my friend Del Whitman from the Cedar Clump.

Since I was not present at the event (due to work, which many times gets in the way of my hunting, but in the other hand really pays for my hobbies and everything else), I will ask Del to eventually provide the details, but knowing Del he probably used a 3 1/2" 12 gauge shell with a payload equivalent to a WWI Shrapnel 60 pound grenade.

While the turkeys like Del, they clearly don't love me. On Monday evening and yesterday (Saturday) morning I spent several desolated hours waiting for Mr. Meleagris gallopavo but ended both days literally empty handed.

Let's see what next weekend reserves to me!

The Bridge on the ... Mann Creek

Del putting the finishing touches

Somewhere in the hinterlands of Leelanau County, in northwest lower Michigan, the Mann Creek cuts the southern portion of Neverland, almost exactly halfway between the Equator and the North Pole. There are no roads through the "vast" thirty five acres wilderness, which is mostly lowland cedar swamps crisscrossed by tracks of elusive whitetail deer and boisterous turkeys, plus a couple majestic white pines, some red maple and too old poplar and dead or diying ash trees.

Neverland came to be in September last year during a challenging period of time, and the rational justification is that an investment in real estate would be a diversification of my retirement portfolio. The reality is that Neverland is my commitment to conservation and wildlife. Even if it is only thirty five acres, it is thirty five acres that will not become another subdivision, strip mall or parking lot during my lifetime.

Last year no deer paid the rent for the privilege or roaming Neverland, even if the game cameras and tracks showed plenty of evidence. To add injury to insult, some of the more adventurous animals decided to bed under two of the tree stands!

My ultimate sporting goal is to one day collect a Michigan Macnab within the boundaries of Neverland, at least in the course of one season. A whitetail buck, a ruffed grouse, and a brook trout from the cold clear waters of Mann Creek.

But in the meantime there are other ways to collect the sweetness of my little piece of paradise. As soon as it is warm enough, a couple of beehives will be placed in a clearing with plenty of sun light. The problem was that without roads we would have a lot of trouble to transport the hives to the optimum location. So, we had to blaze a trail.

We located a likely starting point in the southern border, and not to far from the road we came to the banks of the mighty Mann Creek, and in order to allow the heavy equipment (Del's wheelbarrow) to move across it we had to build a bridge.

Last Saturday after finally getting my son Daniel out of bed we started our adventure. First we stopped at Sam's Club for provisions as a construction crew, like an army, works on its stomach. Shorlty after we were at Menard's buying building materials. And just before 1:00 PM we met Del at Neverland.

First we transported all the provisions, building materials and tools to the banks of the Mann Creek, and then Del selected suitable cedars that would become the main beams of the new bridge. After felling the trees and branching the logs we placed them across the almost six feet width of the creek, or could it be seven feet? After that was the laborious work of afixing the four foot wide treated planks that would allow even the heaviest wheelbarrows to move across the soon to be completed bridge. An in order to do so we had to wade into the swift cold waters, and at that time Del found out that his boots had a hole just below water level.

With just over of the bridge deck in place Del lost a drill bit and tried to fish it out, but even being from Minnesota, he could not stand the cold long enough to locate it. But this minor incident was not enough to sidetrack us.

I believe that Daniel was the first to cross the bridge, and to celebrate the completion of such a fantastic engineering achievement we uncorked a couple bottles of Pilsner Urquell and toasted while I whistled the first part of "Colonel Bogey March" (or for those less enlightened, the theme from "The Bridge on the River Kwai").

At the following picnic we had croissants, roosted chicken, prosciuto, salami and bresaola.

We accomplished a lot more during the remaining of th afternoon, and at the end of the day I managed to lose my CRKT Swindle, but that is another story.