First Time "Grousing"

The author and Tony South

I have lived in Michigan for almost ten years, and today for the first time I went grouse hunting with my friends Tony South and Vaughn Prior in the Allegan State Forest.

Probably I am being optimistic about the hunting part of our expedition. What we really did was walk through the most impenetrable briar patches in the woods and get soaking wet by cold rain (we would rather have snow) with childlike anticipation that we would flush a bird that proved too smart for us.

In reality I don’t think that any grouse would be dumb enough to be out in the kind of weather that we had this morning, and they were probably comfortably reading a Burton L Spiller or George Bird Evans book about their own reputation as the greatest of all upland (or better said, briar jungle) birds, and having a nice hot chocolate with marshmallows and a bit of cognac in it and having small talk about the three stooges that were getting wet and cold out in the woods.

Even if we never heard a grouse, there was enough conversation about them to keep us going.

Since Tony’s dog could not manage the camera, Vaughn was kind enough to take the picture above (although he tried three times before succeeding). But since he was so kind as to buy us breakfast we will not comment on about his mechanical inclination or other technical abilities.

In any way there are some lessons learned from this first outing after grouse this morning: first, start hunting earlier in the season next year; second, buy some good chaps and better rain gear; and third, good friends don’t care about the weather to take you out.

By the way, I tool the picture below in much better weather while bear hunting in Ontario last year and basically had to chase the grouse away from the two-track so we did not run over them with ATV. Did they know that grouse season was not open at the time?

Sightseeing during closed grouse season

Small Size, Big Surprise

The Bearcat and "mission specific" diet

I am very traditionalist in general and regarding guns in particular. Side-by-side shotguns are my passion and the only plastic gun that I admire is the Remington Nylon 66. But even being so traditionalist, I have a hard time finding a single action revolver that I can shoot well. I really have a hard time with the standard hog leg grip and I had a Ruger Single-Six Convertible that I trade off because I just could not shoot it well.

But besides being traditionalist, I am also very stubborn and some months ago I bought a used Ruger Bearcat single action revolver for my wife to give it to me as my birthday present. It is better than getting new pajamas that I would not use anyway.

The Bearcat is probably the smallest revolver ever made by Ruger and it is based on a Remington design, so the grip shape is somewhat different than that of the Colt style, and for some reason they just fit me better.

Also, this particular revolver was made in the year that I born and has never received the Ruger safety upgrade. The hammer must be brought to half-cock to load the cylinder and it must be carried with an empty chamber under it in order to be safe.

Due to my working and travel schedule I had very limited opportunity to use the little Bearcat. I shot it a bit at 50 feet at the Southern Michigan Gun Club outdoor pistol range and at 20 feet or so in my basement. In the later case I used Aguilla’s Super Colibri 22 ammo that uses only its primer mixture to shoot a very light 20 grain projectile at around 500 feet per second, with minimum noise and no recoil.

Although we have snow today, yesterday we had a beautiful sunny “Indian Summer” day in Southern Michigan with temperatures in the mid forties, and I went back to the SMGC outdoor range. In such a nice December day the pistol range was packed and since I wanted to sight-in my 375 Holland & Holland rifle and went to the 50 yard range where I met George who was alone shooting some of his pistols and avoiding crowds.

Since there is just so much fun one can have with fully loaded 375’s we transitioned to pistols and started shooting at a full size deer target. First I shot his Ruger 45 cowboy gun and then I gave the little Bearcat a try.

The tiny Bearcat 22 outshot its bigger 45 brother by a large margin and I was able to keep almost all shots in an area equivalent to a deer’s lung or the size of a letter page. A big surprise!

I intend to use the little 42 year old pistol a lot more and just taking it to a walk is a good reason to be outdoors.

Holiday Relaxation

As most of you should be aware by now I travel a lot, mainly for work, and therefore spend a lot of time away from home. I love my work, but a lot of time it is quite stressful. Therefore, holiday season is time to stay at home and relax.

From now to 3^rd January 2012 (the day I get back to work) I plan just to “do nothing” and enjoy my family.

Some of the “do nothing” includes one or two afternoons out for antlerless deer with Greg, taking my son pheasant hunting at least once, revising a book for future publication and a lot of indoor air gunning. The picture above shows my basement air gun range, and it was inspired by the ranges of Chris Martin (a.k.a “20 Cal”) and Tony South.

I used an old bookshelf to hold multiple targets. The big box at the top shelf holds two “letter-sized” targets and was presented to me by Chris. Currently it has reduced “Mini-Snipping” (.22 LR) targets.

The shelf below it has a number of reactive targets: in the lower part there are nine golf T’s that support brass pistol shells for precise shooting” or shotgun shells for rapid fire with my Crossman 3357. On the upper part, from a heavy gage wire, hangs a set of silhouette animals and from paper clips rang playing cards that only show their edge. When you hit the playing cards properly you can actually cut then in half. It takes a bit of practice, but it is very fun. This is the domain of my Walther LGR and Hammerli AR50, both Olympic grade rifles with scopes to compensate for my middle aged eyes.

Finally, on the bottom shelf I have another reactive target and some precision pistols targets, the later for my much cherished Feinwerkbau Model 65.

I also have a Gammo “Running Deer” moving target that is very fun.

It is important to mention that I only shoot soft lead pellets and there are appropriate target backers that will not allow them to ricochet, and I have a poured concrete all behind the bookshelf. In any case, I always use eye protection.

From my basement TV room I can shoot at about 10 meters, and this is the perfect set-up to relax during the holidays (my children will often join me), endure the cold Michigan winter nights or the humid and uncomfortable summer days, and the fact that my “wine cellar” is just a couple yards from my air gun range motivates some friends to visit for the after shooting “discussions”.

Life is too hard not to have fun!

P.S: My “macaw” and toy car are not targets!

About my book "A Wild Beast at Heart"

I always enjoyed stories, either as a listener or as a teller, particularly if I was one of the characters, but this is not reasons that I wrote this book.

Everything started with a one-page thank you note to my friend Bob Scott of Kalamazoo, MI, for helping me to take my first whitetail deer, which I tried to get publish in the form of a very short column without success. Then, I went dove hunting on a magic misty morning and knew I had to share the communion with nature and traveling in space and time with other people and show that are no limits for our dreams.

My father had been telling me and everybody else that he would one day write a book, “Contos Rurais”. I even gave him pen and paper but he passed way in 2009, some year after the publication of “A Wild Beast at Heart” and before writing down a single word, although the pen and the notebook were always on his nightstand. Although unwillingly, I may have stolen some of his stories.

The decision to finally write a book came on a sad Sunday morning in January 2006, when I was in a train from Amsterdam to Hannover, staring at the wintry fields between the Netherlands and Germany and mourning over the death of a most dear friend, Chileno, and I felt that even if my train was about to reach the “bend of the world” I would like to leave at least one story behind.

Conceived in the Netherlands, this book was lived and written in bits and pieces, in Michigan (USA), in the Winterberg range (Republic of South Africa), in several farms in Brazil – Taboa (my real birth place), Buriti do Retiro, São Jorge Preto, Ronda – and other places around this “mundo velho sem porteira”. I revised it in Shanghai (China) and wrote its final words on my home’s deck, on a most beautiful spring afternoon.

I am not sure how many copies were sold, but I am happy that I was able to reach many people with my stories, and some of them wrote back to me with positive reviews, and that was the biggest reward that I could have hoped for.

If you are interested, you can (for the time being) get my book “A Wild Beast At Heart” (ISBN-10 1424147212) at http://www.amazon.com/ or other on-line bookstores.

As you may have already realized, I love hunting and the outdoors, but even if you do not enjoy the trill of the chase and hunting of game I hope that you enjoy these stories, and urge you to hunt your dreams.

Virtual Hunting

The author and Signor Vito Benevelli
(Photo by Maria José Camargo Meirelles)

Since last Thursday I am touring Torino (Italy) with my wife, just taking it easy, walking a lot, enjoying the sites, meeting some friends and sharing a good time with each other.

This does not mean that hunting is very far away from my mind, as the hunting tradition is deeply rooted in the Piemontese culture.

We visited the Palazzina di caccia Stupinigi that as the hunting lodge for the kings of Savoia. Stupinigi encompasses a luxurious palace that is heavily decorated with hunting art and is crowned by a bronze statue of a royal red stag. Tours are guided only, and at the beginning we are greeted by superb marble statues of Diana, goddess of hunting, and Actaeon, the hunter that Diana turned on a deer after he saw her nude, bathing on a stream, and was then killed by his own friends and hounds.

However, Stupinigi today houses a XVI and XVII century furniture exposition, and the hunting trophies are now at the Museo Regionale da Scienze Naturali at Torino’s quadrilatero (the historic city center). The zoology collection is very nice, displaying animals from all continents. The main room is inspired by Noah’s Arc and just after that there is an impressive display of all species of bears, except pandas.

Currently the museum is featuring an exposition on the history of taxidermy, starting at ancient Egypt with mummification and discussing the evolution of this art. It is impressive to compare XIX century and current animal mounts and understand how much taxidermy has evolved in its ability to portray life-like animals.

The Armeria Realle provides an evolutionary overview of personal weaponry from the Stone Age to the early XX century, including a reasonable amount of hunting firearms.

But the highlight to this virtual hunting tour was the visit to my friend Signor Vito Benevelli in his Ristorante Frandin. As we arrived we were greeted by Vito’s wife, Signora Luciana and soon after we were in the kitchen admiring the beautiful Beccaccia or European woodcock that were aging in cold chamber in the proper way, undisturbed with entrails intact.

Vito selected a nice bottle of Nebbiolo and my wife and I started a marvelous culinary adventure over eighteen different antipasti, among them the terrine di coniglio (rabbit) and paté di selvaggina, a most wonderful dish made of small game and wild truffles. At Frandin main dishes include pheasant, partridge, rabbit, boar, roe deer and other wild game depending on season.

After dinner we talked about hunting, how Vito is coaching his nephew on hunting the Italian alps, the diverse animals that he hunted during this season (roe buck, chamois, pheasant, partridge, capercaillie and of course, woodcock), the need to hunt foxes during January to minimize predation of roe deer fawns next spring, and some aspects of Italian law that only allows hunting four days a week, an individual hunter to be out only in two of those days.

Who thought I couldn’t get my wife hunting?

Feeding my Dreams

I had a very close and special relationship with my grandfather João Alfredo Tardelli, Vô Tô, and although he is gone for over ten years I still feel him close to me.

Although I was raised in the farm and Vô Tô was a most urban man (although he raised song birds in his back yard), he helped shaped my life and my love for nature and adventure.

The only hunting story that I know from Vô Tô was when he was a boy in Ribeirão Preto, now a big modern city, but back in the 1920’s a much more rural community. At that time all the boys of the same age built themselves muzzle loading “pistols”. Basically a wooden plank sawed or carved into a stock, a barrel with an end hammered down to form the breach, black powder from fireworks and a toy gun paper primer. The bullets would be anything that went down the barrel.

Vô Tô and a party of likely minded kids were “exploring” the outskirts of town when they located an inhanbu (Crypturellus tataupa), a ground dwelling bird from the Tinamou family. They surrounded their prey, cocked their pistols and fired on command like a firing squad. The white smoke from the firework powder completed clouded their views, and a couple seconds later the inhambu flew away not missing even a feather.

When he would visit us on the farm he would build me bows and arrows from a bush that we had in our garden that had very straight branches. I remember that once I used an umbrella casing as a quiver. The handle was very short and I could only slip it through one arm and the arrows hurt me badly.

On another occasion he made me a stone ax. It never really worked, but I was very proud of it.

There was also an endless amount of story telling and very important conversation, a lot of it centered on Tarzan and adventures in dark Africa. Along the same lines I inherited from Vô Tô the love for books and reading. There was the natural history and animals of the world collection, the 1960’s Tarzan comic books, the “Tesouro da Juventude” and “Trópico” encyclopedias, and the “Dicionário Práctico Illustrado” from where I first develop an appreciation for firearms.

On the Christmas of 1979 he gave me two Jules Verne books, “The Light House at the End of the World “and “School of Robinsons” and those opened a complete new universe for me. Adventure, guns, hunting, savages and pirates. Later I discovered “O Caçador”, a first Portuguese edition of John A. Hunter’s “Hunter”.

But the greatest things that he would make to me were Tarzan knives. He would carve the knives out of wooden planks reclaimed from fruit boxes. Many times they had different patterns that he first would draw on paper, then cut the profile and transfer it to the planks. He used an old folding knife that his grandfather brought to Brazil when he emigrated from Italy to carve the wood.

I don’t remember how my Tarzan knives Vô Tô made, especially because there were other grandchildren that would compete for them.

After Vô Tô passing in 2001 my mother collected all his knives and gave to me. The folding knives, including my great-great-grandfather one, came insight a soap boxes that belonged to my grandmother Flamínia, and the last known Tarzan knife came carefully wrapped in gift paper.

This treasure will be kept for many generations to come.

The Best Photo I Ever Took

I am not a good photographer and I don’t even enjoy taking pictures that much, but once in a while accidents happen and a picture becomes memorable.

Back in the 2008/2009 hunting season my friend Bob decided to start a pheasant hunting preserve in his property near Battle Creek, MI. He really wanted to have his own place to train his dogs and wanted to keep the preserve low profile and attendance was by invitation only, and as far as I know I was the first and last, if not the only, guest.

A major difference at Bob’s preserve is that although he would release both rooster and hens, he wanted only roosters to be shot to better represent real wild pheasant hunting. The hens would provide more opportunities for the dogs to work and Bob hopped that they would breed with rooster that would occasionally scape become the seed for future wild pheasants.

Unhappily the experience did not prove successful.

By the last day of the season Bob had a couple roosters left and asked me to come by and help him work the dogs.

Since released birds are slower and shot much closer than wild pheasants, I decided to take a small bore shotgun that I would probably never use otherwise. The little Browning Model 42 Grade VI that I bought from Dave Grosser was perfect to the job. The full choke should put the entire half once payload of the .410 shell on the birds or miss them completely.

After Bob planted the two lost roosters and a couple hens, he released his German short-hair Daisy and we followed her. First she pointed a hen, and we flushed it and watched her fly over the tall grass towards the tree line. Good luck!

Next was a rooster, and both I and Bob shot at him.

The last bird of the day was the last rooster. Daisy pointed and Bob flushed it. He started climbing and I shouldered the little pump gun and hit it on the head, and he tumbled.

Daisy retrieved the last bird of the season and we walked back to Bob’s front yard. He offered me a whisky and we spent the remaining of the afternoon enjoying the spring sun and talking about life. The amber liquid inside the glass was almost the same color as the setting sun.

Orange Day

“Orange is the color of November in Michigan. Not the soft orange of aspen or maple, for the leaves have already fallen. I mean the harsh fluorescent of blaze orange that glows along the county roads and in the little towns up north on the fifteenth of the month.”

John Mitchell, “The Hunt” (1979)

My first “Opening Day” was in 2002, shortly after relocating to the United States. I knew almost nothing about deer hunting in Michigan then and set with my back to a tree on same state land between Portage and US-131. I was cold and uncomfortable and never saw a deer, that day or that season.

Since that day I’ve hunted every opening day, shared them with different friends, had good ones and survived some terrible days under gale force winds and other misery, bagged seven or eight deer, and always had venison as the center of our Christmas dinner.

The one constant in all these years is that I still wear the same blaze orange vest and carry the same Remington 870 shotgun. I now wear Under Armor and learned to be tolerant of the cold, if not comfortable in it.

Over these years, I learned to enjoy the time afield a lot more. I accomplish a lot at a tree stand or ground blind, even if I never see a deer. There is time to read, think and reflect upon life in general and how blessed we are for being able to continue to do what we like. I think a lot about my father and other friends that are no longer with us. I look forward to the magical moment when a whitetail will float into view, ghostly silent, and offer itself to my insatiable desire for venison and fresh liver. During the day I anticipate making the call home to let my wife know that I have succeed in providing her and the children with another meal; even knowing that she does not eat venison or other game in general.

Today is different. I am working in Italy, several thousand miles away from my tree stand or one of Greg’s ground blinds. I will not be driving west on M-43, passing the small cafes and diners with large orange signs that simply say “HUNTERS WELCOME”. Greg and I will not be meeting in the dark by Kay’s old red barn, exchanging liverwurst sandwiches, walking in together past the “Small South Woods” tunnel and then splitting up, one going to the “Small Center Field” the other to the “Big North Woods”. I will not hear the morning fusillade, a truly “Twenty-one Gun Salute” to the great whitetail deer, and we won’t be chatting over the radios at lunch time complaining that there are no deer left in Southern Michigan. And at dusk we won’t walk out together, discussing the highlights of the day or if successful, dragging a buck or doe that gets bigger and heavier for each foot of way.

The fact that this was the first year that I killed a buck with bow and arrow in October, does in no way diminishes the importance of opening day. But I still feel privileged, and I will be in the woods before dawn next Saturday, the 19^th.

Hooking Generations

My Father, a very young "Tuim" Meirelles 

Rio Paraná, 1960's

Me, your host, and Matrinxã (Brycon cephalus)

 Fazenda Buriti do Retiro, 2004

My Son, Daniel and his Pacu (Piaractus mesopotamicus)

Fazenda Buriti do Retiro, 2004

As a rule I only post on photo per blog, and for good reasons. I am not a good photographer, I almost never have a camera with me, and therefore, I tend to keep them for some special occasion. But this story could not be told without the pictures above.

If you take your time and have a close look at the three photos, you will notice one thing in common, and it is not necessary the fishing. My father, myself and my son are all using the same rod and reel.

The complete outfit is perhaps five feet long, and the old casting reel can do more bird nests than flock of doves. I don’t even know its brand.

But there is one very special thing about it. This rod belonged to my grandmother, Genoveva, who really enjoyed fishing, and by my estimations it has been in the family for over fifty years (the first photo predates the others by about four decades).

“Old Dona Veva” currently resides at Fazenda Buriti do Retiro (municipality of Morrinhos, Goiás, Brasil) and it is still in use, almost exclusively to pull some smart fish from the dark waters of my father’s private pond, at the very end of the orchard.

Sometimes I think about kidnapping “Old Dona Veva” and bring rod and reel to my home in Michigan, where it would have a boring life in a highly visible place in my office, between books and big game trophies. But no, that would not be right.

I just cannot “Old Dona Veva” from “Tuim’s Pond”. Let them keep each other company.

Besides, if I stole that rod, I would have another big fight with my brother Rogério.

A Sunday in Lombardia

TAV Cieli Aperti

Once again my friend, and your virtual Italian tour guide, Signor Pino Facchini, took me to an interesting and entertaining tour of the Italian shooting activities.

We started the weekend by meeting for lunch at T.A.V. Castiglione Torinese, located on the shores of Fiume (River) Po, and about 20 minutes from my apartment in Torino. Signor Maurizio Di Benedetto, club manager and president, graciously offered us lunch – risotto, salad, cheese and fruits, and of course a good bottle of wine.

Sharing a meal at one’s table is one of the most important social acts in the Italian culture and something all of us should make a practice of doing.

After lunch Pino and I shot a couple rounds of International Trap (Fossa Olimpica), when he shot perfect score. After that, as a visiting American, I was invited to shoot “Universal Trap”. This is mix of American and International Trap: a single launching wobble machine, but the shooters rotate stations after each shot and the firing line is 8 meters (8.8 yards) behind the trap house. I am happy to say that I did very well at it.

On Sunday morning, 25^th September, I met Pino at his home in Grugliasco and we started our journey to Lombardia (capital Milano). Lombardia is one the northern Italian provinces and stands between Piemonte (where Torino is located) and Veneto (capital Venice).

We made a stop in Brescia and visited Castellani S.n.c. (www.castellani.brescia,it), manufacturers of shooting apparel. According to Mr. Maurizio Castellani, owner and president, they dressed over 80% of all shotgun athletes at the Beijing Olympic Games. Signor Maurizio told me that the only reason that he drives a Porsche is to respond quickly to his customers.

Around lunch time we arrived at A.S. Trap Concaverde (www.trapconcaverde.it) in Lonato, very close to Lake Garda, which is one of the most beautiful locations in the world.

Our first commitment was lunch, which was being served in the full service restaurant that is part of the club’s facilities (which also include a gun shop, permanent booths for corporate sponsors and industry representatives, and electronic score boards, so anyone can keep track of the competition in real time.

There are twelve international trap fields at Concaverde and the range is surrounded by a dirt berm some 12 meters (40 feet) high, 120 meters (130 yards) from the firing line. The bearm is covered with a green mesh and has a couple different functions. Besides the safety aspects of shot containments, it also serves as a great sound and wind deflector or barrier, and provides good visual contrast for the orange clay pigeons. Additionally, the mesh helps reclaim the shot fired, so it provides both environmental as well as economical benefits. There are gutters at the bottom of the berms where the shot rolls down and is reclaimed.

With six shooters per squad, there were 72 on the firing line simultaneously, and it resembled a thunder storm. The shotgun reports were the thunders and the falling shot the rain.

This particular Sunday there were around 750 athletes competing. The competition was for 100 birds, and most shooters fire two 28 gram (one ounce) rounds per bird. That would mean about 9,400 pounds of lead shot that become an additional source of income to the club.

We stayed at Concaverde until the Piemonte squads finished shooting and at around 3:30 PM we started our back towards Torino, but Pino planned an important detour on the way.

We drove to Cologno al Serio (by Bergamo) to visit and shoot at T.A.V. Cieli Aperti (www.cieliaperti.com). Cieli Aperti means open skies, and along with Concaverde is one the most outstanding shotgun ranges that I ever had the opportunity to visit.

There are eight International Trap fields at Cieli Aperti, and some of them double as skeet and Five Stand (Compak) fields. The sound deflector and shot reclaiming berms surround the complex. The shooting stations are not only covered as in other clubs that I visited, but they are basically enclosed by safety glass, so the shooter can fire comfortably in any weather, there is reduced wind influence on the targets and the expectators can watch in complete safety. Needless to say that there is good sound insulation in the inside of the “stations”.

T.A.V. Cieli Aperti was designed and built by competitive and exhibition shooter Renato Lamera (www.renatolamera.it), and he and his family manage the complex.

It was late afternoon, but Pino and I were welcome by Adriano Lamera, Renato’s son, and we shot two rounds of International Trap. Shooting Pino’s son, Rocco, Beretta 682 I did my best score to date, braking 22 birds.

After shooting we continued back to Torino with an additional stop in Carisio. We had dinner at a truck stop, and that was like no other truck stop dinner that you may have ever had. Besides a liter of good local red wine, we had agnolloti pasta, tagliata con funghi (prime steak with mushrooms) and gelatto (ice cream).

I finally arrived at my apartment around midnight, tired but really happy for the privilege of learning and experience so much on a single day.

This morning I was talking with some other SMGC’s members and admiring the fall colors painting our tree line under the blue October sky, and I can tell you that I would not trade it by any high technology shot reclaiminig berm anywhere in the world.

Appointment in Bangor

I started learning English from my mother, and one of the books that she used in her private language school (located in our own home) was David Draper’s “Lighter English”, which has a series of one page stories that provide the background for grammar and vocabulary studies.

One of the stories is “Appointment in Samarra”, by W. Somerset Maugham. I first read it as a teenager, and it continues to impress me how no one can runaway from fate. I highly recommend that you read it.

Earlier this month I wrote a blog titled “An Unfinished Morning” describing a close encounter with a young whitetail buck, and how I missed an opportunity to bag him in my first outing during this year’s archery season.

But since we cannot kill deer from our TV room recliners, I get going back to Kay Alderman’s property in Bangor, Michigan.

Some weeks ago, my friend Bob Scott came hunting with me. I set under the same pine tree, now with a makeshift burlap blind in front of it and Bob used my tree stand that is located between the center and the big East fields.

By around 11:00 AM we decided to call it a day. It was getting warm and there was nothing moving in the woods. I came to the tree stand and Bob told me he only saw a small “unicorn” deer. Bob then asked me if I intended to hunt from the tree stand and recommended that I rotated in to have both a better view of the two fields and have a more comfortable position on the sit.

Bob is a much more experienced hunter than me, and he has forgotten more about tree stands than I will ever learn, so I gladly accepted his advice.

Last Tuesday night we had a big storm in Southwest Michigan, I thought that game would be moving the next day.

On Wednesday, 26^th, I left work early and went hunting. Since I had had no luck from the tree stand in the last several days, I decided to go back to the “pine tree blind”. But then an accident happened. The chair I using ripped apart and sent me to the ground. Luckily pine needles are soft and nothing but my pride was hurt or damaged.

Since this was around 4:00 PM I decided to move to the tree stand, rather that sitting on the wet ground.

I used the next two hours to finish reading the “2012 Deer Hunter’s Almanac”, which includes a chapter on how to hunt cornfields, and since I was surrounded by cornfields it was interesting learning.

At dusk it started drizzling and I thought about going home, but seconds later I noticed movement on the big East field, just of my right side. A nice small book was walking parallel to the tree line where I was sitting.

I got my bow from the hook in the adjoining trunk already with a nocked arrow, and struggled for a couple seconds to engage the release. As I came to full draw I put my 30-yard pin just behind the buck’s left shoulder and before he could get out of sight I let the arrow fly.

There was a solid slap when the arrow connected and the buck jumped kicking back with his hind legs, before he went on a dead run between the corn rolls.

Based on experience from past painful mistakes, I decided to give him time. I lowered my gear from the stand, came down, and slowly moved to the point I had shot him. In seconds I located blood all over the corn stalks.

I came back to the stand, removed my safety harness, stowed away the “tree stand gear” that I always leave in a closed bucket hooked to the stand gear line and decided to kill some more time.

In another 15 minutes or so I started tracking the buck. I really could not see any tracks, but there was a lot of blood sprayed in the corn stalks. Since I could see that he was marking two corn rolls, I was confident that the arrow that gone completely through him.

He run may 120 yards after being shot and I found him lying over his left side with a corn leaf on his mouth, which reminded me of the cecular European tradition of honoring the game. The arrow had entered towards the back of the left ribs, passed through left ling and heart and came out between the chest and the right shoulder. He turned out to be a six-pointer.

By the time I dragged him back to my car, parked three quarters of a mile away, I guarantee that he weighted at least two and a half tons.

I am really sure that he was the same deer that I missed the opportunity on the first day out. You will be able to relate to this once you have read “Appointment in Samarra”.

The Best Shot I Ever Made

Drawing by the author

Everyone I known that is involved with hunting or shooting has a story about an unforgettable shot. So do I.

Back in the last century Brazil still had reasonable, if somewhat restrictive, gun laws. A person could buy a long gun when 18 and a pistol after reaching 21.

Growing up in a rural community, first living in the farm, and after school age came, living in a town near to the farm, we always had shotguns around, but due to an accident that my father had with a pellet gun as a kid (this story will be told in the future) and because he considered the excessive range of rifles to be dangerous, we never had a gun that would shoot "bullets".

Finally one day, when I came to legal age, I bought a rifle (actually my Mom paid for it). There were always very few firearms options in Brazil, there were a couple 22 LR choices and one 38 Special lever action carbine. Due to the very high cost of ammunition I passed on the 38 and put my sights on a 22.

The rifle I bought was a CBC (in the US they are known as Magtech) Model 122, a very traditional bolt action with detachable magazine an open sights, probably based on some Remington design (Remington at one time controlled CBC).

Ammunition choice was as sparse as firearms. Twenty-two's were available either as Short or Long Rifle both with solid lead bullets and standard velocity. Wanting as much “power” as I could get I chose the 22 LR.

A certain morning I came to the farm, and I had to have my new rifle and a couple boxes of "bullets".

As I came to greet the farm manager he was talking with a local butcher. He told me that during the night a Nelore (similar to a Brahma) bull from my godmother's farm had jumped the stream that divided the two properties and got in a fight with our bull. The visitor got the short end of the stick, and trying to return to his side of the river, slipped on the bank and broke a hind leg.

The fracture was very ugly and there was no saving the bull, therefore the butcher.

The manager and the butcher were conferencing and not very happy. The bull had been in pain for several hours now, and he did not want anyone to come close to him. The discussion centered on how to get a hold of the animal without injuring any person.

I told them that I probably could help. I had a rifle!

I went back to the car, got my almost brand-new rifle, loaded the ten shot magazine and chambered a 22 "solid". The bull was facing us, maybe fifty or sixty yards from the fence and he was mad!

I took a rest in one of the fence poles by the gate, put the front bead on the bull's forehead and gently squeezed the trigger.

I don't think that I was ever so choked in my life. When the little lead slug hit its mark, the 1,600 pound animal tumbled feet up in the air and its huge rump hit the dirty. Everything happened much faster than it takes to tell you.

The butcher immediately crossed the fence and ran towards the bull to bleed it. Afraid that the huge animal could recover, I worked the bolt and put other two or three bullets in the bull's skull. But he was done in the first shot.

Don't ever let anyone tell you that twenty-two's lack killing power.

As payment for a job well done I commanded certain special pieces. The testicles (a.k.a. Rocky Mountain Oysters) and some nice liver slices that the manager's wife prepared in a good lunch for us. The almost four feet long penis I had it cleaned, stretched and dried so I turned in a "bull whip". Over twenty years later I still have that handy tool.

Many times in life it is better to be lucky than good, and this was one such occasion. I think that if I had missed that first shot the big injured bull would still be charging me.

Bugle and Friendship

"Hunt Tales" & the CORNETA (Bugle) Knife

The first time that I met Eloir Mário Marcelino my daughter Maria Eduarda was a baby on her diapers. She is a senior at University of Michigan now. Another friend, Mr. Sandor Hauser and his wife, took my family and I to Eloir's business (www.recargamatic.com.br) in the picturesque city of Tietê (SP - Brasil), so I could buy a die to reload .38 Special ammunition. The next time was in Uruguay, in 2009, a week after my father's funeral.

Due to the fact that hunting is basically illegal in Brazil since the ill conceived and never regulated “Wildlife Protection Law” (Brazilian Federal Law No. 5.197 from 3^rd January 1967), Eloir came to Uruguay to spend his birthday hunting perdiz (Notura maculosa).

When he came into the lodge I recognized him immediately, and we started talking about common friends, firearms and hunting. Sometime during those few days in Uruguay I invited Eloir to come hunting in Michigan, and he did that the following November, spending both “Opening Day” of deer season and Thanksgiving with us. He tells about that trip in his book “Contos de Caçadas”.

Before his departure Eloir presented me with a CORNETA (Bugle) folding knife that belonged to his father. CORNETA (http://www.cutelariacorneta.com.br/) is a very traditional company that originated in Germany and was nationatilized during World War II. They make both cutlery and auto parts. I love knives in general and folding blade knives in particular, but it was hard for me to accept such a unique gift, especially considering the emotional value that it had for Eloir.

However, the greatest gift Eloir gave me is his friendship.

The Best Meal I Ever Had

Serrasalmus rhombeus

I’ve lived in three continents and traveled to over 25 countries, and throughout my life I have had many fantastic meals all over the world, some rather formal and expensive and others totally opposite that. So, it would be very difficult for me to single out the most delicious meal based only on the flavor of the food, because environment and company probably have a greater impact on the experience than the food by itself.

However, perhaps the most memorable meal that I ever had was prepared by my father. In June of 1987 we went “fishing” in the Comandante Fontoura River, in the state of Mato Grosso, Brazil, close to the Xingu National Park. North Mato Gross is frontier country as wild as or even more wild than remote parts of Alaska, Canada or Africa.

One day my father decided to go out fishing only with my brother Rodolfo and me. We packed the bare essentials and would have lunch on whatever we fished. That was a very poor day and the only fish we caught was a rather large black piranha.

My father built a fire on a clearing and cooked the piranha the native way, on a high grill made of green branches above hot coals. The only seasoning we had was something called “Arisco”, a mix of salt, garlic and onions.

When the fish was done my father used a knife to lift the skins and we picked out its flesh with our fingers. We were either very hungry or the piranha was delicious, probably both.

The only thing that makes me said is that I will never eat like that again. My father passes away in May 2009.

Airguns - The Ultimate Survival Tool?

Logun MKII Professional (.177") and Pump

Guns have been instrumental surviving tools for the last 500 years or so, both as means of gathering food and for defense, but in order to throw a projectile at high velocity most gun, those better know as firearms, require as source of energy some kind of propellant, generally gun powder. The problem is that when the gun powder is finished the firearms become something no better than a cumbersome club.

And that is a major limitation of firearms as a really long-term survival tools. Although we can stock up large amounts of ammunition, it generally takes up a lot of space, weights a ton, and will literally drain your wallet. Also, if you ever have to be on the move, you can only pack so much ammo as you can carry.

Now, there are some guns that can continue shooting long after the last grain of gun powder turned itself in smoke: airguns. And to those that may think that airguns would not fit in the spirit of the Backwoodsman, they have been with us for around 300 years or about 2,000 years if you count blowguns.

Even Lewis & Clark took an airgun in their 1804-1806 Corps of Discovery expedition and are reported to have killed deer with it and astonished the Native Americans. That should not be much of a surprise, as high powered airguns were used to hunt big game by European nobility since the XVI century, and the Girandoni repeating air rifle was used by the Austrian army during the Napoleonic Wars.

Before we go any further, let’s remember that air guns can operate in three different principles: Spring-piston or mechanic, pneumatic and CO₂ or carbon dioxide.

Spring-piston airguns operate by means of a spring loaded piston that when released inside a compression chamber creates high enough pressures to expel the projectile. Since we use our muscles to cock the piston by means of some lever arrangement, as long as have strength they can go on shooting forever.

Pneumatic airguns use pre-compressed air as the source of energy, and can be divided in three subtypes: single-stroke (generally the lowest power) and multi-stroke are charged by a pump that is part of the gun itself, and pre-charged pneumatics or PCP that are charged from an external air source, either a high-pressure hand pump or a SCUBA tank.

CO₂ guns are charged using disposable cylinders or bulk chargers. Because CO₂ may not be readily available in a survival situation (same shortcoming as conventional ammo), and as their performance is highly affected by temperature (forget CO₂ in cold weather), they are the least useful as a survival airgun.

Due to their relative low power, I would advise that single-stroke pneumatic also be removed from the potential survival airgun list.

Of the remaining types, the multi-stroke pneumatic main disadvantage is that follow-up shots are very slow. I supposed that if you are used to a muzzleloader than it should not be much of problem, but in some circumstances this is a handicap.

Spring-piston and multi-stoke airguns are available in .177”, .20”, 22” and .25” calibers, and in .177” the muzzle speed varies from about 500 fps to as high as 1,500 fps with special low weight pellets in the so called magnum air rifles. Of course, “magnum performance” comes at the cost of high cocking effort, and increased noise and recoil.

GAMO USA has a promotional video that shows one of their .22 magnum air rifles killing a javelina or some other wild pig with a direct shot to the forehead. Although it is possible, I believe that small bore airguns should be reserved to smaller animals, and in most survival situations, it is easier and safer to rely on smaller game.

One can probably stock on about ten thousand small bore pellets for under $200 inside of a shoe box, and if you ever dry your supply, you could make your own darts or mini arrows with whatever readily available materials.

But to those of us that must be prepared to closer encounters with larger game and the potential two legged predators, we finally come to the PCP or Pre-Charged Pneumatic airguns, and we can go back to Lewis & Clarke and the Napoleonic Wars. Because most PCP airguns can be charged with big volumes of high pressure air, they are not limited to small bore light weight pellets.

For many years, the Lewis & Clarke airgun was believed to be muzzle-loading, ball reservoir, .32” or .40” caliber, made in Philadelphia by Seneca and/or Isaiah Lukens that has been displayed for years in the Smithsonian. However, it is now accepted the rifle to be a Girandoni.

The Girandoni is a repeating butt reservoir PCP, .464”, which holds 20 152 grains pure lead balls, held in a gravity fed magazine. The reservoir was charged a hand pump, and additional detachable could be replaced almost like the magazines of a modern day assault rifle. That was quite a bit of firepower for late XVIII and early XIX century.

The main issues with PCP air rifles back then was their very high cost and at times loose tolerances that led to air leaks. Apart from that, they had an initial greater rate of fire than muzzleloaders, could be used in any weather, and were more precise.

Today, PCP rifles are available as single shots and repeaters; there is even a semi-automatic model, in calibers ranging from .177” to .50”. There are also some shotguns that can take birds on the wing.

Shot count varies a lot due to caliber and power level. A custom made .177” by Rich in MI based on a regulated QB action will shoot over 150 shots from a full charge, while grouping well under an inch at 50 yards. On the other hand, a custom .32”, also by Rich, will shoot between 7 and 10 shots before the performance drops below acceptable. The little great .32 is quite capable of killing larger game, and Rich’s son bagged a five point whitetail this season.

Of the true big bores, the most wanted prize is the American made 509 ft-lbs Quackenbush. However, if you are not willing to face the 12 to 18 month wait list, there are some alternatives. Although I do not have first hand experience, I heard very good reports about the Sam Yang Big Bore 909S (.45”) and the ShinSung Career Dragon Slayer (.50”). Although not nearly as powerful as the Quackenbush, either rifle carries enough air for 3 to 6 shots, and are fully capable to cleanly kill deer sized animals.

A hand pump and bullet mould would be all that is required to complement the PCP air rifles as the ultimate survival guns, as most of us can probably scavenge lead for a lifetime bullet supply.

Additional uses for airguns are vermin control and safe and low cost training. I once used a couple spring-piston airguns to reduce the population of feral pigeons in a company that I worked for. A friend and I collected about 200 pigeons in under two hours. And my basement airgun range makes the long Michigan winters much more tolerable.