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.

An Unfinished Morning

Yesterday night we had an open star spangled sky and the wind died out and that brought out the prospect of the first frosty morning of this fall.

Cold, windless morning make deer move, so I set the alarm clock for 5:30 AM in order to arrive at Kay Alderman’s property in Bangor, MI, before first light for the first time this year.

I’ve been hunting at Kay’s for several years, and the 38 acres always bring a new surprise to me, and I could go on telling about all the nice morning when I watched the sun come up and melt the frost from the leaves, and the woods come alive as the light grew brighter.

The first surprise this morning was to see corn planted in her fields, in place of last year’s soybeans. Corn is great for deer, makes them taste good, but this early in the season it hides deer and makes moving quietly around all but impossible. It also made my tree stand a less than ideal site.

So I brought along a folding share and set it under a pine tree in a small clearing on what I call the “great north woods”. It is just steps from an old apple tree and there is a nice deer run across the clearing. I had very little cover in front, but the old pine disguised my silhouette.

As the sun rose it began to melt the frost from the leaves and water started dripping over the woods, and that noise combined with birds chirping and flying created the atmosphere that makes fall mornings in Michigan unique.

At around 9:00 I noticed movement in the woods across the clearing. A nice four pointer was gliding noiselessly among the trees, and he took to the deer run and headed towards me. It happened so swiftly that I did not have time to draw my bow before the deer was less than fifteen feet from me and staring deep in my eyes. He was a most beautiful animal.

As I raised my bow the buck snorted, jumped in the air and back trailed through the woods, flashing his white tail and proclaiming his outrage from my presence in his woods.

Rather than feeling distressed, I felt privileged from sharing the first frosty morning with such a handsome buck. There will be many more cold mornings this year, as well as afternoons when I will be able to watch the woods go to sleep.

Maybe that buck and I will have an appointment in the “big north woods”.