A Professional Small Boy Christmas Gifts

My not so impractical Christmas gifts

While I may be a bit older than nine-year-old Ralphie Parker, who wanted only one thing for Christmas: "a Red Rider Carbine Action 200-shot Range Model air rifle with a compass in the stock and this thing that tells time," I am still enough of a Professional Small Boy (as coined by the great late Peter Hathaway Capstick) to not only want, but truly desire impractical things for Christmas.

As I've been married long enough to be a grandpa, my wife already gave up any attempt to make me grow up a long time ago, and we both understand that if I need something I will just go to a store and buy it, and that special ocasions like birthday and Christmas are for gifts so impractical that they may approach being useless.

But the truth is that the world is round and if you push too much into one direction you will come around the other extreme, and end up in the other end of scale, and that is what may have happened this Christmas, since my gifts may not be so impractical after all.

Our new "Up North" life in Traverse City is presenting us with a large amount of snow and somewhat colder temperatures than in in southern Michigan, and while I have enough coats and jackets, the ones that are not camouflage are a tone of green or brown, olive drab best describing the color, and so my wife used the opportunity to change my wardrobe with a very warm Cabela's red & black plaid coat. While it may be a big step away from my traditional hunter's colors, the red & black plaid is a traditional up north team, and I guess at during next hunting season I will be able to dress like Elmer Fudd.

Next comes a fantastic Helle Skala folding knife. I bought my first Helle during a long family weekend in Luxembourg, and soon learned to appreciate the clean design, excellent manufacturing and fantastic laminated blade, where a hard high carbon core is swanduiched between two layers of tough stainless stell. The laminating process is not too different from the technology used in classic Samurai swords, and when the blade is sharpened the harder high carbon core always make the cutting edge. The Skala is a beautiful folder and its only potentially impractical aspect is that I already have one hundred and fifty other blades or so. Well, one never knows when there will be a lot of butchering or whittling to be done.

And finally we come to my Christmas alternative to Ralphie's BB-gun, the Savage Model 99 lever action rifle. In my opinion, the best word to describe the Savage Model 99 is elegant, and I believe that the brainchild of Mr. Arthur William Savage is the quintessential lever rifle. 

While Winchester undisputedly built "the gun that won the West" following the pattern laid down by the Volcanic and Henry firearms, their success at the end was a hindrance for innovation and it took an outsider in the form of Kingston, Jamaica, native Mr. Savage to recreate the lever rifle and make it a relevant hunting rifle for the twentieth century.

The main differences between the Savage Model 99 and other lever rifles at the time that it was created are its ability to fire high-intensity cartridges with spire-point bullets (something that the Winchester 1895 can also do) with greater precision due to a much faster lock-time made possible by a very well built hamerless action. Additionally, the elegant rifle is highly ergonomic, and it can be equaly well used by either right hand or left hand shooter, a scope can be easily mounted due to angle ejection, and the quality of manufacturing is really good.

My particular rifle is chambered for the 300 Savage, a cartridge designed in 1920 to basically offer 30-06 performance level in a package that would fit the Model 99, and is available both with 150 and 180 grain bullets. Later on, the 300 Savage was used as the basis for the design of the 308 Winchester or 7,62x51 mm NATO. 

The Savage Model 99 in 300 caliber is an effective 300 yard rifle for deer-sized animal, and very few lever action rifles can claim that. A short time ago I was reading Jeff Cooper's Commentaires and while that he considered that there were only three modern interesting rifles, the Steyr Scout (308 Winchester), the Blaser R93 (30-06) and Jim West's Alaskan CoPilot (45-70), in several passages he mentioned the Savage Model 99 (in 300 Savage) as one rifle that could fit the role of the Scout, especially for left hand shooters. Knowing how calous Mr. Cooper could be, this is a great compliment to this old rifle.

And what will I do with my rifle? Well, right now I will play with it indoors, at least until my doctor releases me to shoot again. Then I just may load some Buck Shot rounds for it and take it squirrel or rabbit hunting in the Old Mission State Park, at which time I will be wearing a heavy red & black plaid coat and will be carrying a Helle Skala folding knife to help me skin any game I may eventually shoot.

Doesn't that sound like the kind of thing that a professional small boy would do in order to run away from the world?

Sasha Siemel and the Pantanal

Jaguar, Zagaia, 357 S&W Magnum and Mr. Siemel

The first time that I ever heard about Sasha Siemel was on an article at Guns & Ammo HANDGUNS 1990 ANNUAL titled "The First Magnum", by Roy Jinks. The article tells the story of the development and launch of the Smith & Wesson 357 Magnum cartridge and revolver, but in the lower left corner of a page it presents the picture above with the following legend: "Sasha Siemel hunted the big cats of the Amazon with a spear. His backup was a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum, wearing registration #10."

Later on in the article, a table informs that revolver S&W 357 Magnum registration No. 10, barrel lenght 8 3/4 inches was delivered to Sasha A. Siemel, Big-Game Hunter From South America, on April 26 1935.

I must say that at that time I was more focused on firearms than on hunting, and it would be some more years before I would learn about Mr. Siemel and his fantastic adventures in the Brazilian hinterlands and how imprecise Mr. Jinks was about where Sasha Siemel hunted.

Almost a decade later I had the pleasure and privilege of proof reading my friend's John Coningham Netto fantastic and epic book, "BODOQUENA - Uma Odisséia no Pantanal" where the main character, Jari Carreiro, or Mr. John himself, is quite saddened by the news of the passing of the famous professional jaguar hunter Sasha Siemel in cold Pennsylvania, a half world and another half century away from the Pantanal do Mato Grosso where he made his fame.

The Pantanal is located aproximately in the geographocal center of South America, and is one of the world's largest tropical wetlands areas, and is located mostly within the Brazilian state of Mato Grosso do Sul, but it extends into Mato Grosso and portions of Bolivia and Paraguay. It sprawls over an area estimated at between 140,000 and 195,000 square kilometers (54,000 and 75,000 square miles). To the south and west the Brazilian Pantanal morphs into the Paraguayan and Bolivian Chaco. About 80% of the Pantanal floodplains are submerged during the rainey season, nurturing an astonishing biologically diverse collection of acquatic plants and helping support a dense array of animal species.

In the early XX century cattle ranch and fur trading were the cornerstones of Matto Grosso state (before 1977 Mato Grosso and Mato Grosso do Sul were a single state and it was spelled Matto Grosso) and the Pantanal was the heart of these industries. The rich floodplains provided fantastic and extensive grazing during the winter (which is the dry season) and the cattle industry flourished after the Paraguayan War, rivaling that of the southern Pampas.

But there was one element that intimately linked the cattle industry and the fur trade, the big cats: Jaguar or Onça-Pintada (Panthera onca), the world's third largest cat, and the its smaller relative the Suçuarana, Onça-Parda, Cougar or Mountain Lion (Puma concolor).

And once the cattle herd proliferated to great numbers it did not take long for the smart cats to realize that cattle provides a much easier meal than the fleeting cervo-do-pantanal, the dangerous queixada, the crusty cayman, the somewhat ugly capybara or the invasive porco-monteiro.

And once again, as the jaguar and the cougar started to charge the ranchers a steep price for the use of their original habitat, nothing more natural that these ranchers should rebel and fight back, and in order to do so they hired Zagaieros or Zagayeros, brave hunters that used a heavy lance, similar to the European boar spears and packs of hounds to pursue and kill cattle killing cats.

After several adventures in unhealthy Brazilian diamond boom towns Sasha Siemel changed his focus to the more exciting, but probably less dangerous, pursuit of the onça-pintada and suçuarana, and that made him a larger than life person in his own time. Just to give an idea of how famous Mr. Siemel was, Smith & Wesson shipped 357 Magnum revolver serial No. 1 to FBI's J. Edgar Hoover on April 17, 1935, and nine days later, shipped serial No. 10 to Sasha A. Siemel, big-bame hunter from South America.

"Tigrero", published in 1953, is Sasha Siemel's fascinating recounting of his life and adventures in Brazil, and besides dangerous big-game encounters it also provides a picture of life in the Brazilian frontier in the first half of the XX century, and it appeared to be a lot more wild than the United Stated Old West.

Master Shotgunner

Fábio Dartora, the author, Luiz Roberto Viganó

Last week I was working at my company's headquarters in Caxias do Sul (RS), Brasil, and as I have done since my first visit to Caxias in July 2012, I spent some quality time at Clube Caxiense de Caça e Tiro (www.clubecaxiensecacaetiro.com.br) or CCCT.

CCCT is located on a beautiful mountain top and its fantastic infrastructure and cultural environment reminds me of some of the clubs that I used to visit in northern Italy during the brief one year period that I lived in Torino. As Caxias do Sul was colonized by Italian immigrants the similarity is not surprising, and it is also includes great food, ever available wine and the love for bird hunting.

From my first visit to CCCT I felt completely at home, enjoying many delicious meals, that spanned from fantastic and authentic churrasco gaucho to the delicious tortei, a local dish that combines the Italian ravioli pasta with the Brazilian pumpkin for a filling.

But the members make the real difference at CCCT. There is always a shotgun available if you want to shoot, and several occasions I was handled Borsoi's Franchi, Viganó's Beretta, or Gasperin's, the club president, Perazzi.

CCCT offers Bunker or Olympic Trap, American Trap, International Skeet, Sporting Clays, as well as pistol, rifle and archery ranges, and holds several tournaments during the year. In the last month CCCT held the finals for both Rio Grande do Sul state and Brazilian trap championships, and in one of the finals over three hundred athletes attended and around 60,000 clays were launched. In order to feed this small army the club grilled over seven hundred pounds of beef, pork and primo canto chicken.

Last Saturday afternoon CCCT held a very special tournament, the Master Shotgunner ("Mestre Atirador") which consists of a total of 45 clay pigeons equally divided among Bunker Trap, American Trap and International Skeet. As I was scheduled to start my trip back home just after lunch on Saturday I would not be able to participate, but during the Wednesday Fábio Dartora - Trap Director and CCCT president Mr. Gasperin invited me to shoot the tournament in the morning.

That being agreed, on Saturday morning Fábio and my wild boar hunting friend Luiz Roberto "Gordo" Viganó picked me up at the hotel and drove me to CCCT where using Viganó's Beretta 682 I proceeded to shoot a total score of 36. At the end of the day, when I was already far away, the winner was Jonata Penz scoring 38.

Being an accomplished shotgunner I can come up with any number of excuses to justify my poor performance like shooting with a borrowed gun, not having shot International Skeet in over four or five years, never having shot trap at CCCT, being particularly stressed by shooting all by myself (all other competitors shot in the afternoon), having traveled all the way from Traverse City, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera…

But rather than come up with new and creative excuses I just would like to thank all my friends at Clube Caxiense de Caça e Tiro and congratulate them on maintaining and managing a world class shotgunning club in Brasil.

Blue Racer

Del and a looong Blue Racer

During the last weekend of woodcock season Del and I went out to bid goodbye for the nice little up side down brain birds until next year, and maybe, just maybe, invite a couple of them for supper. Well, it happened that all representatives of Scolopax minor had already packed and headed south, but eventually we met some of them during a pheasant hunt a week later, but good bye was all you could wish them at the time.

Anyhow, we walked some nice but demanding hilly terrain and Gina pointed several time, but we had no flushes. The soul of a bird hunter rides the nose of a bird dog, and at every point our hearts bit faster, adrenaline flushed, and upon walking the fruitless point disappointment settled in place of the earlier excitement and hope. But such is the life of all bird hunters.

On the way back to the car Gina pointed again, in a very intense way. We followed her beeping colar and as in the earlier points no birds flushed, but there was something else there.

Gina was pointing a curled long snake bluish in color and quite lazzy due to the cool, but not yet cold, temperature. I grew up in Brazil where snakes are not only bad, but really dangerous, but i really contained myself and did not shoot it on first sight, specially because Gina was way too close.

Del recognized the snake as a Blue Racer (Coluber constrictor foxi), a nonvenomous snake that is endemic to North America. As you can see by the photo above Del's snake was about four feet long, and it was unusually docile, maybe because of the rather cool weather. Anyhow, I think it did not enjoy being handled that much as it soon released a very foul smell that encouraged Del to return it to the Michigan fall woods.

When we came back to Del's home and told the story about the snake to his wife Chris, she asked me if about my experience with snakes in Brazil. I told her that the only nonvenomous snakes that I had experience with would happily eat your (see "Monster Still Exist" from January, 2012), so I really did not care to being to friendly to any snakes, blue or other color.

I hope that the endangered Blue Racer found a nice nest to hibernate during the long cold winter that already set over the land and that when it wakes up in the spring it will feast on rodents and leave upland bird chicks, specially woodcock and grouse, alone.

My $99 Anschütz

The perfect complement for my Haversack

On my latest trip to Brazil I had the opportunity to visit my hometown in the last weekend of October, and during that time I had the pleasure to meet my friend Aluísio Albuquerque, and during a brief visit to his home he showed me a gift that he had received shortly ago, a little Winchester 22 bolt-action "Tumb Trigger". To say that I was envious would probably be an overstatement, but that reminded me that I did not have a single shot twenty-two, and a professional small boy, to parafrase the late Peter Hathaway Capstick, who was too smart to take himself too seriously, not only needs, but truly desires such a timeless classic.

Well, some weeks ago my wife, who among many other responsibilities takes care of our mail and personal accounting, handed me a US$ 120 vaucher that Gander Mountain sent me and minutes later I found another US$ 10 gift card gratiously sent by Pheasants Forever. With that much "free" money available I was compeled to visit the local Traverse City store and explore the many possibilities to use my newly acquired funds.

The first trip with my wife was unsucessful as nothing caught my eye, but a week or so later the situation changed. After dropping my wife at the gym I drove to Gander Mountain to again search for that special something that would find a place in my heart and my life (you know how small boys behave).

Upon entering the store and quickly perusing the new firearms without finding anything attractive I moved to the relative small used guns shelf and among a lot of Mosin-Nagants, several shotguns and other center-fire rifles there was this small bolt-action twenty-two. I saw that it was in very decent shape and started to exam it and two things really caught my eye: the ANSCHÜTZ logo on top of the action and the $99 price tag!

As the sales associates were busy and there were other people looking at used guns that could steal my just found treasure I just stood there until help came my way, and before anything I double checked the price. It really was $99 and soon afterwards we , the little Anshütz and me, were on our way home.

When we arrived I immediately started an internet search to learn about my new acquision and after some false starts which called the rifle a "Garden Gun", which would have made me happy if that was the case as I really like those ancient European smooth bore "micro-shotguns", but finally I found a copy of an early 1960's Stoeger catalog that portraited ANSCHÜTZ JUNIOR VARMINTER .22 Long Rifle Caliber Rifles and Carbines. There were four guns on the page with prices varying from $22 to $110, and the top and least expensive one was the MODEL 1361E .22 RIFLE. The description matches my own rifle in every aspect, except that while the catalog states "A single-shot rifle with a manual cocking knob" my rifle will cock upon the bolt being closed.

As we had a week of pretty nasty weather the only place that I could comfortably test my new rifle was my basement airgun range, and in order to make it safe I relied upon Aguila's Super Colibri ammo which is actually less powerful and quieter than some of my air rifles, and therefore totally safe for my bullet traps. At around thirty feet off-hand (remember Jeff Cooper: rifles must have practical hitability) the little Anschütz performed as expected, hitting the twelve gauge empty hulls I was using as reactive targets and later my airgun metallic silhouettes. The only noise was that of the 20 grain lead pointed bullet hititing its target.

Today I disassembled the little Anschütz for proper cleaning and to better understand it mechanism. A single screw joins the stock with the lock and barrel. A robust leaf spring provides resistance to trigger movement, and the complete lock mechanism is of a sinmple and elegant construction, and the complete rifle probably has less than twenty parts, counting all moving and non-moving parts. "Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication" - Leonardo da Vinci

Since my Anschütz held minute of mice accuracy in the indoor range, I am sure it will perform just as well outdoors, and I am now planning a small game safari after cottontail rabbits and maybe squirrels for the Christmas holidays, but first I must secure the front sight that has some play to it. Maybe Del will coach me.

Well, now I have a rifle that not only rivals Aluísio's Winchester Tumb Trigger, but complements my grandson's Crickett (maybe in four or five years), and also is the perfect companion for my haversack. And who knows which adventures we may enjoy in the northern Michigan woods?

The 1960's Stoeger catalogue page

Public Land Hunting

Frozen crab after the first storm

This morning the first snow fall of the season and the strong winds quit, and my first responsibility was to turn the snow blower on and clean my driveway. Shortly after I had started I heard four shots in quick succession, an unnecessary reminder that we are right in the middle of gun deer season.

Sometime after lunch I packed my gear in the truck and drove to Mission Point Lighthouse Park where "hunting is allowed by DNR regulations." After parking I got dressed to face the comfortable windless 22F (-6C) weather, loaded my beautiful old Winchester Model 70 (of course in 270 Winchester since Jack O'Connor was right after all), market the location in my Bushnell Backtracker GPS and started walking on the trails that are closer to shore.

There were a lot of boot and dog tracks, but very little else disturbed the white snow covering the soft fall leaves. Even in cold weather deer must drink water, so I started walking the shore line looking for tracks, but the only animal I found was a frozen fresh water crab that, to tell you the truth, I did not even know lived around here.

After sometime I came to a place where the coast line raised suddenly and decided to come back to the park trails, and as I came over the rise I saw two other orange clad hunters, a young girl holding an H&R 20 gauge single shot shotgun and a man in his late twenties with a Remington 770 rifle. I approached to exchange some small talk and a minute or two later another couple joined them. The guy had a Remington 1100 semi-automatic 12 gauge shotgun and the girl a Marlin 336 lever action, I expect in 30-30.

I bid them goodbye and continued my way until I came to a very hilly portion of the park where I heard a not faraway shot. At the same place I saw another hunter walking the crest of the tallest hill. I waited a bit, but decided that the neighborhood was very crowded and started walking back to the lighthouse. Again I crossed paths with one of the young hunters that I had met earlier and continued my way, and not a hundred yards later I spooked four deer. They were somewhere between the trail and the shore and the only portion of their anatomy that I could clearly see was their flagged white tails.

I squatted down on the trail with gloves off and rifle at ready and heard the deer running through the woods but never had the opportunity for a shot. As the animals traveled south at a running pace I heard three shots, a yell and another shot. I only have an antlerless license for private land, so I need to be extra carefull before taking a shot and make sure that any deer has at least three points to a side before I pull the trigger.

After all this action I doubt that much more would happen, so I continued to my truck and before getting there heard yet another shot. As there was enough daylight prior to what was another magnificent sunset for which we are blessed here in the Old Mission Peninsula I decided to drive around the park boundaries a bit to locate other potential sites and as I came over a knoll I saw three antlerless deer about to cross the road.

After a dozen years living in Michigan this was only my second time hunting deer in public land. While there are deer, there are also a lot of other hunters, so it is really a matter of luck who pushes deer to who, and who gets the shot. The balance of the day was a frozen crab, five other hunters, seven deer sighted, six or seven shots heard and a renewed appreciation for blaze hunter orange.

An Unexpected Encounter

The Mitsubishi "Hobo" Knife

To say that as a child I had a rather fertile imagination and unconstrained curiosity would possibly be an understatement. My grandfather, Vô Tô, was a great contributor to that and fed me uncountable Tarzan and likely heroes stories, and the house that I grew up housed many "secrets". And while my father could have been considered a realist, he did not create barriers to my many exploits, even when they took me to his office desk, fishing box and other private and personal assets.

From a very early age I understood that every adventurer needed to have some special gear, a knife being first and foremost the most essential and valuable item. And do it happened that during one of my many visits to my father's "things" I found an extraordinary object.

This was a "survival knife" even if I never heard the term until Rambo First Blood movie came in a decade and a half later. It was a big folder with eleven "blades" that include almost everything from a clip point main blade, to saw, scissors, can and bottle openers, cork screw and even a spoon and a fork. The contraption was housed on a leather sheet decorated with multiple tackles. While really interesting, the heavy folder was not really practical. Since none of the "blades" detached one could not use the knife and fork simultaneously.

Sometime after the discover my father gave me that "survival knife", and that was probably my very first knife. It came even before my Beyer Tarzan knife!

I carried the thing around my waist to a lot of places and social functions, which is just a name to extended family barbecues, and I took good care of it. And then some time during my teenager years the knife mysteriously disappeared and I never saw it again.

And then last week while I was exploring the internet, on e-Bay I came across a Vintage WWII JAPAN Camping/Survival Knife Fork Spoon (hobo) Mitsubishi *RARE*, and surprise, surprise it was exactly the same knife that my father had given me almost forty years ago!

I really doubt that this knife even existed during WWII. The complexity and amount of material required to make it, plus the fact that Japanese people use chopsticks and not knife and fork, would put it completely out of place in Guadalcanal or the Kwai River bridges.

Of course I could not avoid buying the rare Mitsubishi hobo knife immediately and then the terrible waiting for its arrival began. I arrived home yesterday night from a business trip and inside my mail box was a small USPS box with the seller's Florida address on it.

My new old knife is in good, but not great, shape. In my opinion there a bit more rust than patina, but my original knife was in even rougher condition. The smaller sheep's foot blade does not open all the way, and some of the smaller "blades" have some play. But irrespective of the condition this knife brings memory from a very distant past.

I probably will never take the Mitsubishi Hobo Knife to the great outdoors, be it in northern Michigan or anywhere else, but every time that I will handle it I will have found memories of my father presenting me with an unique piece of cutlery.

O-Day + 1

Bill and his buck

My friend Bill Berghuis invited me to join him for Opening Day of Michigan firearm deer season in his property just outside South Haven in the southwestern part of the state. We met on Thursday afternoon at his condo in the banks of the Black River and immediately drove to his beautiful 68-acre property to scout it a bit, or actually for Bill to show me a couple places I could hunt, as his blind is very well located on the eastern boundary over a gas pipeline, which in reality is a great shooting lane.

Bill was very worried as last year the local deer herd had been devastated by EHD or bluetong disease, and no deer were taken during the 2012 season. As we walked we saw some tracks and even found a buck rub, but the traffic was far less than in the past.

He took me to a beautiful valley formed by a creek in the south end where several large bucks had been bagged in the past. on the way there we spotted a very large flock of turkeys that immediately spotted us and soon disappeared in the under cover. Due to the mature mixed hardwoods the ground was covered with dead leaves and is great squirrel habitat and over the next few days they would be a ever present companion.

We came back to my truck at last light, drove back to South Haven, had Italian food for dinner and spent the next couple hours getting current as we had not met in several months. A bottle of 15-year old Glenfiddich provided all the fuel we needed.

We woke up at 5:00 AM, had breakfast at a local McDonald's (not the healthiest choice, but convenient at that time), and arrived at the property before 6:00 AM. We geared up and walked together to Bill's blind. We wished each other good luck and I started the half mile or so walk to my ridge and on the way I spooked several turkeys on their roost. Due to the absolute darkness I could not located the same spot that Bill had shown me, but I found  a good spot and put my stool close to a deadfall and used my camouflage net to brake my profile.

It is amazing what the early twilight will do to a deer hunter imagination. As light starts to defeat darkness, every leaf still hanging against the desires of fall shines just like whitetail's eyes, and every dead branch becomes a polished antler. Call it illusion or delusion, but at the brief moments of daw's first light a hunter feels completely alive, every fiber of his body tense, and the soul fulfilled by the primeval predator desire to strike upon its prey. At dusk, a similar process happens when dusk sets in, but, at least for me, it is not as intense.

Over the next several hours I saw squirrels, black squirrels, red squirrels and even chipmunks. I also saw several crows and a very large, and now out of season, tom turkey. Close to 10:00 AM Bill texted that he was coming my way and that I should be aware for deer movement, but nothing moved.

We went back to the condo and enjoyed two hours of great sleep, and after that had lunch at Clementine's, a great local restaurant. Before going back we stopped at one of my favorite places, Black River Books.

In the afternoon I decided to hunt the trail that cuts the property east-west just north of the swamp that divides it in two. This gave me a good shooting lane, at least ninety yards each way, and swamp really looked like a place where deer would be bedded for the day and coming out at dusk, but Bill mentioned that the only reason I selected the place was because it was a much shorter walk that the ridge overlooking the valley.

Again my company was made of squirrels, two very nice tom turkeys, crows and a sparrow hawk. Sunset was gorgeously red and a large flight of Canada geese provided the music to complement it.

Bill's flashlight marked the path from his blind to my unsuccessful ambush, and although a bit discouraged by the lack of deer he commented that next morning, if not better, could not be any worse. We got back to the condo, had some more lively conversation and went out for some good burgers.

The beginning of Opening Day plus one, Saturday, November 16th, was pretty much the same. When we got to the property we waited for a couple minutes for Joe Rix, son of our friend Terry, and then all of us walked to Bill's blind and from there Joe and I took our own paths. The only difference for me is that I did not spook the turkeys on my way to the ridge.

At around 8:30 AM I got a text from Bill that he had shot at a deer, probably antlerless, but was not sure if had hit it. I kept my hopeful and solitary vigil and at around 9:30 I heard another shot from Bill's direction and shortly afterwards got a text with the picture of a marvelous ten point buck peacefully laying on the fall leaves.

We talked on the phone and Bill told that he had also found a blood trail from the first deer he shot, so I packed my gear and joined him to track that animal. And then we tracked it, sometimes with a great blood trail, others spending long times looking for that illusive flash of bright red blood. We stayed as blood hounds, without the benefit of sent, tracking the blood trail, trying to identify the spoor on the carpet of dead fall leaves, and after almost two hours and half a mile later we completely lost the trail on the edges of bad looking and very wet swamp. We were both disappointed, as no true hunter readily accepts the loss of a wounded animal, but at that point there was nothing we could do.

We came back to where the ten point buck rested, loaded it in my truck and drove to the barn where I gutted it, so Bill would not strain his back (you know, older guys are smart enough to take advantage of age and con younger man in doing the hard work for them).

In order to close this story I need to tell you two things: first, Bill made a perfect heart shot and the big buck did not run more than forth yards from where he was hit; and second, Bill told me his secret for attracting big bucks: he put lip stick on in the morning so he would be more attractive to the bucks in rut!

Wild Behaviors

My son Daniel and me

Yesterday we left Traverse City in the early morning and drove a couple hours to Morley, MI, to hunt pheasants at Haymarsh Hunt Club (www.haymarsh.com). Before anyone asks, there is fantastic hunting all around Traverse City, but woodcock season is already finished for the year and grouse are at the bottom of their cycle, and probably the main reason was that we were taking my son, Daniel, on his first hunt over dogs, and common sense told us it would probably be easier and more gratifying for him to hunt pheasants in more open cover than breaking bush all day long in the hope of a couple flushes from almost invisible birds.

My friend Randy Halseth arrived on Friday afternoon and we had dinner before Daniel arrived past 11:00 PM. We started the Saturday (yesterday) morning driving to Meijer's so Daniel could buy a Resident Small Game hunting license, and then we drove south on Garfield Road to meet the other members of the expedition, Del Whitman with German Shorthairs Zap and Gina, David Reed with Vizsla Oliver and Gus Newbury with English Setter Pepper.

We arrived at Haymarsh around 10:00 AM, were guided to our fields and even before parking saw three roosters walking across the road. We backed up, parked, got dressed, released the dogs and went after the colorful roosters.

As we started down the road a rooster flushed wildly and Del got it with a crossing shot while the dogs pointed another one. Every body motioned Daniel forward as it was his first pheasant hunt. Daniel walked behind the dogs and when the gaudy pheasant flew his gun did not fire and I took it with the right barrel from my BSS 20 gauge.

It was a great start, but anyone that taught that we would have an easy hunt was deeply wrong. The cover was dense and in a lot of places it looked a lot more like grouse and woodcock coverts than pheasant country. We went south against the wind to give an edge to the dogs and crossed some wet ground from where besides bagging some more pheasants we flushed several whitetail deers.

After a couple hours we came back to the vehicles for refreshments, both for dogs and hunters, drop a heavy load of birds, rest some tired legs, lie about great shots and the normal things we all do when hunting with friends.

We went back to the north field and very soon we had a double point along the tree line and within seconds of each other two hens flushed, David got one and Daniel and Gus hit the other. Along that edge, all the way to the end of the field the dogs pointed and we eventually flushed several woodcock. Too bad the season was already closed or we could have supplemented our bag with several gorgeous timber doodle.

At the end of the north field Pepper, Gina and Zap came to a beautiful point, and as Del, Randy, Gus and Daniel approached a large dark feathered rooster flushed into the trees. Gus hit the bird twice, but it continued to fly and Del dropped it with a shot from his twenty-eight in a relative open spot. We all marked the spot, but three dogs and five men were unable to locate it. After almost a quarter hour we gave up, all of us with broken hearts.

We started again walking the big field with the wind on our faces and flushed several other woodcocks. At one point Pepper and Gina got very birdie near a ditch and after relocating several times a hen flushed very near me and I got it with a single shot.

We were all getting tired, especially the dogs that were running a hundred yards for every couple yards we walked, but before we got to the cars the dogs took us again to the heavy cover in the south field, and again after relocating multiple times Pepper, Gina and Zap cornered a rooster that took off wildly. I hit it with my first barrel and missed with the second and saw where the bird landed. Soon after Del was there with Gina, Zap and me, and after a couple minutes the rooster flushed a second time and came down hard after I fired the right barrel.

We got back to the cars around 2:00 PM and counted fourteen birds, equally divided between roosters and hens. After the photo session and splitting the birds Del was the first to leave as it was his birthday and he had to take his wife for dinner.

We stopped at the Moe-Z-Inn tavern for something to eat, and after the two hour drive we all, minus Del, arrived at my home in the Old Mission Peninsula for an improvised wild game dinner. The Big Green Egg was going in no time and I quickly had some venison kaftas (venison, garlic, onion and pistachios) and black bear back straps going while I cleaned some spruce and ruffed grouses that I brought from Canada. I seasoned the grouse with garlic, kosher salt and olive oil, and while we waited for the meat to be ready my wife served some mashed potatoes and beef pie.

To help the meal we had a bottle each of Stags Leap Cabernet, Dona Paula Malbec and Renwood Zinfandel, and to close the night just the right amount of Sandeman's Founders Reserve Porto.

Overnight I smoked a large piece of bear and Randy, my wife and me had some of it for breakfast this morning. It is wonderful the magic that salt crust and hardwood smoke can perform on a good piece of wild game.

Even if Daniel was absolutely safe during the day and got his first pheasant I guess that he was not prepared for the hunt. He went to bed at 8:30 PM last night and only woke-up around 11:00 today!

Of Wild Flushes and Wild Meals

Woodcocks on the way...

Yesterday Del and I went out bird hunting again. It was a fresh and moist morning and the fall colors were glowing in a particularly beautiful way. I love the burnt reds and coppers.

In the early part of the hunt we had a lot of walking, which should please Dr. March as he insists that I exercise daily, some false points and many wild flushes, mostly woodcock, but also one young and illegal whitetail buck with short spikes over its head. The buck was illegal because we had shotguns for the birds we were after and it is now bow season for deer, and because of the new antler restriction regulations based on Quality Deer Management principles that protect bucks until they have at least three points in one side.

After coming back to the car we drove around to another area and let out both Gina and Zap, and we went out in another long walk. Finally when we were no more than one hundred yards from the car the dogs started pointing woodcock one after another. We would have had a limit between the two of us if Del's auto-loading shotgun had not misfired twice and if we had found one of the birds I shot.

I think that Del knew all along where the birds were, but he is under orders of Dr. March to make me exercise and walk every inch of the Michigan north woods, or at least every inch of Grand Traverse, Benzie and Leelanau counties, before we can collect a couple three birds for dinner.

For a change we did not go out for lunch in respect of our respective diets.

For dinner I prepared the woodcock (beccaccine) skinned (poultry skin is bad for triglycerides) and cut in half, lightly browned over just a bid of lard, and then cooked with shallots and cipollini on a white wine and rosemary sauce. As contorni I had grilled eggplants (melanzana) white beans (fagionlini) salad. The wonderful dinner was washed down by a glass of I Tre Vescovi, and excellent Barbera d'Asti.

There may be more pleasurable things in life, but few can surpass good friends, hunting and a wild game dinner.

to become a meal!

Kevin's Amusement Park

View from one of the many tree stands

Last weekend I met my friend and business associate Kevin McKervey who had invited me for a weekend of bow hunting for whitetail deer in his "up north" property just south of Cadillac, Michigan.

I arrived at his "cabin" around 3:00 PM on Friday and Kevin introduced me to his lovely wife Patty and friend Mark (the second Mark would only arrive on Saturday), and after a great venison roast he took me on an ATV ride to reconnoiter the 37 acres and eight food plots, and multiple ground blinds and tree stands.

It is amazing how much can be learned by a simple ride, a bit of observation and a lot of conversation. I had never attentively hunted before a property intensively managed for deer, and i can only say that it requires a labor of love for the whitetail and the sport from Kevin and Patty.

After a three hour drive (each way), they spend almost every single weekend of summer and early fall spraying weeds, tilling, disking, planting and fertilizing food plots, cutting down trees and trimming branches to open shooting lanes, and they share the potential fruits of their labor, money and time with good friends.

We hunted Friday afternoon and while seating on my stand I observed squirrels, rabbits, blue jays, robins and chickadees galore. Just before dusk the distant honking of Canada geese provided the music to put the sun to sleep. With darkness came a beautiful half moon and Kevin calling me to help to track a doe he shot about an hour ago.

Arriving at his stand I met Brenda, a neighbor and friend that was also helping tracking the doe and who first spotted the blood trail. After half an hour or so we (or Brenda) located the doe, and Patty came with the tractor to haul the animal back to Kevin's barn where he has a fantastic butchering set-up. Dinner was pizza and libations.

Next morning we were back at the same stands, I heard the flight of Canadas going the opposite way from last night, but none of us saw any deer. Kevin cooked breakfast with eggs, potatoes and absolutely great venison brats. During afternoon we watched another Spartan's victory at the Big 10 college football and the weather starting to change with a constant wind from southwest.

By 4:30 PM we were out to our respective stands or blinds, and due to the wind everything was very, very quiet. Towards dusk the wind die out a bit and squirrels moved to their nests, rabbits came to graze at the food plot, birds flew around, but the geese did not bring their music to welcome the gathering storm.

The coming rain synchronized our return to the "cabin" (really, not a cabin at all, but a very comfortable home), and very soon I had hot cools in the grill and where fresh deer liver and venison back straps were grilled and enjoyed with healthy salads and good almost fresh french bread.

At the end of a typical hunting season Kevin, Patty and friends may on average harvest four to six deers, but their hard work creates not only a fantastic amusement park, but health habitat that is a piece of paradise for multiple species of the great northern woods of Michigan.

A Nice Fall Morning

Zap & Gina with woodcock

It is no secret to anyone that knows me that I endure most of the year to really live and enjoy fall, as fall means hunting season is open, and that translates into spending time outdoors with friends.

I was able to take sometime out this morning to go bird hunting with friends Del and Dan. We met at Del's around 9:00 AM, which is one of the beautiful things about "upland bird hunting" as we don't need to wake up well before the stars dim out as we need to do when deer and duck hunting.

We enjoyed some small talk while getting ready and loading Del's German short-hair pointers, Zap and Gina, in his Honda Element, which is really a nice little hunting car, and then drove in a generally Southwest direction to get to the same plot of state land where Del and I hunted almost a year ago.

When we got there we parked where we intended to end the hunt and walked the dogs on leash to the covert a half a mile or so to the beginning of the covert where we released the eager Zap and Gina, loaded our guns and started walking through the ferns, already burned, but bravely resisting the passing of the season.

The first part of our walk was quiet, for the lack of a more sedated word, but just so suddenly Zap and Gina started to go on point, sometimes at the same time but a hundred yards apart. Over the next two hours or so we may have had twenty or twenty five woodcock flushes, and maybe we got legitimate shots at half of them.

Dal was shooting  a very nice Benelli Ultralight 28 gauge semi-automatic shotgun that he own at the Ruffed Grouse Society banquet last month, while Dan was using a side-by-side 20 gauge SKB and I had my Browning BSS, also a twenty. Del had one misfire and another time he forgot to chamber a shell, and even if I say so, I enjoyed an inspired day, and got my share of the action and of woodcock.

By the end of our morning stroll when it was already quite warm, if not hot, we had bagged six birds, while we could not find two other. We also had a single wild flush from a grouse, but neither Del, Dan or I could even had a good look at it.

We finished our morning with excellent burgers at Jodi's Tangled Antler, a great hunter friendly and antler decorated northern Michigan bar. After that, back to work...

Algoma 2013 - Day 6: More Action

Beaver dam overtaking road

Yesterday both Bob and Wayne, Bruce's son, had the the opportunity to take a shot at black bears, but they passed either because the bear was not big enough or because it did not present a good broadside shot.

Wayne and Bruce left this morning and Randy and his wife Sally arrived around lunch time. Randy was here in the beginning of the season but could not get a bear at the time, so he is back for a second try.

After lunch Bob went back to his bait site at the Shanty Creek Road, Randy went with Jeff out to "Bait 5" at the Loop Lake Road, Joseph went rock hunting and I stayed at the lodge nursing my knee. By mid afternoon both Jeff and Joseph were back and dragged me to go fishing.

When we arrived at the boat lunch we saw the camp of Canadian native hunters after moose, and because of the intermittent rain we took a small pontoon boat with a top instead of Jeff's jet boat. Soon the three of us were fishing on the tea-like waters of the Montreal River. I caught a small pike on a spinner and after trying different lures and baits we all set on jigs with night-crawlers and eventually caught a nice string of walleyes.

At around 6:30 PM we heard a shot coming from the direction of "Bait 5", so we raised anchor and got back to the boat lunch where we met Randy by the time we had put our fishing gear back in Jeff's truck. Randy had shot a bear, and like me yesterday was coming to get help to track and retrieve it.

By the time we got back to Halfway lodge it was dinner time, and we decided to eat the great bear stew that Steve prepared with one of my bear's loins and decided to wait for Bob to get back so he could take part on the night adventure.

Eventually we left on party of six people, Randy and Sally, Jeff, Joseph, Bob and I, to track a wounded and potentially dangerous animal at night only armed with bear spray, a Canadian law prohibits the use of firearms after sunset, even when trailing wounded bears.

The four ATV convoy took some time to negotiate the bad logging roads and trails to get to "Bait 5" and once we were there we soon found a good blood trail and we found the dead bear with a beautiful white chevron in its chest within fifty yards of the bait barrel.

Bob and I will go home in the morning, but we are already talking about coming back.

Algoma 2013 - Day 5: BEAR!

Two predators forever connected

Yesterday everyone hunted bear for a very long time and today because we were all tired  decided to change tactics and only start bear hunting later in the afternoon, and this gave me time to go grousing. Joseph and I took my truck and went looking for logging roads that hosted suitable grouse cover. I was very distressed that my trusted pointer Bob refused to come along and decided to go baiting with Jeff instead.

We stopped at multiple logging roads and walked along looking for coverts and birds, but did not have success until we came to the "ZERO" Bait. We stopped the truck and started along the two-track. When we arrived at the bait and tree stand we found the partial skeletons of two moose. I imagine its a cow and its yearling due to the difference in size.

We continued to move along until the end of the two-track where I heard grouse calling. I entered the bushed and initially I thought that I had been fooled by a raven, but soon after I found myself in the middle of a small flock of spruce grouse. I made sure that I would locate and retrieve each bird I shot before pursuing another so I would not risk losing a bird, and after some intense minutes I had three more grouse.

When we came back to the lodge Jeff told us that three of the four baits we were hunting had been hit, and after a brief conference I decided to continue to hunt the same site (Bait 17.5) as I did the previous days, and I am on my way shortly after lunch.

The temperature is around 68F and it is very humid which makes for rather warm and uncomfortable hunting weather and I feel overdressed in my flannel shirt and wool sweeter (the same Woolrich sweeter I bought at Orvis in Traverse City in January 2003). With the warm weather come the the mosquitoes and I believed killed more than a limited those pesky flying insects.

The temperature does not seem to affect the red squirrel's energy and they chase each other around, chirp and climb the bait barrel to lick the molasses that has been poured on top of it to help attract bruins. A couple of red headed woodpecker come visiting and I think that if no bear come at least I can tell that I met Woody Woodpecker.

I kill a couple more mosquitoes and then absolutely noiseless a black bear comes up the hill and turns the trail at the tree that holds a well aged piece of beaver and looks straight into my eyes. At fourteen paces it looks like an enormous monster bear to me, and immediately after spotting me it turns into its tracks to escape back into the almost impenetrable jungle he just emerged from, but at the same time I raise my 375 Holland & Holland and shoot the bear like I shoot grouse, relying on reflexes a lot more than precise aiming to hit a fast fleeing target.

The first thought that comes to my mind is that I missed the bear, but when I come out of my improvised ground blind I soon find blood and bone fragments and I knew that The bear was seriously wounded.

I am not a good enough tracker to pursue an wounded bear alone in the thick northern woods and even if I found it, it was more than likely that I would be unable to retrieve it by myself, so I went back to my truck and drove back to the lodge where I found Jeff as he was about to go fishing with Joseph and Bruce.

When we got back I gave my bottle of bear spray to Joseph and loaded my 20 gauge Browning side-by-side with slugs. I hopped for my shot to have been fatal, but if we had a wounded bear in the woods I can shoot a light shotgun a lot faster than I can shoot a heavy bolt-action rifle, and slugs at point blank are as effective as any rifle load.

Jeff, Joseph and I started tracking and Bruce stayed at the bait to give us directions. We found a lot of blood and more bone fragments, and inside the Northern jungle the temperature rose from warm to really hot, maybe because of the claustrophobic environment and all the excitement and adrenalin rush of tracking a potentially dangerous animal under such challenging conditions.

Although the cover was very challenging we had no problem with the blood trail, and we found the very dead male bear under a tree 82 yards from the bait as the crow flies. We also found that the 300 grain bullet completely destroyed the bear's left shoulder exploding like a grenade.  The bullet behavior is clearly not what is expected from a dangerous game bullet, but the injury it inflicted killed the bear, even if no vitals were hit.

Steve now joined us and brought a sled to help us retrieve the bear, and that is when the bear revenge started. It took us over an hour to bring the 180 pounds bear out of tangled woods, and back to the truck. The last challenge was the crossing of a beaver dam. While we walked the top of the dam, we floated the bear in the sled.

After some more of the usual work that comes after shooting a big game animal we had a "wild game dinner" of grouse, walleye and northern pike, and fried bear liver with onions. The excellent dinner was washed down by a bottle Rodney Strong Pinot Noir and  another of Jacob's Creek Barossa Valley Shiraz. A fitting tribute to he bear.

Algoma 2013 - Day 4: Close Encounters of the Moose Kind

Photo by Robin Ireton

Just for a change today (I really mean yesterday, since I was too tired to write last night) we did not go grousing. Instead Bob, my new trusted "pointer", left earlier for his bait stand on his ATV and shortly afterwards Jeff and I followed to bait all four sites. Our plan was to make the run and bait mine last and I would stay to see if the bears would come earlier, like happened the previous day.

We started by Bait 16, the "Pit", and Bob's trail camera revealed that two different bears had visited it sometime after dark, a large one and the other quite small. That is the site I took the decision not to hunt. That was also the only hit bait of the four we visited. Cè la vie!

Jeff stopped to bait Bob's site at Shanty Road and Bob asked me to tell me he had seen  five grouse. Maybe he will become a bird hunter one day! When we came to the last and furthest away bait at the other pit, also on Shanty Road, I went ahead to check the bait and three grouse flushed not ten feet from me, but the 375 Holland & Holland is rather inadequate for shooting grouse on the wing!

We came back to my bait (we now call it 17.5) at around 12:30 and it had not been hit, so I decided to take my place while Jeff refreshed the bait with a large nice piece of beaver.

And I sat, and I sat, and I sat...

In order to avoid falling sleep and possibly finding a bear licking my face like my lab Tupã likes to do I got my i-Phone (No! There is no cell phone or Internet coverage here, thank you) and finished reading Aldo Leopold's Round River, a less famous work than Sandy Country Almanac, but not less important in my view, as it show a bit more about Leopold the hunter. After that I also ready some of the hilarious Galen Winter's stories on The Journals of Major Peabody.

By 8:00 PM it was getting too dark to shoot and started raining again, so I left my very comfortable chair and walked back to my truck a half mile away.

Shortly after getting the main road while i was coming around a bend in the road my headlights showed a very large dark body supported by four very long legs. It took me a few seconds to remember that they don't have horses around here and that the animal was a cow moose. I continued driving slowly as the she-moose trotted in front, but before I could snatch a picture she left the road on a pond or beaver dam and within seconds had crossed it and entered the north woods.

This may not have been such a close and personal encounter as Bob had, but it surges make you want to drive carefully. I need to drive my truck home and not leave a reck here in Ontario.

We had T-bone steaks for dinner washed down by a bottle of good French red, Chateau Haute-Tulieres. After dinner a hot sauna helped us couple with the long day and prepare us for a good night of sleep. Bing quite tired I had to write about today, tomorrow!