Whether hunting public or privateland, the fundamentals of calling elk remain the same.

By Michael Waddell

We heard the bull bugle at first light and snuck into his core area. When I hit a lick on my bugle, the bull simply came unglued and stormed our position like a tank, crashing through brush and small lodgepole pines like they were atchsticks. Before we could react he was in our lap and we were pinned down, myself hiding behind a camera, too afraid to even touch the tripod for fear of my shaking hands would run the footage. All I could see of my partner edged against a stunted pine was the tip of his undrawn arrow shaking uncontrollably on the rest. Before a shot presented itself, the bull smelled a  rat and disappeared as quickly as he arrived.

While this experience didn’t result in a dead elk, it did hopelessly addict me to calling them. It seems that in all walks of life, be it the animal kingdom or humans, communication is a key ingredient for all social interaction. However not all living things communicate to the same degree. If you ask my wife, I am sure she will tell you I lack in the communication department, in fact I am sure she believes I don’t listen to her at all, but when it comes to communicating with animals I can barely shut up. Of all the animals I love to communicate with elk rate right at the top. By nature elk are very vocal. The uninitiated often simply think of bulls bugling, but cows, calves and bulls make all sorts of noises year around. If you encounter a larger herd of elk while you might not hear a thing from a distance, if you get close you will hear lots of subtle vocalization. Most of the time these are sounds of contentment, but depending on what’s happening the vocalization reflects it. Elk can convey contentment, danger, curiosity, or a cow in heat. Bulls for instance only bugle primarily in the rut, but they also communicate to establish a pecking order. After spending a considerable amount of time chasing the mighty wapiti, I’m convinced every elk in the herd knows each other by sound alone. This happens with the cows as well as the bulls and based on my evaluation somewhere in this mix is the deadly secret to calling elk archery-close.

Imitation Is The Sincerest Form Of Flattery

It seems that the more vocal a herd the better the odds are for success at calling them. Some cows call subtle, while others are loud-mouth ladies actively looking for a date. By listening it gives you a better opportunity to imitate the particular tones and intensity of the herd. By calling we are automatically intruding into the social club without an invitation. The closer we can sound to a known elk, and match that intensity the better the odds are of filling a tag. Even though we may sound like an outsider to the herd, luckily for us, love crazed bulls are not looking to be intimate with just one or two cows they are looking for all the love of every cow in the world, so taking advantage of their sexual frustrations and promiscuity is what we aim to do. It doesn’t take a world champion elk caller to trick bulls within range. By simply paying attention to the herd and understanding simple elk rhythm, tone and more important volume when calling, a hunter can depend on an elk call to be a valuable asset to dulling broadheads.

Public Versus Private Land

Since I started hunting elk 16 years ago, on private as well as public ground, I have realize that comparing these two different types of ground are like comparing night and day and it is all about the amount of pressure each receives. Generally speaking private ground bulls are way easier to call than public ground animals, but this is not always the case. Some private land does get a lot of pressure, which can make for some pretty tough calling duels with elk that can serve you up a humble pie every time you bust out a call. While conversely some public landeither through sheer remoteness or hard-to-get tags is like calling the best private land in the nation. Hunting un-touched land and cow calling to bulls that have never heard a Hoochie Mamma would obviously be nice and it wouldn’t take long working over these uneducated elk to start feeling like an elk calling pro only to be deflated the first time we went to the national forest and mixed it up with bulls so well-known by local hunters that they have knick names. However, regardless of where you hunt the basics of calling remain the same. Start with mastering the cow call and all its various inflections. Your basic reed type calls are the easiest to learn as well as get proficient with. You will find two kinds; both are bite down reed-type of calls, one being enclosed and the other having an open reed or reeds. These calls make a very realistic sound and before your wife can run you out of the house you will master the basics.  I rely heavily on the cow call and think most of the time hunters are better off sticking with it over a bugle no matter where he is hunting. But learning how to make a basic bugle is important, especially for locating bulls at a distance before getting close and working him with your cow call. In addition, sometimes it is the bugle that finally provokes a dominant bull to commit, especially during the early season when bulls are still sorting out their peckin’ order.

Earning Your Public Ground PhD

Lets face it, unless you have deep pockets much of the private ground in the West is pretty much off limits, so you have to learn to hunt public land. This is not a bad thing as public ground comprises millions upon millions of acres across the West and happens to have some of the biggest bulls found anywhere. While it can be tougher than private, once you learn how to hunt it you won’t be disappointed. Over the years, one of my favorite places to hunt is the Gila National Forest, in New Mexico, and even though this is a trophy area tags are fairly obtainable through application. In the Gila, the trophy potential is off the chart, sporting some of the biggest bulls in the country, but just because the big ones live there doesn’t mean thatyou automatically make one call and they come running to get in the back of your truck. These mature jokers have a PhD in avoiding hunters. Over the last six years I have hunted this area religiously and have had the opportunity to shoot some nice bulls all by using elk calls as an aid to close the coffin. Notice I said, “as an aid”, meaning the call was just one thing in a bag of tricks to help smoke these monarchs. My biggest bull that came out of the Gila was a 378 P&Y bull that had earned the name Professor because he always seemed to take you to school when you applied too much pressure. However, this bull was vocal and would bugle his butt off. He also seemed to be fairly easy to find, not only by his gnarly, raspy bugle that set him apart, but frequently he could be found early in the morning in a large meadow just south of a particular water hole that always attracted a large herd. The Professor was not the only bull in the area that had large headgear, but it was The Professor that seemed to call the shots. I had caught this bull in the open several times, but calling seemed to really make him uneasy when you were in close. The Professor however would bugle hard to distant cow calls and seem to be whole heartedly interested, but had a sixth sense when you moved in for the attack. Final we decided to have a caller stay behind as we worked him coming off the meadow at daybreak. By doing this we could keep him interested and bugling as we stalked in closer. The caller always was no closer than 80 yards behind me. While the caller kept him occupied, I slid within 50 yards and gave him a G5 Tekan right behind the shoulder. This hunt was really a stalk, but the call and caller had a big part to do with his demise. Once we started quartering the bull up, we found a piece of an old arrow lodged just below the backstraps, so obviously someone had him in close before and gave the Prof and education, which explained why he was so wary.

The Double Team

As this old bull showed, hunting with a partner can work extremely well. It not only puts the hunter out in front of the call, but it gives the hunter a chance to move and adjust the angle based on where the bull might be approaching. Likewise, the caller has the flexibility to move as well and apply a lot of different calling techniques. The double team plan worked again on another hunt. It had been hot and the bulls were only bugling early and late. As soon as the sun would rise the elk woods would turn in to a ghost town.
Just after daybreak on the fourth day of our hunt we heard this bull bugle. He hit it only two times, both very weak and he sounded like the littlest rag horn in the land but with no other game in town we went after him. Getting as close as possible to where we thought the bugle came from I eased up and sat down by a pine stump while my buddy moved back and to my right about 40 yards. Neither of us were very optimistic about our chances. My buddy made one or maybe two very soft cow calls on a two reed diaphragm then he started raking a tree and rolled a few rocks. We sat there for possibly 10 minutes in silence, then out of nowhere appeared a wide 340 inch 6 x 6 coming directly to us, at 25 yards the bull let out a soft chuckle, looked over his surrounding and kept walking in the direction of where the last rock had been rolled, which led him 16 steps from my pine stump. By now I was at full draw waiting for a broadside shot. When the arrow left my bow, I knew we had killed a call shy monster by keeping it low key and staying patient. Needless to say, I was never convinced by the two times he had bugled earlier that he was a shooter. This was a lesson in itself. Never judge a bugle until you can see what is making the sound.
The most exciting way to bag a bull elk is to get him in close, and the best way to do that is with a call. Confidence in your call is critical, because if you’re insecure about using your call there is a good chance you will spook elk. Have confidence in your calling ability and become just another elk in the herd where you are hunting. Find a call that works for you and not what works for some else. Think like an elk and do as elk do. Realism, rhythm, and volume control can make the difference between bringin’ them in or running them over the next ridge. And remember its not always about calling, it can be just patiently listening to the sounds around you and applying minimal calls, while practicing good woodsmenship, and stalking skills that could help you put that monster on the back of the truck.

By Michael Waddell

This is a warning to outdoor users about a potentially deadly biological event that could result from one’s curiosity to poke at and kick through scat from wolves, coyotes and foxes. Of course not everyone knowingly does this but many hunters, trappers and simply the curious, want to know what these animals have been eating.

Back in the end of November I gave you a link to a story, “Of Wolves and Worms”. That story introduced many of us to the subject of worms being found in wolves in the Greater Yellowstone area.

According to a new study out in the October issue of the Journal of Wildlife Diseases, three-millimeter-long tapeworms known as Echinococcus granulosus, are documented for the first time in gray wolves in Idaho and Montana. And the authors didn’t just find a few tapeworms here and there… turns out that of 123 wolf intestines sampled, 62 percent of the Idaho gray wolves and 63 percent of the Montana gray wolves were positive. (Ew!) The researchers wrote: “The detection of thousands of tapeworms per wolf was a common finding.” (Again… Ew!!) This leads to the interpretation that the E. granulosus parasite rate is fairly widespread and established in the Northern Rocky Mountain wolves.

There is discussion about how some think the worms ended up in the wolves in this region but the article tends to downplay any serious concerns people should have from coming in contact with these tapeworms and the eggs they leave behind.

In the comments section of the article, Will Graves, author of the book “Wolves in Russia: Anxiety Through the Ages“, left his thoughts on his own research discoveries about the dangers to humans of these parasites.

In the first paragraph in my letter to Mr. Bangs dated 3 October 1993 on the DEIS (Draft Environmental Impact Statement) which was titled “The Reintroduction of Gray Wolves to Yellowstone National Park and Central Idaho,” I warned about the damages and problems wolves would cause to Yellowstone and other areas by carrying and spreading parasites and diseases over larger areas. Some of these parasites are damaging not only to wild and domestic animals, but can also be dangerous to humans. One of these parasites is Echinococcous Granulosus and Echinococcus M. Since 1993 I have been working to tell people what I have learned from about 50 years of research on the characteristics, habits and behavior of Russian wolves. From that research I came to the conclusion that one of the most serious consequences of bring wolves into the US would be the wolves carrying and spreading around damaging/dangerous parasites and diseases. I did my best to explain this in my book titled, “Wolves in Russia – Anxiety Through the Ages” edited by Dr. Valerius Geist. Details about my book are in my web site: wolvesinrussia.com.

After several years effort, I finally recently obtained help from the U.S. Department of Agriculture, Parasitic Research Center in Beltsville, MD. This research center will try to conduct research on the blood taken from wolves in our western states. Oneparasite they will be researching is to determine if wolves carry and spread the parasite Neospora Caninum around. It is established that coyotes and dogs carry this damaging parasite.

I remember that about two years ago there was a report about one wolf carrying Echinococcus Granulosus in Montana.

Much more research is needed about the danger wolves bring to our environment. Some of the parasites carried by wolves are dangerous to humans.(emphasis added)

Around this same time that Will Graves posted his comments, he contacted me by email and asked if I could somehow be of assistance to him in obtaining blood samples from wolves taken during the Idaho and Montana wolf hunts. The word went out quickly and hopefullyGraves gets what he needs to help him in his research. This can become extremely valuable information for all of us.

In the meantime, Dr. Valerius Geist, professor emeritus University of Calgary and Dr. Charles Kay, of Utah State University, who holds degrees in wildlife ecology, environmental studies and wildlife biology, exchanged thoughts on the discovery of worms in Yellowstone wolves in emails I received.

Well, Charles? What else is new? What did we warn about, how we were censored as alarmists………………………
And yes, a colleague assured us that all that is not a problem for us, but for some native types. Nothing to worry about, really. Remember how, early on, we put out a warning – do not kick dry wolf feces or poke about in such looking for evidence of food habits. Do not handle wolf feces as it will disturb the tiny Echinococcus eggs that float up like little dust cloud to envelop you, and you are very likely to ingest some of that “dust”. This know-how, which we older Canadian types carried away from our parasitogy lessons was poo-hood by some American colleagues. Wolves are after all, harmless! Remember the question we posed: is it really such a great idea completing ecosystems when the progression is herbivores, carnivores, finally diseases and parasites?

It is not my intention nor that of Drs. Geist and Kay to attempt to instill unnecessary fear in people but to educate, as it was back in the day before wolf reintroduction. There are very important lessons and warnings that all should heed and take into consideration when in the woods or maybe even in your own back yard.

Dr. Geist emailed me the other day and asked me if I would be kind enough to post this information so that anyone and everyone will be aware of the potential for some very serious health issues.

Urgent: could you make a point of it that now, that we know that the majority of wolves are infected with Echinococcus, that all hunters control their curiosity and not poke about in wolf or coyote feces to find out what these predators ate. these feces are saturated with tiny, lightweight Echinococcus eggs that rise like dust plume from the disturbed feces and envelop the poking hunter. If the air-born eggs are ingested, the an infection is possible, and having Echinococcus cysts grow inside oneself is not a desirable condition. Trust me!

He followed that up with more information about the dangers.

As to the pathogenicity of Echinococcus granulosus: Yes, I noticed that Foayt, leaning on Raup’s research in Alaska, toned down the dangers from this northern form. My understanding based on what we learned from an old, experienced parasitologist at the University of British Columbia is that it’s nothing to fool around with. It’s serious! In my career as a biologist in touch with the north, I have heard nothing else. I have not, however, done a recent literature search. Foayte’s assessment may be on even though it conflicts with mine. Either way, getting an Echinococcus cyst of any kind is no laughing matter as it can grow not only on the liver or the lungs, but also in the brain. And then it’s fatal.

There is however, another much more alarming angle. Echinococcus multilocularis is a nightmare, and much more virulent than Echinococcus granulosus of any strain. We cannot encapsulate this cyst, and it grows and buds off like a cancer infecting different parts of the body incessantly. Were some of the wolves infected with multilocularis? Coyotes and foxes carry it and it has been spreading. Do canids in Idaho, Montana, etc. have it? It’s found in Alberta. Regardless, now is the time to send out an SOS to ALL outdoor users. Hold your curiosity in check, do not poke into the feces of wolves, coyotes and foxes. If you do you will release clouds of Echinococcus eggs which will envelop you, and you may ingest the eggs, bring the eggs home and endanger your family. This is nothing new to me and I have lived with this constraint on my curiosity for over 40 years. This is just a know how that maintains your personal and your family’s safety. Also, never feed uncooked offal to your dog as it may become infected with Echinococcus and infect you and your family. Echinococcus cysts love to be in lung and liver, and if consumed by dogs you have a health hazard on your hands. And such cysts now grow in deer and elk where you live. Somebody should take a second look searching out Echinococcus multilocularis.

You and I probably have no idea in the world whether these worms exist in the woods we hunt, trap, hike, etc. but good advice given by Dr. Geist should tell us it’s not something we should mess around with. Squelch the curiosity to dig in the poop and just assume there could be hidden danger.

I want to take a moment to thank Will Graves, Dr. Val Geist and Dr. Charles Kay for caring enough about the rest of us to be willing to share their findings and experiences.

The first week of October was finally here.  The first three days were spent in my favorite stand watching 3 raccoons in which I had named Larry, Curly, and Moe.  The mother raccoon was slightly bigger than the two younger ones, and seemed curious to every movement surrounding them.  The days here in eastern Oklahoma in October were still in the 80’s with mosquitoes buzzing everywhere.  I was wondering if it were still to hot to hunt and questioned myself again over and over.  Each day so far, I had hunted morning and evening with only a few does showing up.

Our family is one of three families (all related) that live on the mountain with about 360 acres of land owned by our families.  Each year we hunt, we always establish the rules.  {8 Point or better for the husbands} {Wives and kids, buck or doe} Now last year I hunted all year and didn’t harvest one deer, but I had seen enough antlers to keep me excited.  Every time Bill and Grover, my brother in-laws, sure let me know how I got spanked on last years hunt.  Both are avid rifle hunters and tagged out the year I brought home nothing.  I was thinking about this already early in this season while elevated about 18 feet up in my climber.  I wondered, as every other hunter does, will this be my year.  As I looked down from my stand at the raccoons again on the 4^th morning of October 2007, I was once again thinking of how pretty they were and how every day I am in the woods, I look for the highlight of the day.  Whether this was the highlight of the day again, or was an owl going to sit on the limb next to me, a squirrel sitting on my boot, quail leaving a fast trail for a coyote, bobcats on the prowl, turkeys rustling, what was going to be the highlight?

Then, I saw movement directly in front of me.  I was a deer for sure, and no does were present yet.  I had placed my stand in what my wife calls the quiet spot.  High cedars with no brush, not to thick, but perfect for a good bow shot.  A well used doe trail to my right, and another trail coming in from the left, thicker trees to my front.  I could see about 40 yards around me with a creek bed behind me on a down hill gentle slope. The deer in front of me wasn’t spooked or aware of my presence as it slowly made its way directly toward me.  Sun to my back and the breeze in my face, finally, I could see him completely.  “Very nice buck” I was thinking.  As he moved closer and closer, I could count 4 on one side and 4 on the other.  Not sure if I wanted to take the shot just yet, I moved into position just in case.  Standing now and ready to draw, I used the bow as if I was hiding behind its small limbs.  The buck was much bigger than I originally thought the closer he moved to my stand.  20 yards and still coming, 10 yards and still coming.  He stopped, head concealed by a large cedar tree.  I came to full draw and picked my shooting lane.  As if knowing I was now ready to shoot, the 8 point stepped from behind the cedar and moved closer, directly into my shooting lane.  7 yards, I picked my hairs on the buck, just behind the shoulder and quartering down.  I could sense the raccoons to my right and felt a sense of calm, took a large breath, let it out half way, became steady as a rock and released.

The “quiet spot” deer. High 8 point, big body.

{‘Wham”}  I dropped him in his tracks.  I intended to penetrate spine, heart, and lung if possible for a deadly and swift kill.  My broadhead did exactly that.  I stood for a moment and watched the buck lie still and quiet.  Larry, Curly, and Moe were nowhere to be seen.  I called my wife using my cell phone and quietly whispered I had a good buck down, her response to me was “why are we whispering”.  Laughing a little I said, I am in the quiet spot.

After checking the buck in and heading to the processors, I continued to hunt the evening in another stand.  Each day I hunted, I elected to use my climber instead of pre-placed stands used each year.  October the 7^th, 3 days after my first buck of the year, my 14 year old son was ready for action.  This would be his first year bow hunting, and he practiced every day for the last two months.  He was actually quite good shooting the pillow target and 3D’s, in which I was very proud.  Sunday after church, he would be in the woods with me for the evening hunt.  Everything seemed to go wrong.  I found out he was afraid of heights the hard way, but patiently, I assisted him into a lock-on stand with steps, explained the safety belt, strapped him in and climbed down.  I hooked his bow on the bow string and up and away the bow went.  While the bow was being pulled up by my son, I was watching all around me, trying to quiet down the woods, when {Wham}!!!!  My right hand was numb.  I looked at my hand and there was a deep cut to the bone on the top.  My son had almost had the bow in his stand when the bow string slipped.  The bow caught me square across my hand.  Seriously nervous and seeing the blood, my son asked if I was alright and maybe we should just go home and get the hand took care of.  He said he was so sorry and it just slipped, and…………  I assured my son everything was fine, helped him get the bow up the stand, and assured him he was ready to hunt.  “Don’t worry about me son, you just keep your eyes out for the big one.  I will be about 100 yards straight across the creek.”  I pointed with my other hand where I would be, wished him good luck, then started walking away from his stand. After crossing the creek and out of sight from Chase, I stopped and looked at the top of my right hand.  I was hurt pretty good, and I still couldn’t make a fist yet.

Not wanting to leave the woods with my son still in a stand, I elected to set up on a trail I knew of and wait it out.  I pulled off the climber from my shoulder and worried a little about if I could even use the stand to climb or not.  After setting up the stand at the bottom of the tree I picked out, we were going to find out if I could climb with one hand.  It actually wasn’t that bad.  Up the tree I went, got situated, smiled a little at how stupid I was to stand directly under my sons stand when he was raising his bow then shrugged it off as “my stupidity, my fault.” Now situated and seated in my stand, I wondered if I could even draw my bow back with the bum hand.  So, I stood up quietly, drew the bow and wow, man did that hurt.  I sat back down and thought once again, I hope a big buck goes by my son instead of me this evening.  Not real sure I could even draw again.

45 minutes later, about 6:05pm, I caught movement from over my right shoulder.  Yep, you guessed it.  It was a buck, but a very small buck.  Knowing that early in this season the bucks were still traveling together, I stood, turned and prepared.  Sure enough, 5 yards behind the 4 point, was a small basket 8 point.  Immediately I decided not to shoot this small 8.  To my surprise, directly on his heals was a really nice 8 point.  Now I was getting excited.  By the way, the first buck in front had walked directly under my stand and was now in front of my stand.  I drew slowly, aimed center mass of the shooting lane in a gap in the brush.  The small 8 point buck walked through the gap, and then “There he was”,  A fine 8 point standing in the gap.  Once again, I picked my area of hair behind the shoulder, quartered down, controlled the breathing, paused, and slowly squeezed the trigger release.

“There he was”, A fine 8 point standing in the gap

{Wham} I dropped him in his tracks.  I intended to penetrate spine, heart, and lung if possible again and sure enough, the broadhead did the work.  Can you believe this, 6 yards, another nice buck on the ground, just laying there.  I stood in amazement, I was shocked.  This was a really nice buck, pretty wide and may score as well.  The odd thing about this was, “dropped in his tracks.”  The very thing every hunter hopes for is to find the deer, or even better a swift and clean kill.  Well, not only did I find the deer three or four days ago, I found this one too.  I was like a dream.  Two 8 point bucks, both bow kills, both in the same week, both dropped in their tracks. I realized after a brief moment of silence, that my hand did not hurt anymore, and to make things even better, my son was on this hunt with me only 100 yards away. The two bucks that were in front of this one, there would be a good chance Chase saw them or even may get a shot.  But what will always cross my mind is how big was the buck that was still coming in from behind the buck I harvested.  I saw him jump when I released.  I climbed down and walked to Chases stand, walked cautiously up to the side of him and told him we had a good buck down.  Excited, he said he saw two bucks running and asked how big my buck was.  I told him, “well, I don’t know really, maybe you should help me track him”.  Chase was so excited when he walked up to my tree, buck in plain site.  “Man, I’m gonna get me a buck like that” I went to retrieve the 4-wheeler, we loaded the deer and headed to the house.  I was kind of in a hurry as the darkness was starting to set in, and I still needed to check this buck in too.  Arriving at our home on the mountain, my father stepped out on the deck and observed our approach.  My father had just come in from out of town that day to visit us for a week, so that was kind of cool him seeing me bring in another deer.  He was a big deer hunter with hunting skills that I always admired.

As far as the wife goes, she was so excited.  Not so much that I had gotten a nice buck, but that I had gotten two nice bucks with a bow in the first week of hunting season.  She rubbed it in real good to her two brothers whom still hadn’t harvested anything.  The next morning, as I watched the brother in laws roll out to the woods to deer hunt, I told them the same thing I always told them.  “Good luck and I hope you get a big one” Every bit of this is true, and I honestly believe this will be hard for me to beat next year.  After all, now my season just went from deer season, to “dear” season.  Being tagged out in the first week of bow season is a sure sign that honey-do’s will be a major part of the rest of my season.

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Marshall Sage is a retired Army Lieutenant Colonel who has enjoyed the freedom to hunt and fish throughout much of the free world. Most recently radio host for “Outdoor Life” a hunting and fishing program in Southwestern Idaho. A life member of SCI and the NRA. Contact at msage22@gmail.com.

Our founding fathers gave our nation a blueprint on how to avoid a centralized, authoritarian government from taking away our individual freedoms (endowed by our Creator) and rights (Bill of Rights). This blueprint was our Constitution. It’s no accident that in less than 200 years of following this blueprint the United States of America became the most prosperous and industrious nation on earth.

Since the 30’s under the Roosevelt Administration the elitist, intellectuals have been advocating “change” to the Constitution. Incrementally they have selectively chipped away at the Bill of Rights to suit their progressive agenda. They found a “separation of church and state” in the 1st Amendment where there was none. They tried and persist in claiming that the 2nd Amendment does not guarantee the right of citizens to be armed. They have used an all encompassing “commerce clause” to render the 10th Amendment impotent.

When you think about it, how would you achieve a centralized authoritarian government controlling the lives of everyone? Well you could disarm the people and then control them by force as has been done through out history (Stalin, Hitler, Mao, Castro). You could take away their faith in God and their belief that their is a higher power than the state (Roman Empire, USSR, Communist China). In spite of the attempts to take God out of the public square, public schools, public media and discourse, the majority of citizens in our country remain people of faith although not politically correct. But the progressives have learned that they can control the people rather effectively by eliminating the sovereignty of the states as granted by he 10th Amendment. It only took a compliant Supreme Court to take God out of the public schools; the 10 Commandments off of public buildings; a ban on “assault weapons” etc.

Without the Supreme Court protecting the Constitution the Congress and the President have been able to take more and more of the states sovereignty away. The environmental extremists ( the “green” movement worldwide became the new home for communists/Marxists idealogs after the fall of the USSR ) have used the ESA to exercise federal control over our land, water, and individual/property rights by federal mandate. They accomplish the same agenda through federal bureaucracies ( unelected officials ) like the EPA, BLM, US Forest Service, USFWS etc.

Finally, we the people are beginning to say enough is enough. Thanks to the brave elected representatives from states like Oklahoma, Texas, and Montana, the people are demanding the enforcement of the 10th Amendment and the Bill of Rights. My hope and prayer is that Idaho will join this fight with the full support of our state. We can win this fight and reclaim our Constitution and our heritage if we are willing to fight for it. Remember freedom isn’t free.

Marshall Sage

In the meantime, the press, specifically the Associated Press, prints for it’s readers utter nonsense concerning bears and bear hunting. In an article link sent to me by a reader, we find the AP traveled from Oklahoma all the way to Oregon to find an anti-bear hunting organization willing to speak out against the proposal.

What I found interesting was the AP’s decision to call someone who heads up an animal advocacy group that claims the following:

Big Wildlife was formed in 2006 to provide a voice for carnivores such as cougars, bears, coyotes, and wolves in North America. Dynamic, gutsy, and visionary, Big Wildlife combines innovative media strategies with nuts and bolts grassroots organizing. We provide training to activists – including hands-on skills development workshops in organizing, outreach, lobbying, and media – coordinate grassroots efforts at the local level, build effective coalitions with alternative voices, and work closely with activists to generate media.

Not only that, the guy they contacted for input, Spencer Lennard, was referred to as a “wildlife conservation official”.

But some wildlife conservation officials fear Oklahoma is moving too quickly without having a firm number on how many bears there are in the state.

The AP then went on to quote Lennard. Evidently it is the view of the Associated Press that anyone with an agenda to end hunting is a wildlife conservation official. I find that interesting. Have they no other credibility?

But let’s look at what Lennard said. He tells AP, who I’m sure was quite eager to run with this, that hunting black bears in Oklahoma creates what he calls an “empty forest syndrome”. Doesn’t that conjure up wonderful images. Is that out of the Walt Disney book of top one hundred fantasies? He describes this “empty forest syndrome” as “animal populations are wiped out across large swathes of their natural habitat.”

Out of an estimated black bear population of between 700 and 800 bears, the killing of 20 bears is going to “wipe out animal populations across large swathes of their natural habitat”? With such an outrageous and unsubstantiated claim, one would think that if the Associated Press, which pretends to be a legitimate source of news, would just question that statement. It would be simple really. Here, let me help the AP out a little on how to ask a question. They could have asked: If there are 700-800 bears in Oklahoma, how is killing 20 of them going to create your “empty forest syndrome”? Could you elaborate on that and give us some scientific support to your claim? Too, responsible and it might not sell well enough or promote their own agendas.

False claims continue to get printed by the AP.

“For whatever reason we give for wanting to kill these animals … we’re ending up with a serious reduction in biodiversity.

I’ll agree with Lennard that IF we created an “empty forest syndrome” by wiping out animal populations over a large swath of their habitat, we would have a serious reduction in biodiversity. We’d also have a fish and game department that is in serious need of being replaces. Maybe we could replace them with some of those “wildlife conservation officials” up in Oregon.

Do we not give any credence to the state of Oklahoma’s Division of Wildlife Conservation? Could the AP have asked that question?

But I want to give the AP some credit. They also talked with Lynn Rogers, a researcher at the North American Bear Center in Ely, Minnesota. Rogers says he doesn’t think killing 20 bears would have any effect on the growth of the bear population in Oklahoma but instead he opted to attack the archery hunters with this claim.

“If you’re going to kill them, you want to kill them dead,” Rogers said. “If you’re using inferior methods to shoot them, you’re going to have a higher-than-normal wounded loss, and by the time you reach 20, you might have 50 dead out there.”

Are you kidding me? He’s suggesting that at least 30 bears will end up wounded and die from archery hunters. I sure would like to see the facts that support that claim. I’ll admit the rate of wounded game animals is probably higher with archery than rifle, maybe even higher with muzzle loader than rifle but I have serious doubts that 50 bears are going to get killed. I just don’t understand the reasoning for making such a comment. If that was an honest and verifiable statistic, archery hunting should be banned.

But again, unless the person collecting the information about this story is a total moron, shouldn’t the AP have questioned whether that rate was high or golly, gee whiz, they might have asked how that rate compares to rifles or shotguns or muzzle loaders, etc. I wonder if they know what a bear is?

So on it goes. The AP full well knows that people read their crap and swallow their crap and crap tastes good and it serves all their purposes. And they continue on.

Tom Remington

By golly, he was right. Three years later rules have been laid out for a bear hunt.

?Hunting would be allowed only in Pushmataha, Le Flore, McCurtain and Latimer counties.

?Only archery and muzzleloader hunting would be permitted.

?The archery season would begin Oct. 1 and run through the Friday before deer muzzleloader season, which begins Oct. 25.

?Only 20 bears could be killed. If a total of 20 bears had not been taken by bow hunters, then muzzleloader hunting of bears would be allowed during the deer muzzleloader season: Oct. 25-Nov. 2.

?No cubs or female bears with cubs could be killed. No den hunting would be allowed. No dogs could be used.

?Baiting would be allowed on private land, but not public land.

?A bear hunting license would cost $100 for Oklahoma residents and $500 for non-residents.

I always get in trouble when I begin questioning the methods when new opportunities for hunters have been presented and so here I go again. I’ll do what I always do and say right up front that I welcome all new hunting opportunities no matter what they are. In this case, Oklahoma is offering hunters a chance at hunting black bears and I think that is exciting. But I’m having a difficult time understanding some of the methods chosen.

Above I highlighted one part. 20 bears will be the quota. I don’t have an issue with that. Officials should know how many bears can be taken to meet their management goals. What I don’t understand is why the opportunities where preferential to archery hunters? I might be missing something here, so if I am, please weigh in.

It says 20 bears will be taken total by archery hunting. If 20 bears haven’t been taken at the conclusion of the archery season, the remaining number of tags to be filled will be given to muzzle loader hunters. Why are the other methods being shut out?

I emailed the Oklahoma Division of Wildlife Conservation and as soon as I get an explanation from them, I will share it here.

Tom Remington

As the old cliché goes, the look of pure joy on David’s face as he held his buck for pictures was priceless. For the first time in his 44 years he had finally been given the opportunity to hunt a trophy whitetail buck that scored higher than 100 B & C. To say the least, he was a very happy man!

Living in east Texas most of his adult life had restricted the potential of the bucks that David could hunt on his father-in-law’s or uncle’s farms. The area of the Lone Star state around Crockett and Kenard just isn’t known as an area for consistently producing large mature deer. Because of the higher than normal hunting pressure, year round poaching problems and the small acreage of most properties in the area, any type of quality deer management program is all but impossible to implement, except in a high fence situation. Because of these and other factors, most hunters in the area have the attitude of “if it is brown it dies”, which eliminates the chances of most bucks surviving long enough to reach trophy status. So just where did David take his trophy buck, you are probably asking by now?

David and I have been hosting youth/women/minority shooting and hunting events together much longer than either of us can remember. While hosting these events we have been able to observe some pretty impressive animals over the years. However, because we agreed years ago that we would never shoot an animal while hosting one these events as we were there for the benefit of the participants and not ourselves, David has passed on several opportunities to harvest mature animals. So when Barry Smith of Antler Adventures in Kerrville, TX (830-285-0229) called and offered me the chance to harvest both a mature trophy and a cull buck on one of the ranches owned by Charlie Whelan, I knew just who was going to hunt the mature buck. And based upon the reputation of both Barry and Charlie I knew that there was a good chance that David would have the opportunity to take a really impressive trophy.

The Sunday after Christmas 2004 found us on our way to Kerrville, TX. Now for those of you who do not know Kerrville is the center of one the better known hunting regions in central Texas. Not only are the hills for miles around surrounded with an abundance of native game such as whitetail deer, turkey, feral hogs and various varmints; it is also the Mecca of the exotic wildlife hunting industry in the southern US. Consequently, I love to hunt this region because you never know just what you might come across. For example on my last hunt there on Thanksgiving I had whitetail, coyote, axis, fallow, sika, red deer, blackbuck, elk, eland, zebra, feral rams and a small heard of aoudad cross the wide valley my stand overlooked. And this was on a low fenced ranch!

Of the various Whelan ranch properties, we were scheduled to hunt the home place. Ironically the western edge of this property is now the eastern boundary of the Kerrville city limits. It wasn’t always so, but progress moves on they tell me.

You enter the ranch along a well manicured drive that leads to a beautiful hill country white, limestone rock house that sits on a ledge overlooking a small, deep blue lake. Our first view of this vista was the reflection of a fiery orange sunset that reflected off of the lake and lit up the house as though with a rosy glow. Across the lake was the two story barn/hunter’s quarters made of the same limestone and rustic cedar.

To say that we were impressed by the accommodations would be an understatement. Let’s just say that Charlie has taken every step possible to make sure his hunters are comfortable. Heck, the place is nicer than many every day homes that I have seen. There are two bedrooms, a complete kitchen, den with a large screen TV and a large bathroom with an oversized shower stall, which is nice for those of us that are a bit bigger than most. All of this is furnished in the old west motif.

If you have ever been to this region of the state then you know that it enjoys a very dense deer population. It is not unusual to have 15-30+ deer coming into your hunting area at a time. Such a large herd can take its toll on the countryside, so a well managed ranch will have a herd management program in place to maintain the herd numbers at a level that the vegetation can easily sustain. The Whelan ranches are such an operation. Through selective herd culling, the introduction of new bloodlines and other sound management practices, only the best of the bucks are allowed to pass on their genes to the next generation. After many years of this type of management, the Whelan ranch deer herd offers the hunter a fine selection of trophy bucks to pursue.

The buzzing of the alarm clock came all too early the next morning, 5:00 am to be exact. David and I were greeted by a brisk morning breeze blowing around the hills in the 30+ degree temperatures, so we dressed in our warm clothes and ventured out to meet Barry.

Barry had chosen a rather secluded box stand for us to hunt this morning. It sits just off the road on the highest hill on the ranch. It was a perfect location, if seclusion was what we were seeking. The only negatives were that the roadway offered a very limited view of the surrounding area while its funneling effect seemed to amplify the force of the breezes blowing over the hilltop by a factor of 10.

As is a standard practice throughout this part of the state, Barry had corned the road we were watching on our way in to the stand. If he had not done so then it is unlikely that we could have gotten the deer to stop long enough for us to get a good look at them in the confined area we watching.

Right at grey up the first doe appeared in the early morning fog. Her silent appearance in the middle of the road helped us to understand why the whitetail family has earned the nickname of the “grey ghost”. One moment the road was empty the next moment a full grown doe was standing there eating corn. And I swear we were all awake and watching the road when it happened.

Within fifteen more minutes there were 31 deer standing in the road from within 35 to 90 yards of our hiding spot, several of them were respectable bucks, just not the type we were after. About 30 minutes later, just as the sun appeared in all of his glory, the object of our hunt made a partial appearance, of sorts. I say partial appearance because all we could see was his head, neck and antlers. But it was enough to wake us all up with the sudden rush of adrenaline.

David slowly raised his rifle into shooting position as we watched for the next 10 minutes, hoping that the buck would finally step out in the road and provide him with a shot. As though it was reading our thoughts, the buck stepped into the road and turned broadside. David made ready to shoot while Barry and I watched through our binoculars. However, just as David began to let his breath out in preparation for the shot, a doe stepped in behind the buck. Not wanting to risk wounding her David decided wisely and held his shot.

When the doe had fed on by and the buck was broadside to us once again David raised his rifle and prepared to shoot just when a small fork horned buck stepped in front of the bigger buck. Again, David had to withhold his shot for fear of wounding the wrong animal. This cat and mouse game continued the rest of the morning as each time David prepared to shoot another deer would step into his line of fire. One of these times I swear David was so wrapped up in trying to weave his shot through the herd in front of us that I believe he actually quit breathing for a spell because when I tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention he exhaled so loudly that those deer closest to our stand heard him and shied off a short distance, snorting in alarm at the strange noise.

As luck would have it, all we could do is watch as the big boy finally moved off into the roadside brush without giving David an ethical shot. Somewhat disappointed we headed for the jeep while Barry suggested that he give us a tour of the ranch before heading into town for breakfast. At this point in time, none of us knew how significant this chance decision would be.

After riding up and down the hills that make up this portion of the ranch for about an hour or so, Barry and I both spotted the object of our hunt at the same time. He stood about 125 yards up the side of a fairly steep hill. In the recent past the hillside had been cleared of the cedar and underbrush that dominate the countryside so there was nothing between us and him to hide behind. However, I guess the buck thought that we couldn’t see him as he stood out in the open, just in front of the brush line. Another five yards back and the leaves and limbs would have protected him from our view.

Both of us yelled at David at the same time. It didn’t matter as David was already in the process of exiting the jeep. As Barry and I anxiously waited he leaned over the hood of the jeep trying to get a good resting place. Then shaking his head, David whispered I don’t have good rest and proceeded to walk toward a small oak tree about 20 yards away. My thought was, “well you’ve blown it now David, There is no way that buck is going to stand there and wait for you to reach that tree”. But you know what? That is exactly what that old denizen of the forest did. Through my binoculars I swear I could see the buck follow David’s progress toward the oak or so it almost seemed as he turned his head slightly to keep both David and the jeep in sight.

By the time David reached the tree and took a rest from which to make his shot both Barry and I were whispering under our breath, “Come on David! Hurry up! Don’t let him get away we might not see him again.”

The shot came as surprise to both of us. Luckily we still had our eyes on the buck with our binoculars and were able to see the pink cloud that David’s shot hitting home caused before the buck bolted up hill. The first words out of David’s mouth were, “Did I hit him? Did I hit him?” Barry replied that it looked like a good hit to him but that we had better get up hill to find out for sure.

As Barry is both younger and skinner then David or myself he made it up hill to the spot where the buck had been standing first. However, even though it had looked like a perfect heart/lung shot we couldn’t find any blood on the ground. David moaned in disappointment as we continued to scour the ground for some sign of his trophy buck.

It was at this time that I looked up hill in the direction the buck had taken when I saw him laying on the ground at the top of the clearing, about 80 yards away from us. I pointed up hill while asking Barry and David if they saw anything in that direction. Both replied in the negative and continued to search the surrounding area. Realizing that the situation presented me with the opportunity to play one of the many practical jokes on David as was our habit of doing over the years, I told them I was going to slowly climb the hill looking for some sort of sign. So I made my way up hill toward David’s buck stopping every few yards to look back at my hunting partners, neither of which glanced in my direction.

Soon I had reached the buck which lay on his belly with his head pointing up hill. All I could think was, “Man this buck is a lot bigger than the 140 B & C that Barry thought he was.” I just smiled, happy for my friend who had finally taken the buck of his dreams. I hollered back down to them and asked if they had found anything yet. Both replied in the negative so I responded that I was going to rest on this rock I was standing next to. They both glanced my way but neither mentioned that the rock looked out of place. So I sat down on the hindquarters of David’s deer and watched them at work. And watched them at work, and watched them at work and watched them at work for about another 30 to 45 minutes.

Then David made some kind of comment about his lazy friend not wanting to help him look for his deer as they had still not found any blood sign but weren’t willing to give up the task at hand. So I nonchalantly reached over and held his deer’s head up by the antlers and said something like, “You mean the friend who is too lazy to help you look for this?” I thought Barry and David both were going to beat the devil out of me.

Our conversation went something like this, “How long have you been sitting on him?” David asked as he ran up the hill to secure his prize. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe 30 minutes or so.” “You mean you knew where he was the whole time?” “Yep!” “Why you little @#&$, I ought to kick your behind!” as he playfully shoved me off of his deer. We both broke into teeth baring grins and I began pounding him on the back in congratulations. The look of joy on his face made the whole trip worthwhile. With Barry and Charlie’s help David’s dream of harvesting a mature trophy buck had finally come true.

David’s buck was tall nine-pointer in the 152+ gross B & C class. It has 6 inch bases, carried its mass all the way out and had very long tines all around. A great trophy for a great friend.

2005,2006,2007 Florida State Turkey Calling Champion

2004, 2007 Florida State Gobbling Champion

Quaker Boy Game Calls Pro Staff

One of the most asked questions about hunting the wild turkey is “when do I call and how often?” I feel that there is an art to calling turkeys. It’s all based on feeling him out and knowing what he wants to hear. How do you know this? Well I think it will come to you the more you work gobblers in different scenarios. Right off the roost, mid morning with hens, with out hens, public land bird, private land bird. In my opinion, whether calling a hot to trot two year old or a four year old hard hunted public bird, it’s a matter of getting his attention and keeping his interest just enough to get him to investigate. If you over call him, he will stand his ground and wait for this hot hen to meet him for their rendezvous. If you under call him, he will move off to the next hot item.

Take into consideration what part of the season it is and the possibility the bird your working has been called to before. Early season, less pressured birds are generally going to be more workable than birds later in the season that have heard every call in the book. I feel the toms come to the realization that every hen sound they hear is not an actual hen, making them much more difficult to call. That’s not to say that a late season gobbler can’t be called, especially when all of his harem has been bred and is nesting, leaving him all alone most of the day.

My first advice in the process of learning when to call and how often is to practice, practice, practice and become proficient in more than one type of call – box, pot style and air(mouth and tube calls). Learn every vocalization a turkey makes and be able to reproduce these calls. The more calls you have in your repertoire the better chance you’ll have to coax him in. Obtain recordings of wild birds and listen to rhythm and not necessarily tone.(for sounds of the wild turkey go to NWTF.ORG) Remember every wild turkey has a different voice. Record your calling, outside preferably. Gain confidence in your calling, know that you can purr when needed, cut when needed, yelp when needed etc. Nothing is worse than a hunter that is afraid to talk with a gobbler because his calling lacks confidence.

Now for the two types of birds I’ll be discussing. One is your basic call-shy gobbler and two is the workable bird that will come in with just the right amount of coaxing. I don’t mean the two year old that will fall over himself getting to you at the first sound that resembles a hen. I mean a workable gobbler.

When first engaging this tom, just feel him out and see how responsive he is. Start him with a little yelping and back off. If he starts in, then stop!! Over calling is probably the number one reason hunters don’t bag toms. Let me state that again. Over calling is probably the number one reason hunters don’t bag toms!!!

Give him enough to get his attention and start him coming. As your bird is closing I would recommend , what I call, checking him. Just a soft yelp or cluck to find his position and verify he’s still closing the distance. If his gobbles are farther away then its time to get more aggressive with him. Regain his attention with some cutting and excited yelping.

If this works and he starts moving toward you again, then let him work, let him come. I personally like to throw a series of purrs and clucks at him just to seal the deal. A good rule of thumb, less is almost always better, but like I stated previously, don’t loose his attention. Just don’t call every breath to hear him gobble. I love to hear a tom gobble as much as the next guy but don’t get caught up in the moment.

As for Mr. Call Shy, this is the gobbler that will really put your skills and patience to the test. This is the bird that will make you the proudest if you outsmart and bag him or humble you just the same if he evades you. This bird is going to be influenced by very soft subtle hen talk – purring and really soft clucking along with soft short yelps, very similar to tree yelps. Also, throw in a little whine or two. Use a series of the calls mentioned every 15 or 20 minutes.

Make your set up as realistic as possible. Not just with audible turkey talk, but with turkey noises, such as the age old trick of scratching in the leaves while simulating the above mentioned calls.

While hunting the third weekend of the central Florida season, I bagged a great bird on public land using those very tactics. He had gobbled on his own one time and I never answered him directly. I did exactly what I mentioned above, purring and clucking, whining and soft yelping on my Quaker Boy World Champ mouth call and about 40 minutes later the bird slipped in ever so cautiously, never strutting, never gobbling. He weighed 17 pounds, had an 11” beard and 1 1/2” spurs.

When working a bird off the roost, you may want to try a fly down with just wing beats, not the cackle. Use a hat beating on your leg or use a wing off a turkey to simulate a hen flying down. Also knowing where this bird is going after fly down can be valuable to your success.

Setting up where he’s going along with this light calling can prove to be successful. More times than not this bird is going to come in quiet and will not alert you of his presence. If you know this bird is using the area and know he isn’t vocal, just set up, soft call and wait. You are basically fooling this tom into believing you’re a lonely hen feeding. Keep in mind this type of scenario is really not engaging the bird in conversation as mentioned with the first type of gobbler.

Just remember when you’re working a vocal gobbler, call him just enough to keep him coming. Keep his interest piqued enough to make him look for you but no more! As he works his way in, check him a time or two to make sure he’s still closing the distance then shut down your calling and be looking for that neon red, white and blue head. If you’re working a non vocal, call shy bird or just hunting a tom you know is in the area but isn’t giving away his location, simulate a call shy hen – one that is looking for company but isn’t going to gather attention while trying to gain companionship. Soft hen talk mixed with feeding noises is a safe bet.

In addition, if you know anyone that has been successful hunting and taking turkeys, pick their brain for knowledge. Take to the field with them and see what makes them successful. You can learn more from one hunting trip with a good turkey hunter than
many seasons afield by yourself.

Scott Ellis

I can hear their whispers wherever I go. “Control your breathing, concentrate on the blade, and squeeze.” “Feel your way along with your toes instead of watching your feet.” “Work your way down through that black-growth and you’ll find ‘em in that stand of beech.” So persistent are they that I sympathize with a schizophrenic who feels as if he’s never alone. Unlike him, my voices are not a psychotic delusion created by chemical imbalances crying out for the saving grace of lithium. Real men spoke those words and no amount of time or distance will ever silence them. They are my last connection to a past that I crave but know I’ll never see. They define the man who hears them. And I pray they shape the lives of my sons.

When I close my eyes and listen to their whispers I return to my youth and, in some ways, to times that I never lived. I can still feel my father’s warm breath on my ear as I concentrated on the front blade of the Model 94’s sights, silently asking a god yet known to help me prove I was ready to join the hunt. I can see the gentle face of my grandfather as he admonished me for being so preoccupied with the obstacles in my path that I never saw the animal in front of me. I can feel the weight of my great-grandfather’s right hand on my shoulder as the old mystic described where he knew the deer would be feeding on beechnuts. And if I let my mind misbehave, I see their fathers and grandfathers passing on the same lessons of how to live off the land.

All three of them were hard men, descendants themselves from a long line of hard men. Hundreds of years in the mountains of northern Maine proved Darwin right on some level; only the strong will survive. Their rough exteriors hid a gentle spirit that I have not seen since I chose to leave the Wabanaki nearly two decades ago. Faces darkened by the sun and chiseled by the wind offered smiles or thoughtful expressions and rarely scowled at my clumsiness. Hands calloused by decades felling timber were quick to embrace me or pat me on the back. In all my years with them I never heard a curse pass their lips, nor did I ever hear the words “I love you.” The absence of that sentimental phrase never created a doubt in my mind. Their actions and whispered instructions reverberated much more than those syllables ever could.

Today the world is full of self-professed sensitive men that care for so many causes yet are guilty of so many trespasses. The headlines and social dilemmas created by the supposed sophisticated modern man perplex me. Once, not so long ago, I knew three men who were superior in every way. They demonstrated it in how they survived and provided for their families. The hunt, like everything else in their lives, was a necessary vocation and not some mere recreational activity. They felt no joy in killing but the survival of their own outweighed the animal’s sacrifice. The meat loosened the purse strings a little. Muskrat hides and beaver pelts ensured the family had presents under the tree. Reliance on the land created a spiritual connection between the hunter and the hunted. Father, after downing the biggest buck of his life, patted the deer on the neck, apologized, and then shed one of only two tears I’ve ever witnessed on his cheek. These hard men, in their quests for survival, formed a brotherhood that I admire and long for.

Fifteen years ago I became a father, and therefore a likely candidate for the office of grandfather and great-grandfather. I want my sons, and their sons, to share the bonds that I experienced and to understand theirs is a lineage of survivors. My greatest fear is they will grow up to be modern men who vocalize convictions but never take a stand; men who will not provide for their families or value the land they walk on. I want them to be hard men, like the gentle giants that guided me more than a decade ago. But now I’m without those guides that led me into the evergreen forests of Passadumkeag Mountain as a boy and helped me safely emerge as a man. Great-grandfather was eaten alive by a cancer before my journey was over. Grandfather’s body succumbed to years of providing for his family and arthritis now keeps him inside on cold days. Father can still walk, but a drunk driver ended most of his hunts by ruining his right arm. During my early days of fatherhood I wandered aimlessly, lost and confused in a foreign land. I didn’t know how to connect with my boys, how to teach them all of life’s lessons passed down through generations. Then I listened to those whispered voices and realized three hard men taught me how to live when they showed me how to kill.

I suddenly understood that those long struggles in thigh-deep snow with 50 pounds of traps on my back had defined my spirit more than any school or job or friendship. Because of those hard men I had grown into a survivor in my own right. They showed me that the right course in life often proved the hardest, which only made the rewards in the end taste even sweeter. When they filled my packbasket with a man’s load and ignored my boyish whines they taught me how to carry my fair share. As my skills grew they forced me to make decisions for the group, and in doing so made me a leader. The more I reflected on those times the more I realized exactly what I had learned. The cold dark and rainy night spent alone guarding our equipment from thieves showed me how to conquer fear. Self reliance came when they made me run my own trap line, where my many mistakes could have meant death in the cold waters of Bowers Brook or the alder thickets atop Vinegar Hill. Confrontations with lesser men that used the land like a whore made me stand up for what I held sacred.

I am not a hard man like my three forefathers. I spend most of my time behind a desk where I feel their whispers on the back of my neck. Jack London’s “Call of the Wild” pulls at my soul as I recognize a piece of me in Buck. I don’t belong here, but I must stay. Survival, for me, has taken on a new form. To care for my family I must continue with the detestable and mundane course I’ve set for myself. That too I learned from them. Far removed from my ancestral home the other lessons of survival learned on the hunt have sustained me. When rifle fire and mortar rounds pounded the Bosnian forest around me I controlled my fear. Hard work, paling in comparison to the load of traps that made my lungs burn years ago, earned me awards and respect. I am not a hard man, but I share traits of those three hard men. I want my boys to become even better men, able to survive in a changing world. To prepare them for life I turned to my roots where I’ve found so many answers.

Last year, Robert, my oldest, took his first steps on his own journey into manhood. It was just he and I, but we were not alone. When he made mistakes the words I spoke were first whispered in my ear by my father 25 years ago. And I’ve come to understand that those words came in turn from grandfather, and great-grandfather, and other hard men before them that I only know through stories. Because of their convictions, and hard work, and love, I now know how to be a father on my own. When Robert pulled the trigger for the first time they were there when his triumphant shout echoed through the valley. And they were no doubt there when he sheepishly wiped a tear from his cheek as he realized that the price of our survival was that beautiful animal’s life. When I remember that hunt my overindulgent mind can see three hard men standing off to one side. They each have a knowing smile on their face, content that the cycle of life is rolling along and that they are still providing for their families.