Keeping that Venison or Other Game Tasting Good
Mark Fike
Hunters have different reasons for going afield. Sometimes it is just the experience of being outdoors, possibly with family or friends. Other times it is for a special animal. Then you have hunters that go to put food on the table that is healthy. I count myself in that group. Often I get asked how I only eat game and if it tastes bad. I have to laugh. I like food and I don’t like bad tasting food. Here are some tips to keep your game tasting great that this season. Give them a try and hopefully there will be empty plates at your house this winter!
1—Make humane, accurate, and deadly shots
Making a humane shot means the animal does not suffer and it goes down fast eliminating the need for tracking. It also means that stomach contents or intestinal contents of the animal is not spilling digestive bacteria and stomach bile onto the meat you are going to eat. If the shot is not good, don’t take it!
2—Cool the animal down quickly
Cooling the game animal quickly means better tasting meat. Don’t venture out to the field on a hot day without a plan for cooling the meat. Sometimes you have to track animals. Don’t push the still living animal to the point you cause it to die where it is not retrievable but do find it as soon as possible. Get it to a processor quickly or take ice with you if necessary to put in the chest and stomach cavity. Open the animal up and remove entrails to allow cooling to begin.
3—Field dress carefully
Don’t be in a rush to field dress. Avoid cutting into the stomach or intestines, glands etc and carefully remove the bladder. These parts of an animal can make the meat rancid. If you do make a mistake, trim out the affected meat immediately with a clean knife. Wash or rinse the knife often when doing this task. I wear gloves to avoid contact with such matter and change my gloves when necessary.
4—Cut away damaged areas
When processing your harvest, carve out all bloodied or damaged meat. No one wants lead poisoning or bacteria ridden meat. The same goes from exit hole area. Any bruised meat should be discarded. It will taste bad. Bruised areas should be discarded. Remember, fragmented bullets can travel 18 inches through meat! Look carefully!
6—Temperature of the meat
Once you cut away the bad meat and have it ready to process, if you can keep it at a stable temp between 34-40 degrees, you might want to hang it to allow the meat to age. The trick is to be sure the meat does not increase in temperature after it cools down. This is when it would spoil. Some meat can be aged a week or more if the temps are right. This will tenderize the meat. Only do this if you can keep the temperature steady. Do not put it near windows where the sun might hit it!
7—Storing and freezing
When storing and freezing the meat, be sure to do so in such a way that air cannot get to the meat all. Air is not good for frozen meat. Vacuum seal the meat or double wrap it to freeze. Most meats that are frozen will be good to eat for up to two years. I have had some vacuum sealed meats three years later that tasted fine. The sooner you use them the better the quality though. Write on the packaging the date of the meat.
When vacuum sealing, be sure to get all the air out and even more critical, get a good seal. With meats that are wet, I either lightly freeze the meat on a cookie sheet and then vacuum seal them, or I put a strip of rolled up paper towel to absorb the juices at the top of the bag to keep the liquids from preventing a good seal. I also double seal things.
One other thing to keep in mind when freezing in a bag is to avoid jamming bags against things where the bag gets punctured. This ruins your meat because it allows freezer burn. Watch for bones or sharp objects that can wear a hole in the bags.
Try these tips to have great tasting, naturally grown meat that will impress guests and save you some money at the grocery store. With our economy like it is, saving money would be a great thing at this point!
Product of the month
Nesco Vacuum Sealer VS 12 https://www.nesco.com/product/deluxe-vacuum-sealer/
We go through a lot of vacuum seal bags with all the wild game, chickens, fish and so on that we freeze. This sealer has 3 “Seal” settings—Dry, Moist, and Double— and two vacuum pressures—Normal or Gentle—to get the right seal.
This sealer features a 130-Watt double vacuum pump that really does the job. I have no complaints after 2 seasons of using. That is approximately a dozen deer, untold bags of other things and repeated, often nonstop use. I like the double heat seals for added strength and sealing ability with moist foods. This vacuum sealer has held up without any hiccups so far and is compact given what we do with it. It also looks nice enough to leave on our side counter during the hunting season when we are busy.
Mark Fike
Hunters have different reasons for going afield. Sometimes it is just the experience of being outdoors, possibly with family or friends. Other times it is for a special animal. Then you have hunters that go to put food on the table that is healthy. I count myself in that group. Often I get asked how I only eat game and if it tastes bad. I have to laugh. I like food and I don’t like bad tasting food. Here are some tips to keep your game tasting great that this season. Give them a try and hopefully there will be empty plates at your house this winter!
1—Make humane, accurate, and deadly shots
Making a humane shot means the animal does not suffer and it goes down fast eliminating the need for tracking. It also means that stomach contents or intestinal contents of the animal is not spilling digestive bacteria and stomach bile onto the meat you are going to eat. If the shot is not good, don’t take it!
2—Cool the animal down quickly
Cooling the game animal quickly means better tasting meat. Don’t venture out to the field on a hot day without a plan for cooling the meat. Sometimes you have to track animals. Don’t push the still living animal to the point you cause it to die where it is not retrievable but do find it as soon as possible. Get it to a processor quickly or take ice with you if necessary to put in the chest and stomach cavity. Open the animal up and remove entrails to allow cooling to begin.
3—Field dress carefully
Don’t be in a rush to field dress. Avoid cutting into the stomach or intestines, glands etc and carefully remove the bladder. These parts of an animal can make the meat rancid. If you do make a mistake, trim out the affected meat immediately with a clean knife. Wash or rinse the knife often when doing this task. I wear gloves to avoid contact with such matter and change my gloves when necessary.
4—Cut away damaged areas
When processing your harvest, carve out all bloodied or damaged meat. No one wants lead poisoning or bacteria ridden meat. The same goes from exit hole area. Any bruised meat should be discarded. It will taste bad. Bruised areas should be discarded. Remember, fragmented bullets can travel 18 inches through meat! Look carefully!
6—Temperature of the meat
Once you cut away the bad meat and have it ready to process, if you can keep it at a stable temp between 34-40 degrees, you might want to hang it to allow the meat to age. The trick is to be sure the meat does not increase in temperature after it cools down. This is when it would spoil. Some meat can be aged a week or more if the temps are right. This will tenderize the meat. Only do this if you can keep the temperature steady. Do not put it near windows where the sun might hit it!
7—Storing and freezing
When storing and freezing the meat, be sure to do so in such a way that air cannot get to the meat all. Air is not good for frozen meat. Vacuum seal the meat or double wrap it to freeze. Most meats that are frozen will be good to eat for up to two years. I have had some vacuum sealed meats three years later that tasted fine. The sooner you use them the better the quality though. Write on the packaging the date of the meat.
When vacuum sealing, be sure to get all the air out and even more critical, get a good seal. With meats that are wet, I either lightly freeze the meat on a cookie sheet and then vacuum seal them, or I put a strip of rolled up paper towel to absorb the juices at the top of the bag to keep the liquids from preventing a good seal. I also double seal things.
One other thing to keep in mind when freezing in a bag is to avoid jamming bags against things where the bag gets punctured. This ruins your meat because it allows freezer burn. Watch for bones or sharp objects that can wear a hole in the bags.
Try these tips to have great tasting, naturally grown meat that will impress guests and save you some money at the grocery store. With our economy like it is, saving money would be a great thing at this point!
Product of the month
Nesco Vacuum Sealer VS 12 https://www.nesco.com/product/deluxe-vacuum-sealer/
We go through a lot of vacuum seal bags with all the wild game, chickens, fish and so on that we freeze. This sealer has 3 “Seal” settings—Dry, Moist, and Double— and two vacuum pressures—Normal or Gentle—to get the right seal.
This sealer features a 130-Watt double vacuum pump that really does the job. I have no complaints after 2 seasons of using. That is approximately a dozen deer, untold bags of other things and repeated, often nonstop use. I like the double heat seals for added strength and sealing ability with moist foods. This vacuum sealer has held up without any hiccups so far and is compact given what we do with it. It also looks nice enough to leave on our side counter during the hunting season when we are busy.
Rabbit Hunt The Perfect Cure to Winter Blues
I had the good fortune to be invited to rabbit hunt with a good friends and neighbors, Frank and Roger. Frank has an outstanding pack of beagles that seem to be able to roust a cottontail everywhere we go rabbit hunting. The hunt I was invited on was perfect for me because it was local and the hunt was schedule for a half day allowing me to still get some neglected chores done while completely enjoying some relief from the winter post waterfowl season blues. I don't know of much that can brighten a long dull winter spell more than the chorus of a pack of hot beagles running down the track of Mr. Cottontail.
When I met up with Frank and Roger, I could see the noses of his beagles eagerly poking their noses out of the slits in his dog box. I knew I was in for a great time. I was not to be disappointed.
When Frank dropped the tailgate, the action soon followed. I don't think more than a few minutes passed before one of the beagles lit the fire and its bay exploded the cold air. Other choruses of beagle music quickly joined in and the hunt was on within sight of the tailgate!
Our morning started with a very lively and hard run of the rabbit round and round before I got a relatively easy shot at a rabbit which added a warm and pleasing weight to my game bag in the Dan's Briar Proof Hunting Vest I was wearing.
The dogs soon lit onto another trail and ran that rabbit out of hearing and back again. Frank was able to put him in the bag after a lively chase. Roger, being a great friend, directed me to intercept points without ever unshouldering his gun. He was there, like us, for the beagle music. He wanted me to put the rabbit up for supper. When the dogs ran the next rabbit out into a long hedgerow and then turned him around, we knew it was going to be lights out for him. Frank was standing to my right at that point and he nodded and pointed down the right side and said that the rabbit was inbound. Soon I saw the rabbit cross the narrow woods and start up the left side directly to me. It was indeed lights out seconds later when my little Remington 870 20 gauge pump spoke.
We let the dogs run a bit more before we all had to turn to other chores for the day. The dogs were amazing and ran hard all morning. I was blessed to go home with some fresh rabbit for supper too thanks to Frank, Roger and a long train of well trained beagles!
When I met up with Frank and Roger, I could see the noses of his beagles eagerly poking their noses out of the slits in his dog box. I knew I was in for a great time. I was not to be disappointed.
When Frank dropped the tailgate, the action soon followed. I don't think more than a few minutes passed before one of the beagles lit the fire and its bay exploded the cold air. Other choruses of beagle music quickly joined in and the hunt was on within sight of the tailgate!
Our morning started with a very lively and hard run of the rabbit round and round before I got a relatively easy shot at a rabbit which added a warm and pleasing weight to my game bag in the Dan's Briar Proof Hunting Vest I was wearing.
The dogs soon lit onto another trail and ran that rabbit out of hearing and back again. Frank was able to put him in the bag after a lively chase. Roger, being a great friend, directed me to intercept points without ever unshouldering his gun. He was there, like us, for the beagle music. He wanted me to put the rabbit up for supper. When the dogs ran the next rabbit out into a long hedgerow and then turned him around, we knew it was going to be lights out for him. Frank was standing to my right at that point and he nodded and pointed down the right side and said that the rabbit was inbound. Soon I saw the rabbit cross the narrow woods and start up the left side directly to me. It was indeed lights out seconds later when my little Remington 870 20 gauge pump spoke.
We let the dogs run a bit more before we all had to turn to other chores for the day. The dogs were amazing and ran hard all morning. I was blessed to go home with some fresh rabbit for supper too thanks to Frank, Roger and a long train of well trained beagles!
Ladies Try Shooting
On June 30th we hosted ten ladies from our church to get some firearms training at our property. The weather was very hot but no one complained. We had the best group of ladies that were very safe and attentive to the instruction we offered. Big Dog Outfitters helped us with a Ruger SR .22 handgun for the event. Missy, KD, and Kristy provided the instruction for the ladies with the assistance of Don Fike and Rich Metzler, both Marines with extensive firearms experience. Given the response we had from the ladies, it looks like we will be hosting another event to introduce and train more women in basic firearms use. Enjoy the photos courtesy of Rachell Mugele!
Field Goose Hunt
Mark Fike
New Year’s Day was a memory in the making for me and my youngest daughter. Normally our field goose hunts are scheduled events that involve a generous invite from a friend to go partake in some great shooting somewhere locally. This day was different in that we had just received exclusive permission to hunt some farm fields that had not been hunted in a few years. We were so excited about the prospect of doing it all on our own that we were busy loading up our gear the night before so all we had to do was jump in the truck and drive away in the morning.
The forecast called for cold temperatures. Our hope was that the birds would not take forever to fly. Although I have set up my own tiny spread before, it had been years and I had no idea how this would play out. We did know that the geese tended to fly in that location around 8:30 which gave us time to set things up with some daylight to work with.
When we left the house, the thermometer in the truck was in the single digits. However, our excitement did not allow us to feel that cold. Arriving at the farm I immediately noticed that the standing corn that we planned on hiding in was bare, with only stalks and no leaves on it. Time for plan B! The layout blinds were dragged across the field and backed up to the remains of the standing corn. We needed to blend the blinds in so they did not stick out. The dog’s Switchback already was brushed up good. After putting out goose decoys to the northwest of our position, I quickly drove the truck down over the hill and out of sight, and trekked back to the layouts. Kristy was stuffing her layout and her dog, Baily, was peering out of her Switchback. Baily was probably wondering if this was going to be nap time as our hunts in the duck blind have been this year or was this going to be the real thing. While we laboriously stuffed the layout elastic straps with foliage, we tried to keep watch on the horizon for geese. Once while 35 yards from the layout I turned to see Kristy staring at me with a panicked look in her eyes. She had puffs of steam escaping her coat where her mouth was but no words came out. Then she pointed frantically to the north. There they were; bombers of the black and white kind approaching our position.
“Get in the blinds now!”
I tried to get into mine as she disappeared into hers. My gun was lying on the ground, unloaded, several feet away. My calls were in the blind somewhere, and the door on my blind would not pop up for some reason. I was wedged out of the blind and could not get in. Knowing the birds were very close I dove to the ground next to the blind and lay still. I could hear the wings of the geese as they circled our setup and eyed it curiously. They were probably thinking, “What is that fat dude doing laying on the ground near the corn?”
I hissed at Kristy to get ready to shoot. Imagine the sinking feeling in my gut when she told me her gun was not in her blind with her and it too was unloaded!
Those geese flew away, giving us time to regroup. I hurriedly used the little black leaf rake we had to pull some foliage over the ends of our blinds. Then we got in our blinds. We waited about 20 minutes before one of us noticed more birds coming. I tried desperately to find my calls but could not. I felt like a failure and a rookie. More panic set in. I knew the calls were in the blind with me, but my hands could not find them. Finally I located the lanyard and gave it a yank only to have my camera come flying out of the pocket inside the blind and thump me on the chest. I hurriedly shoved that back into the pocket as the big geese began swinging away from our set up. With no calls to assure them, I had to do something.
The Flapper!
We had a goose flag or flapper to wave to get the birds’ attention. The purpose was to add movement to the setup. I remember telling Kristy to put it near my blind. I searched for the opening slit in the side of my layout, but could not find it. After some squirming around and peering out of the side of my fogged up glasses I noticed a zipper that would allow me to reach out and get it. As I fumbled my arm and hand outside of the blind through the slit, I grabbed what I thought was the flapper. The flapper is just a few feet long, lightweight and much like a kite. In other words, it weighs next to nothing. When I grabbed the flapper it weighed a lot and seemed awful long. Still I went to waving it best I could. It seemed to be very heavy. The geese saw it though and swung back around. I dropped it and heard it “clunk” on the frozen ground. Something was definitely not right.
Peering through the mesh area in front of my face I was locked on to the birds as they set down softly for such large creatures and then they began walking through the decoys. No matter, I forgot to load my gun again!
“Kristy! Shoot!”
I had to hiss at her a few times, but she got the idea and got one immediately. I could not shoot, so I sat up as the birds flew off and was thrilled to see she knocked a bird down. Then I looked over at the flag and realized that the “flag” was the rake! I had been waving the rake the entire time. The flag was lying on the ground just out of reach. What an idiot I was waving a leaf rake high in the sky above the corn field! But, it did work in a pinch and we had one goose down to prove it.
As Kristy cut Baily loose to get the goose, I watched with great pride. Kristy had trained the dog on her own with some tips and assistance from our friend Steve Purks. The dog had come a long way. She never seemed to bark or whine on this trip as the birds came down among us.
In the small confines of the layout I began rifling through my pocket for the long 3 ½ inch shells and shoved them into my gun. I thought I shoved three in my gun but only managed two apparently which became painfully obvious on the next flight when we sat up as the geese were putting down and began firing. I knocked one bird down but ran dry on the last shot when a big goose was just taking off down the end of my gun barrel. Kristy got her second bird to limit out for the day and sent Baily out again. The dog was living it up and happy to retrieve. The look on her face was almost as if she was smiling as she held the birds as high as she could so she did not stumble or trip on them while bringing them back to us. When she got the second bird back, another small flock started our way so Baily was sent to her blind and Kristy shoved the birds in the blind with her. Ah, to be thin again and have room in your blind to hide several geese!
I was able to pick out a particularly fat bird out of the next flock and waited until they began settling in before I popped out and got the bird with one good shot. The birds were still circling and trying to come in on us. Seeing so many birds come in and want to land despite us standing there was amazing. What was more amazing was the hunt we managed to pull off despite so many mistakes. Both of us had taken our birds, the dog got some good work and we had supper to boot. It was only 9AM too!
Wingshooting 101 Served With a Healthy Helping of Humble Pie
Mark Fike
The opening day of deer season did not find me in my usual routine of throwing my deer gear in the truck. Instead, a Remington Supermag pump gun, a lanyard with four different calls and my steady and reliable companion, who possesses four legs, made their way into the vehicle well before sunup. Don’t ask me why I had traded my slug gun for my duck gun. There is something about standing knee deep in a marsh, watching the sun crawl into the sky, listening to an eagle, and watching a beaver glide noiselessly across the water’s surface, and knowing you have all of it to yourself and your dog. I did not have to worry about someone else walking up on me, and I did not have to worry about looking for horns before I shot either. All I had to do was see if ducks flew into my location and try hard to bring a few down.
The swamp was an old spot I used to go but had not visited for a long time. I was pleased to see it was still relatively the same. New beavers had kept up the old work and had created a backfilled area full of water. Finding a spot to stand was not tough. It was peaceful to watch the real world wake up around me. Cody and I had slogged across the mushy ground, weaving among birch and other brush right at sunup when we could just make out what was ahead of us. A deer rub on one tree caused pause, as did a few impressive tracks. But, the walk down into the swamp had been very lengthy, and I found myself thinking that dragging a deer mostly uphill for over a mile around fallen trees was not something I really relished unless it was really big and even at that I would be quartering it up before packing it out.
A Cooper’s hawk sailed effortlessly through the air across the water in front of me, which gave me a momentary start thinking that a duck was streaking by. I watched in total awe as the bird simply tilted its wings to dodge trees on the other side before disappearing.
The brisk hike to my old spot had kept me plenty warm, and the air was not too cold. All that would likely change in a month or so, and I was determined to enjoy my trip this time before it became work to go waterfowling when slogging through ice and snow.
Movement to my right above the birch trees caught my eye, and I felt the black dog on my left leg stiffen as he marked the flight of at least a dozen ducks. Some things never need to be retaught. A smile flitted across my face prematurely as the birds began to cup. This was what it was all about. Birds coming in to a location, a crisp morning with the fiery fall foliage decorating the periphery of the swamp, and a dozen birds just waiting to be had. Or so I thought that was the way it was going to go.
My gun started up and my grin began disappearing when I suddenly realized that the birds were moving very fast, too fast in fact. Half of them had split off and were making way to my right and the others were upon me. I had not realized how fast they were going and had misjudged their speed partially because they were coming head on. By the time my gun roared the first time, the birds were already passing me having made my position as I moved. That was at a scant twenty yards. Then the second roar of the gun occurred, which was simply aimed in the general direction of the birds, which all experienced wingshots know is a dumb rookie mistake. And then the futile third shot rang out. Only idiots who miss two in a row and are yards behind try to make such shots as if effort alone, without skill, will somehow drag a bird down. My smile was completely gone. The birds were just a retreating blot in the eastern sky.
I heard the groan as I reloaded while scanning the sky for feathers. Somehow I decided I would take comfort if I had just drawn a few feathers. There were no feathers to draw comfort in. In fact, the morning was still as if nothing had happened. The new shells clicked as I reloaded. Then more silence reigned before the inevitable happened. My buddy groaned very loudly and accusingly.
It was as if to say, “Boss, I got out of my warm, straw filled house, hiked over a mile, and sat my rear in cold water and mud to watch you miss THOSE shots?”
I was so ashamed I could not look at him right away. Finally I did “man up” and glance in his direction. All I could do was laugh in total embarrassment at the nasty look he gave me. The more I laughed the harder I laughed. I laughed so loud I was sure that any deer hunters within a half-mile were wondering what in the world the fool in the marsh was doing. I had been burned badly by those birds. Just when I thought I was counting who I was going to give a duck to on the way home and how many ducks I would be plucking, I got my ego handed to me on a plate along with a serving of humble pie. There is nothing like a healthy helping of humble pie to get your mind on the right track and the shotgun bead where it belongs.
I partially redeemed myself an hour later when we waded to a new swamp and flushed a pair of wood ducks. As the ducks flushed, I cut loose a round of HeviShot and watched as both fell to one shot. I surprised even myself, even though I was actually trying to do just that with the one shot. At least I had a pair of ducks to take to the house to show for my effort.
Cody searched around for a while before seeing the birds, which were quite a distance away. He swam slowly and determinedly to get them. I could see his age was showing and I was reminded just how short our time is on earth and even more so for our four legged companions. As I accepted the first duck I looked into his eyes and rubbed his ear while he took a break before heading back out to retrieve the other bird. Our times on the water and in the field were growing small. I had a few years more at best with his company and I was determined to enjoy each time to the utmost.
It will be hard to forget that morning and the humble pie I was served by the ducks with the groan and glare that Cody gave me to go with it. I am glad to have experienced it with him though and hope to have many more. Here’s to fast wings, great dogs and a beautiful bird placed gently in your hand by your best friend this season. Be careful you don’t get served any of that pie!
Foxy Visitors Nearly Bust Hunter
Mark Fike
The weather on the opening day of archery season broke slightly angry with gusty winds, spattering rain and unpredictable breezes. This was not a day that the average hunter would find the odds in his or her favor. However, past experience had led me to believe that my freezer invariably filled more often than not on such days. Thus, my boots long worn to the bare bottoms, were creeping along through the oak lot on a piece of property not far from home. I had not been in a hurry to awaken, but in fact could not sleep. Figuring it was meant to be, I casually dressed, put my primitive weapon in the truck and later arrived at my destination at sunrise had there been any sunlight.
At the first knoll that I carefully picked my way to the top of I was gently reminded by my "gut” that I needed to stop. “Something” was definitely within eyesight. I knew it and my instincts knew it but after some five or six seconds I took a half step anyway just to show that I was stubborn and would not listen. A doe blew up and hopped off not sure what she had seen but was not willing to stay in the immediate area either. I was far beyond being angry with myself. If anything, I was a bit amused. It seems that each year I make the same mistake just to remind myself how stubbornness is much akin to stupidity.
Disregarding the poor odds of seeing another deer in the area for some time, I found a spot under a tree where I often perched some twenty feet up. Here the leaves were raked away and I sat. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes passed. Then just before fifteen passed my eye caught movement. A large doe was stealing along nibbling acorns as she moved towards me. I sighted on her and was deciding whether to take her to the meat locker when I noted more movement.
There, to the left and behind a laurel bush, a smaller version of Momma came prancing out. This one was very small and had obviously been dropped later in the summer. It was then that the bow was lowered. The doe had not had her number come up this trip. Still, I was intrigued by the fact that the wind was blowing along the ground, rustling leaves and swirling my scent in their direction with no obvious effect. My eyes darted skyward from behind my mask. The tops of the trees were swaying mightily back and forth and then twirling about as if they were dancing to a ragtime tune.
The doe and her fawn moseyed a little closer. The fawn was the first to pick something out of the air that was wrong. It bounded from its snack and then stopped in a leaf plowing halt, which gained the attention of the mother. She jammed her nose to the wind and then stared right at me. I know she could not see me but by now the game was certainly up and with the next gust of wind the two trotted off unnerved. It was time to move.
As I stood, the wind appeared to be blowing mainly from the south and west. With this information in mind, my stroll took me to the head of the property where I could sneak over some pine needle carpeting to a path I had punched through a blowdown with the chainsaw earlier that summer. The wind was not perfect for the location I was headed to, but was acceptable and worth a try before I headed to another property to tag my first deer of the season.
My walk lasted a half-mile, but I took it easy, mindful of the sweat I would break and the smell that would come with it if I rushed. The wind was still fitful but that was not worth worrying about. The weather I could not change.
Arriving at the gateway to the pinewoods meant taking a break before stalking inward toward venison dinner. A few minutes was all that was needed to refocus on the move ahead of me. My boots eased down between twigs that had been hurled from their lofty perches in the stormy weather. Like trip wires leading to flashbangs, they could mean the difference between a fresh meal or an unused hunting knife. Stealthily and gingerly my footwork snaked down between the sticks and then lifted to move onward. The stalk through the eighty yards felt like a few minutes but in reality had lasted nearly an hour. I knew deer had to be close as I had pushed several in this general direction earlier.
After exiting the pines, my path took me through a blowdown and then to an old homesite on the opposite side. It was there that I decided to move just a tad further to take advantage of a clearer shooting lane should a tawny opportunity present itself.
I had just spied a huge and dried out locust twenty feet ahead to make my way to when something came tearing out of the blowdown at my eight o’clock position. I froze and my jaw dropped open. A gray fox slammed to a halt, put its head down on its paws not two feet past the very tree I was hoping to sit near. Here I was standing in the open, bow in hand and no place to hide. I knew that fox was going to bust me. To make matters worse, the wind died down to a stand still meaning any step I made would likely be heard even if the leaves were wet.
I stood for a long time. The bow got heavier and heavier; especially since I had been holding it up high at the particular moment the predator came tearing out of the brush. I still could not believe that a fox was just sprawled out right in front of me like that. Another blur interrupted my thoughts. This blur, much like the first one, careened into the fox and sent it cartwheeling through the leaves. STUNNED, would not describe how I felt.
TWO gray foxes were now chasing each other like cats round and round, up the sides of trees, through the leaves, over logs and all over the somewhat clear lot of hardwoods. Every few seconds their play would bring them on a direct course to me and I thought the game was up. At the last second, less than ten feet away they would rip off in a new direction, playfully plowing each other among the falling leaves. I decided I really needed to get out of the line of sight and on the ground where I could further observe this odd occurrence. When the foxes ran away from me in their play I took three fast steps and hunkered down just before they turned back towards me. They came so close this time around that I really felt I was going to get plowed or climbed. In fact, the lead fox hit the brakes just feet from me and stared. Grateful, I watched indirectly ( I had learned long ago to never look an animal in the eye) as the second bushytailed critter hammered it from the side sending them both on another rampage through the woods. Four more steps and I was scrunched down at “my” tree awaiting the next pass. They flew by like jets. One leaped to the side of an old snag and climbed some ten feet up before the second one made the turn and steamed up to the “king” of the stump before being swatted back down and landing awkwardly on its haunches. The dominant fox came charging down and chased the aggressor behind me.
And so this continued for nearly twenty minutes. The foxes came amazingly close to my feet on several occasions and even stopped to sniff the air but never startled or took off alarmed. I thoroughly enjoyed their antics and romping around me during the midmorning hours. Over the years I have had some very close encounters with foxes but undoubtedly this was the most interesting and pleasurable encounter I had experienced. Never can I forget the way the fox stared right into my face a pebble’s throw from me, how their tails bushed out as they faced off and how incredibly fast they ran silently through the woods. I have never thought of foxes as being playful but I suppose everyone has to have some down time to play around and those foxes were certainly getting their fill. Moments like this one made hunting all the more rewarding for me. I am just glad I was there to see it and manage to get away without being busted.
Mark Fike
The weather on the opening day of archery season broke slightly angry with gusty winds, spattering rain and unpredictable breezes. This was not a day that the average hunter would find the odds in his or her favor. However, past experience had led me to believe that my freezer invariably filled more often than not on such days. Thus, my boots long worn to the bare bottoms, were creeping along through the oak lot on a piece of property not far from home. I had not been in a hurry to awaken, but in fact could not sleep. Figuring it was meant to be, I casually dressed, put my primitive weapon in the truck and later arrived at my destination at sunrise had there been any sunlight.
At the first knoll that I carefully picked my way to the top of I was gently reminded by my "gut” that I needed to stop. “Something” was definitely within eyesight. I knew it and my instincts knew it but after some five or six seconds I took a half step anyway just to show that I was stubborn and would not listen. A doe blew up and hopped off not sure what she had seen but was not willing to stay in the immediate area either. I was far beyond being angry with myself. If anything, I was a bit amused. It seems that each year I make the same mistake just to remind myself how stubbornness is much akin to stupidity.
Disregarding the poor odds of seeing another deer in the area for some time, I found a spot under a tree where I often perched some twenty feet up. Here the leaves were raked away and I sat. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes passed. Then just before fifteen passed my eye caught movement. A large doe was stealing along nibbling acorns as she moved towards me. I sighted on her and was deciding whether to take her to the meat locker when I noted more movement.
There, to the left and behind a laurel bush, a smaller version of Momma came prancing out. This one was very small and had obviously been dropped later in the summer. It was then that the bow was lowered. The doe had not had her number come up this trip. Still, I was intrigued by the fact that the wind was blowing along the ground, rustling leaves and swirling my scent in their direction with no obvious effect. My eyes darted skyward from behind my mask. The tops of the trees were swaying mightily back and forth and then twirling about as if they were dancing to a ragtime tune.
The doe and her fawn moseyed a little closer. The fawn was the first to pick something out of the air that was wrong. It bounded from its snack and then stopped in a leaf plowing halt, which gained the attention of the mother. She jammed her nose to the wind and then stared right at me. I know she could not see me but by now the game was certainly up and with the next gust of wind the two trotted off unnerved. It was time to move.
As I stood, the wind appeared to be blowing mainly from the south and west. With this information in mind, my stroll took me to the head of the property where I could sneak over some pine needle carpeting to a path I had punched through a blowdown with the chainsaw earlier that summer. The wind was not perfect for the location I was headed to, but was acceptable and worth a try before I headed to another property to tag my first deer of the season.
My walk lasted a half-mile, but I took it easy, mindful of the sweat I would break and the smell that would come with it if I rushed. The wind was still fitful but that was not worth worrying about. The weather I could not change.
Arriving at the gateway to the pinewoods meant taking a break before stalking inward toward venison dinner. A few minutes was all that was needed to refocus on the move ahead of me. My boots eased down between twigs that had been hurled from their lofty perches in the stormy weather. Like trip wires leading to flashbangs, they could mean the difference between a fresh meal or an unused hunting knife. Stealthily and gingerly my footwork snaked down between the sticks and then lifted to move onward. The stalk through the eighty yards felt like a few minutes but in reality had lasted nearly an hour. I knew deer had to be close as I had pushed several in this general direction earlier.
After exiting the pines, my path took me through a blowdown and then to an old homesite on the opposite side. It was there that I decided to move just a tad further to take advantage of a clearer shooting lane should a tawny opportunity present itself.
I had just spied a huge and dried out locust twenty feet ahead to make my way to when something came tearing out of the blowdown at my eight o’clock position. I froze and my jaw dropped open. A gray fox slammed to a halt, put its head down on its paws not two feet past the very tree I was hoping to sit near. Here I was standing in the open, bow in hand and no place to hide. I knew that fox was going to bust me. To make matters worse, the wind died down to a stand still meaning any step I made would likely be heard even if the leaves were wet.
I stood for a long time. The bow got heavier and heavier; especially since I had been holding it up high at the particular moment the predator came tearing out of the brush. I still could not believe that a fox was just sprawled out right in front of me like that. Another blur interrupted my thoughts. This blur, much like the first one, careened into the fox and sent it cartwheeling through the leaves. STUNNED, would not describe how I felt.
TWO gray foxes were now chasing each other like cats round and round, up the sides of trees, through the leaves, over logs and all over the somewhat clear lot of hardwoods. Every few seconds their play would bring them on a direct course to me and I thought the game was up. At the last second, less than ten feet away they would rip off in a new direction, playfully plowing each other among the falling leaves. I decided I really needed to get out of the line of sight and on the ground where I could further observe this odd occurrence. When the foxes ran away from me in their play I took three fast steps and hunkered down just before they turned back towards me. They came so close this time around that I really felt I was going to get plowed or climbed. In fact, the lead fox hit the brakes just feet from me and stared. Grateful, I watched indirectly ( I had learned long ago to never look an animal in the eye) as the second bushytailed critter hammered it from the side sending them both on another rampage through the woods. Four more steps and I was scrunched down at “my” tree awaiting the next pass. They flew by like jets. One leaped to the side of an old snag and climbed some ten feet up before the second one made the turn and steamed up to the “king” of the stump before being swatted back down and landing awkwardly on its haunches. The dominant fox came charging down and chased the aggressor behind me.
And so this continued for nearly twenty minutes. The foxes came amazingly close to my feet on several occasions and even stopped to sniff the air but never startled or took off alarmed. I thoroughly enjoyed their antics and romping around me during the midmorning hours. Over the years I have had some very close encounters with foxes but undoubtedly this was the most interesting and pleasurable encounter I had experienced. Never can I forget the way the fox stared right into my face a pebble’s throw from me, how their tails bushed out as they faced off and how incredibly fast they ran silently through the woods. I have never thought of foxes as being playful but I suppose everyone has to have some down time to play around and those foxes were certainly getting their fill. Moments like this one made hunting all the more rewarding for me. I am just glad I was there to see it and manage to get away without being busted.