daverichey October 31st, 2009

There is something very special that happens to your heart when a solid-as-Sears pointer slams to a stop, lifts a front foot and his stubby little tail goes rigid.

It has happened to me many times. I’d walk in behind a great pointer, shotgun at port arms, and look in front of and over the dog and 10 yards away. Too many people study the ground directly in front of the dog, and a pointer may be on a bird that is 10 yards ahead or to either side. Fine field work is what endears good dogs to their owner.

Remembering the gut-wrenching loss of a great dog

The pleasures of owning a dog died with my German shorthair, Fritz, who came with some truly great bloodlines and who died many years ago. There were many reasons why no other dogs have entered my life, and losing an old friend was the major one.

Fritz, like many shorthairs, was bullheaded and stubborn to a fault. He could get into more trouble than a fox in a hen-house, and he always thought he was hunting for himself. He didn’t realize that he was supposed to hunt in return for his daily meals and in respect to the man who brought him to this outdoor dance.

He was a terror, and his idea of hunting was to be a half-mile and three fallow fields ahead of me. I’d work him on a long leash, and he’d sit, heel and was steady to wing and shot as long as the rope snugged him in at about 25 yards. Take the lead off, and he attempted to set a new speed record for crossing three open fields and busting one pheasant after another along the way.

Teaching Fritz to “hunt close”

Finally, in desperation after finally catching him after a long sprint, I loosened his collar a bit, stuck one of this dark front paws through the collar, and turned him loose. He made one step and fell over whining. I got him back up on three legs, and he tried to run off again. He was scolded and told to hunt close.

An hour later, feeling sorry for the dog, I pulled his foot out and off he went like he had a booster rocket under his tail. Another long-winded sprint, and my feelings of regret changed to one of quickly solving this problem. The next two days he hunted on three legs, and wasn’t happy about it but he hunted within 25 yards of me.

He worked the cover slow and cast from side to side, and we put up hens and roosters over his rather lop-sided point, and I’d praise him in person and to anyone who would listen, and after two days of punishment, we went out the third day.

We had a heart-to-heart about his past behavior, and his more recent way of staying close, and he seemed to pay attention. It was a gamble worth taking, and I slipped his foot from his collar. He looked at me, and I patted his head and said “Hunt close,” and he began hunting into the wind. He cast back and forth, and never exceeded the 25-yard maximum.

A soft “Whoa” was all I needed to steady him.

A steady-to-wing-&-shot

He locked onto point, and I whispered Whoa, lifted his tail, and he looked like a granite carving. I stepped in front, saying “Steady now,” and he was rock solid. The ringneck pheasant boosted into the air with a raucous cackle, his long-barred tail streaming out behind, and I swung with the bird and down he came.

Fritz, after his introduction to a lead rope and the foot through the collar, never gave me another problem. He hunted grouse, pheasant and woodcock, and his expertise was superb. He would hunt with the neighbor kids, my Dad and brother George during that era when hunter orange clothing wasn’t required, and there were only two rules for them: hunt safely and don’t shoot at low-flying birds.

Living & hunting through Fritz’s last year of life

The last year of his life was a painful ordeal. His hips were shot from arthritis, and he always begged me to take him. We’d hunt near home, and he would gimp through the fields. He wasn’t steady afoot but it certainly didn’t affect his hearing or nose.

He’d zero in on cackling roosters at dawn, and we’d move on them when shooting time opened. With luck we’d take two quick roosters, and then it was a slow and painful walk home for a dog in great pain. I’d pat his head, tell him I loved him, and he’d wag his bobbed tail. He knew we’d had countless great hunts together, and he’d given his heart and his trust to me. His reward was my pleasure with him.

Our last hunt came a few days later. A magazine deadline was met, I grabbed my shotgun, got Fritz up and we headed out. He slowly worked two different birds, both were roosters, and my shooting was better than average. Fritz pointed, and I shot both birds, and then he sat down. I kneeled beside my old friend as he whined and shivered with pain, and I picked him up and carried the heavy dog home in my arms, sniffling back tears and knowing he’d run has last race through good pheasant cover.

Two days later, during the last week in October as cold winds blew down from the north, Fritz left me and went to that area where all good bird dogs go when they die. He was buried along a fence row that often produced a good number of flushes, and on occasion I still think I hear him snuffling the scent of a big ring-neck 10 feet in front of his nose.

Lasting memories

It isn’t, of course, but there is the memory of a rugged and staunch bird dog that never learned the meaning of the word quit. He could out-hunt me, and it’s the biggest reason I’ve never owned another bird-hunting dog. A new dog could never measure up to Fritz, and it would be unfair to expect him to.

So I live with these haunting memories but no photos of Fritz except he’s the front dog on point in the top photo. Lots of white hair, some black and brown hair, and some liver ticking in a few places. He was the finest bird dog I’ve ever owned, and I’ll never see the likes of him again. There’s a place tucked back in the corner of our hearts and minds for lost friends and good bird dogs, and whenever my mind registers a hit on man or dog, I reach up, dust off a fond memory and trot it for world to see.

Dog owners are fond of saying that a bird hunter is truly blessed to have one unforgettable bird dog during their lifetime, and it must be true. Because mine was Fritz, and he’s been gone for 35 years. Here is my salute to you, old friend. When we meet again up yonder, we’ll go hunting with shotgun in hand one more time.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Tags: bullheaded, cast, dave richey, Fritz, German Shorthair, Michigan, outdoors, point, quit, ringneck pheasant, rooster

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daverichey October 30th, 2009

Hunters can do all the preseason scouting they wish. They can have tree stands conveniently placed, and ground blinds in strategic locations, and make every effort to be scent-free while staying downwind from the hunting location.

Still, there are times when bucks just will not cooperate. We can have a nice buck patterned, arrive early because we know the buck is as spooky as a house cat in a dog kennel, and still our best-laid plans can and do go awry.

Bucks can be very unpredictable

Sometimes the bucks won't show up because of something we've done, and there are other occasions when someone else spooks them unwittingly, but the bottom line is that bucks seldom play by our rules.

They play by their own game plan, and until we learn how to crawl inside a buck's head and determine what makes him tick, and do this or that, we must live with the prospects of being foiled again and again by an animal that doesn't show up as we often predict he will. That's another reason why they call this hunting.

Last year I had a nice buck that had been seen using a specific runway through heavy cover. One of the elevated stands was at the far end of the trail and back in thick cover, and my thought was to sit up on him at that location. I eased into the area, climbed up into the stand, and kicked back to relax.

I knew when he moved, and knew where he moved, and he was as regular as a glass of prune juice. Except for that night …

He took the trail least travelled

He avoided the area like it was the last place on earth he wanted to be. I saw several does and a couple of small bucks, and some fawns, but the big rascal failed to make an appointment. He took a totally different trail out of the beddinh cover.

The next evening, we went through the same procedure, and again he didn't show up. The rut wasn't on yet, but this flaky buck was breaking his habits. I tried a third night, with equally unsuccessful results, and decided to hunt elsewhere.

My new spot produced the sighting of a nice buck, much too far out of range, but that animal captivated my attention for several days before another hunter took him from a different stand. Where to go now?

My decision seemed easy. I planned to go back and try for the other buck. A friend had seen him moving about in that area, and I slipped into the stand noiselessly. The wind was perfect, and again he didn't show up.

My mind usually tells me the buck is bedded down in the immediate area, and has spotted me going to the stand or leaving it. This, I feel, was the answer but how to solve the problem. This could be a test of wills, mine versus his.

A sneaky way in for a hunter

Other stands were hunted for several days, and I finally decided to have a friend drop me off with his truck. My thought was the buck was probably being spooked by me walking in, so why not let the pickup truck do the spooking.

The friend drove me to the stand, and I was up the ladder like a fox squirrel heading for the tree-tops. He puttered around a little bit until I was in the stand and out of sight, and then he slowly drove off down a nearby two-track and the woods settled down to silence.

As the afternoon turned into early evening there were several does, fawns and two or three small bucks moving through. The big buck still hadn't showed up, and I was beginning to think he had moved out of the area and taken up temporary residence elsewhere.

Thirty minutes before sundown, the slanting muted rays of late sunlight were seen glinting off polished white antlers. The deer stood up, moved forward, and stepped into the tiny clearing near the stand. He looked around, especially where the truck had come from and the direction it had gone, and seemed satisfied it was gone.

The animal had been bedded down just 40 yards from the stand. The buck, completely fooled by my arrival by truck, strode confidently out in front of me.

The bow eased back to full draw, and the buck lowered his head to sniff the scent of one of the does, and my arrow slid in behind the shoulder. The buck humped up slightly, kicked his legs back, and ran off.

It was a good hit, I knew, and moments later I walked up to the fallen buck. During the field dressing, I found the heart with a two-blade wound through the center of it. Being hit in the heart often makes deer hump up and kick, and the animals die quickly.

Hunters must recognize that big bucks often bed down near a stand where they can watch hunters come and go. Having another person drop them off, and stay there with the motor running until the hunter is out of sight in the stand, can pay big dividends.

It's a trick I've since used for many years, and this tactic particularly holds true when hunters use bait after snow covers the ground. Bucks and does often bed near the food source, and being dropped off and picked up with a motorized vehicle can work wonders for hunters.

Deer can't count the number of people in a truck or on a four-wheeler. Sometimes it gives hunters an edge and sometimes it doesn't. Nothing works all the time on whitetails, and that is why whitetail deer are such fascinating animals to hunt.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Tags: arrow, bedding, bow, buck, dave richey, deer, Michigan, nervous, outdoors, people, stand, surprise, vehicle

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daverichey October 29th, 2009

Many years ago I was hunting a local area, and I kept seeing a really nice buck. I had a strong feeling that something was wrong with the animal but had no visible clues.

I glassed it with binoculars and even a spotting scope, studied it from all angles, and didn’t want to waste my tag on it if the buck had been wounded. There was no noticeable limp, no legs dragging, and no apparent sign the buck was hurt in any way.

Still, a niggling thought kept coming back to me: this buck is hurt. Should I shoot it?

A tough question to answer

There were too many questions and no logical answers. The next day I sat in a tree stand overlooking a nearby trail. I’d seen the buck travel both ways on this trail, and the only thing that I hung my suspicions on, was the fact that this buck seemed to move too slowly to be in good health.

I’d been in my tree stand for an hour when I saw him walk out of a marsh. Tall marsh grass covered  most of his body but beautiful points stood high above his head. He moved very slowly, and didn’t appear to favor either leg, but the more I watched him, they greater my feelings that this buck was in pain. The noticeable hump on the right front shoulder was difficult to see back inn heavy cover.

He approached my stand, and the wind was in my favor. He hung back, and two or three does and fawns, squirted past my stand, and he stood motionless for 10 minutes. The other deer were out of sight when he decided to step out into the open.

Each step was slow and methodical, a study in caution. He stayed screened by brush for long minutes as he took a step or two, stopped and studied the terrain all around him. He acted as if he had been shot at before by a bow hunter, and wasn’t taking any chances of it happening again.

Apparently satisfied, he took two or three more steps, and exposed his vitals to a broadside shot. I waited, and he turned his head in the direction that the does and fawns had traveled, and I eased back to full draw and made a smooth release.

Taking the shot

The Carbon Express arrow sliced in low behind his front shoulder, hitting the heart and lungs, and his back legs kicked backward as it appeared to hump up slightly, and off he ran out of sight. I heard the buck go down, and it was a simple trailing job. I followed the Game Tracker line, and found the buck dead 70 yards away.

I field dressed the animal, and the meat near his shoulder was green. I kept skinning him out on that side, and the more hide I removed, the more green tissue I found.

This deer had gangrene all through its body, and even though there was no reason to suspect it was ill, a further autopsy proved the cause. The buck had been hit high in the shoulder, and the three-blade replaceable-blade broadhead had broken apart on impact.

The hunter who had originally shot the buck had been hunting from a tree stand, and the broadhead had penetrated until the replaceable blades impacted on the top of the shoulder blade. I kept skinning, and eventually found the tip and three bladess buried under the hide.

Gangrene had set in

The buck had been hit several days before, and it was in a spot where the animal couldn’t lick the wound, and it just kept getting sicker by the day. The hunter couldn’t recover the buck because the arrow wound wasn’t that bad, but as time went on, a major infection set in.

This buck walked normally, didn’t favor the leg on that side, and it wasn’t the broadhead that would have eventually killed that buck if I hadn’t shot it, but it was slowly dying from a nasty infection.

The buck was useless to me or anyone else, and I informed the DNR about the animal, and they said to leave it to the coyotes. I took photos of the broken broadhead, and two days later the coyotes had reduced the carcass to bones and hair and saved that animal from being eaten alive.

A deer, hit in a non-vital area that it can lick and keep clean, will almost always survive. It’s such animals as this that become almost impossible to hunt. I’ve killed many deer that have been wounded by other people, and in many cases the deer would have survived.

A wounded deer doesn’t always die. In fact, studies have shown that if blood loss is kept to a minimum, and no internal organs or major blood vessels are cut, the chances of a successful recovery are good. However, minor flesh wounds will heal quickly and often within a week or less, the animal will be up and moving around.

Know this, though A deer that recovers from an arrow wound is one savvy animal. Shooting and killing that deer can be a supreme hunting challenges of all.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Tags: blade, bow, broadhead, buck, clean, coyotes, dave richey, favor, gangrene, lick, Michigan, outdoors, replaceable, shoulder

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daverichey October 28th, 2009

It’s become something of a habit for me. Once the fall hunting season heads into its second month, there’s a good chance that once a day I’ll remember another hunt from the past where a big buck was taken or an opportunity was lost for one reason or another.

It’s this ability to recall past hunts, successful or not, that allow us to wallow through nine months of not hunting deer with a bow. It’s rather easy to look at one of the big bucks on my wall, relax, kick back, and dredge up a fond memory or two to help me through the day.

There was a big buck running around my hunting area several years ago, and he was as regular as a dish of prunes. The problem was he was back in thick cover, and would eventually leave it. Each time he stepped out, he was in a slightly different location than days before.

Hunting a very good buck

All too often he was just a bit too far away for a clean shot, and shooting that 10-pointer wouldn’t have been easy. My decision to wait until he exited the tag alders within 20 yards was an easy one to make because I couldn’t and wouldn’t take a bad shot.

Day after day I’d see him. Sometimes he was close but 10 feet back in the tags, and the next day he would be 65 yards away. I believe he bedded in those alders, and moved around a bit  each day. Deer don’t always bed down in the same location, and this guy championed the art of bedding and exiting tags in a different spot from day to day.

This buck was a tempting rascal but I’d hunt other blinds to avoid becoming patterned at this nearby spot. I was always downwind of him, but it was always just before shooting time ended when he stepped out. I felt he occasionally would make his move a little earlier, and it was a matter of being there when he did. Hopefully, his move would let him step out, and take several steps that may put him within range.

Once I saw his high and wide rack, all glistening white, coming through the tag alders. If he stayed his course, he would come out only 18 yards away and in a perfect location for a good shot.

Looking for a shot

His head swiveled  back and forth as he tested the wind, studied the nearby terrain that day, and his ears were cocking forward and to each side in hopes of getting an early warning of possible danger. He was 4 1/2 years old, and had had many opportunities to practice his moves before coming out to feed.

He kept coming at a very slow pace. There was no hurry-up in this guy. Each move was a well managed lesson in tactical survival. He’d take a step, stop, stand motionless for a minute or two, and then take another cautious step or two.

The buck would hold his head high, lower it to change the angle of his gaze, and move again. He had all the patience of a stalking alley cat, and moved as if he was ready to bolt at any second. Bolting wasn’t what I wanted him to do, but sometimes these things happen.

Suddenly he stopped, and gazed hard at something nearby. A big mature doe had walked out of the brush on the other side of my stand, and was standing there, watching the buck. Live decoys like this doe that had appeared out of nowhere can be a good thing. As long as she doesn’t spook, he may come closer.

The buck was upwind of me and the doe, and she wasn’t going to walk over and introduce herself, so the only course of action was for the buck to move toward her. He made a slow approach, and my arrow was nocked on the bow string, and my Gator Jaw release was attached.

She turned as if to leave, and the buck moved quickly to intercept her. The buck popped out of the tags like a jack-in-the-box, and after many sightings, there he was 20 yards away.

The moment of truth

I let him move slightly, and offer a quartering-away shot. My sight was nestled low behind his front shoulder, and as that leg moved forward for another step, I laid my finger on the release trigger.

The buck moved right at that instant, turning away, and such low percentage shots seldom produce. I waited for him to turn and offer a quartering-away shot, but the doe walked over to him and they walked away like two old lovers walking side-bt-side down the street. It had been a close call, but the buck had won another round.

There is a great deal of satisfaction in hunting one specific buck, and having everything eventually work out or fall apart because of a doe’s action. I’ve hunted numerous bucks where great planning just didn’t work, and that is why they call this hunting, not killing.

If we were to succeed every time we hunted, bow hunting would soon cease to hold any appeal. The challenge of hunting one buck to the exclusion of all others is what works for me, even if an entire season passes without a shot.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Tags: alders, appeal, bow, buck, dave richey, doe, kill, memories, Michigan, outdoors, past hunts, release

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daverichey October 27th, 2009

There are few people who can tell me they’ve never made a mistake while going head-to-head with a mature whitetail buck. I’ve made some really colossal and stupid mistakes over 55 years of hunt deer with bow, muzzleloader, rifle and shotgun.

Making a small mistake that means little is not bad, but when the mishap costs you a shot at a good buck at spitting distance, that is something a person will have to live with forever.

Everyone makes stupid mistakes

Preaching to the choir is easy because you’ve made some mistakes, as have I, and we well know the feeling of anger and frustration at ourselves when we mess up.

One year a nice buck came past me every night from where he bedded in some tall grass. My stand was in a cedar tree atop a 10-foot knoll. My stand was eight feet up the tree, and when I sat in the stand I was about 22 feet above the trail the buck had followed night after night.

The buck was upwind of me, and never looked up at that cedar tree. One day I could hear the buck grunting as he followed his scrape line. He stopped, broadside to me, and as I made my draw, the arrow fell off the rest and rattled through the branches to the ground.

The buck looked up, and then went back to pawing his scrape. I nocked another arrow, began my draw and again the arrow fell off the rest. That buck never hung around long enough to see what made that second tinkling sound.

Don’t shoot other animals while deer hunting

The question often arises about shooting other critters while deer hunting. I no longer do so, but once while sitting in the same tree stand as noted above, twigs and needles kept falling down on me. I looked up, saw nothing, and five minutes later down came more bark and needles.

I looked up again, and this time saw a big porcupine scratching around on the tree. Not thinking, I drew back, aimed and shot the porkie. It wobbled around, and suddenly I realized what could happen. The animal could fall on my head.

I stepped to the extreme back edge of the stand, got two hand-holds and one toe-hold, and down he came onto my stand. A foot nudge sent him toppling over the edge where fell to the ground with an audible thump. I no longer do such dumb things.

The porkie waddled off, walked down by the scrape below me and died. No deer came to visit me that night.

Another time I was in a different stand near an open road that was bordered by a small field, and I was watching a buck 100 yards away. A late arriving hunter came down the two-track trail, knew I was in that stand, and waved at me as he drove past. It’s a normal reaction, and I waved back. The car disappeared, and so did the buck. The buck had seen my friendly wave and skedaddled for heavy cover.

Haybale blinds are great to hunt from

Once I was bow hunting in late December, and was sitting in a hay bale blind near a corn field. I have asthma and hay fever so I downed a Benadryl pill to keep from sneezing, crawled inside and soon there were deer in the corn and eating away at my blind, unaware of my presence.

One deer was a nice buck, and I’m inside the hay bales, trying to get a shot at the deer. I needed just another inch or two for a clean shot, and darkness was coming. I tried to force the issue without making any noise, and damned if the two rectangular hay bales didn’t move a bit. The small bales moved several inches, and there I went, falling out of the blind and almost on top of the buck.

It’s questionable who was more surprised: me or the buck.

All the deer ran off, and at Show and Tell after hunting ended, everyone had a good laugh at my expense. I laughed too as I replayed my smooth move for the other hunters.

Don’t forget the little details

One of my dumbest moves came several years ago. We decided to take a different car than the one we normally drove to our hunting land. I’d taken my bow out of the car to shoot a few arrows, and put it back in the car.

The dumb thing was I had transferred everything, including Kay’s bow, into the other car. Habit, being what it is, made me put my bow in the car we normally used. I dropped Kay off at her stand, and drove to where I would hunt.

I got my hunting clothes out, got dressed, grabbed my back pack, and started looking for my bow case. It was forehead slapping time as I remembered putting it in the other car.

I spent that afternoon and evening watching deer through my binoculars and spotting scope. It almost seemed as if all of the deer were laughing at me, but that was probably just a figment of my imagination.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Tags: bow, bucks, David Richey, dumb moves, forgetful, grunting, haybales, hunter, Michigan Outdoors, porkie

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