Hunting Generations



My son posing with a deer my father killed in 2012


     November Means Muzzle loader season here in Tennessee. The cool to cold days lead hunters into the woods in force to see if the added range of a muzzle loader and the wild abandon of the rut can produce better results than the warm, sweaty, buggy bow season did. I am no different, I never miss the first chance to sling lead at my favorite table fare. Recently my son who is ten years old has been making the yearly pilgrimage to Middle Tennessee with my father and I to hunt. To have three generations of hunters in the woods has truly been a blessing from the All Mighty. Back in 2012 My father was able to take a nice eight pointer and share the experience with his son and grandson. I can not think of anything better than the old man seeing his son whom he shared the gift of the outdoors with pass it on down the line. This year My son Ryan and I took two deer from a blind strategically hid on a ridge overlooking a small grove of white oaks. Ryan was able to not only witness the very sobering taking of life when the deer were shot but also all the work that went on afterward. We dressed the deer and drug them out. Later we skinned, quartered, butchered and ground the two deer into food. What better education could a young man receive and what better reassurance could a grandfather receive but to see his son teaching his children proper living. Tonight we said grace over the deer that we came by honestly and as I watched my family eating I was overcome with a sense of how real life can be if you live it. While I feel closer to Thoreau when I am experiencing the fruits of my own labor instead of that of others, I feel closer to God when I share the lessons with my son, Your pal the Envirocapitalist.

Dekalb County 2011 memories

     I have the privilege of being able to hunt with the man who taught me how to track, shoot, and gut animals.  Even though my father is 67 years of age and suffering from emphysema he decided to make the four hour drive to Dekalb County in middle Tennessee to hunt deer with me.  It was to be a three day hunt on private land that my father has access to. This is a trip we have taken for several years and is responsible for a lot of the meat that has filled my freezer in that time.  Dekalb County is very rural and is know mainly for spawning country music star Aaron Tippen and the town of Smithville which hosts the Fiddler's Jamboree.  The weather was perfect, not cold enough keep Dad off the stand due to his medication thinned blood, but not to warm to make a "stocky" guy like me uncomfortable.  I carried Dad's doghouse blind out to the edge of a cleared area he and a couple of his friends had sowed in winter wheat the year before and made my way into the dense cedar thicket to the north of this area.  we spent that evening and the next day in this rolling rock pile with no success and faced the fact that with only one day left to hunt we might be skunked for the first time in Dekalb.

My father with his kill in 2011 at 67 years old.

While the sun broke over the ridge top spilling its light and warmth into the valley we were parked in. We split ways at the truck and tuned our two way radios to channel one. I remember thinking how bad it would be to come down here and come back empty handed, not just because of the nostalgia but also for practical reasons. It was deep into deer season and I only had two deer in the freezer.  I was a little lost in thought hiding up in my blind deep in the dense cedar thicket when I heard dad's shot. I snapped to attention seconds before I saw a deer in the distance moving through the thicket. It was so thick that I would lose sight of the animal from time to time. I picked the shooting lane I

Three pointer I shot on same trip.

hoped to the deer would step into and waited patiently. After a few painful seconds the chest and head of the deer appeared. It was a 3 point and one squeeze of the trigger of my Knight Wolverine muzzle-loader laid him down where he stood. It is rare I don't have to trail a deer after a shot, but I was blessed with the perfect angle to get both heart and lung this time. After the excitement was over the work began, I gutted my deer and drug it back over the ridge and left it just behind Dad's blind. He greeted me and took me across the field to were his deer lay. It was amazing, he had shot a three pointer as well. I gutted him and drug him across the field and out the valley to the truck. By the time I got back Dad had already packed up his blind and was waiting by my deer. As I drug my deer back to the truck I not only thought of all the tenderloin that my family would enjoy once I cut these deer up, but also of the blessing of getting another successful hunt in with the man that shared the gift of hunting with me.  Don't ever stop hunting....Your pal The Envirocapitalist.

Boys to Men.

I am dismayed by our protectionist culture today. We seem to want to protect everyone from everything. I myself like dangerous things and I know how to use them safely.  I was not caudled as a boy and protected from everything and called baby. I was allowed to play outside without a parent panicking that I might hurt myself. I was made to do work, pitch in around the house, and go hunting and fishing at a young age. I was probably as much hinderence as help to my father in most areas but I learned how to do things that a man should know how to do.  We used chainsaws, axes, mowers, guns, and knives.  We stayed out in the woods for days at a time. We night fished, and crappie fished, and gardened.  We hunted, trapped, and ran trot lines.  We worked.......and I mean we worked hard.  We built a deck onto the house, we painted the house, we worked on our vehicles ourselves, we mowed our own yard. to sum up, I was not treated like a fragile vessel that would shatter at any hardship. Today we seem to be treating our boys like little babies that will never grow up instead of the men in training that they are.

The Boy on a camping/hunting trip with me in the Big South Fork wilderness area at 8 years old

I have started giving my son the benefit of the doubt. If the hunting trip I am going on is in a tough rugged place and the weather is not that good I'll take him anyway. If the work that needs done is tough I'm bringing him along. I am proud to say he is blossoming. I was trying to "protect" him from tough situations but as soon as I took some of the constraints off. Let him use his knives, go on overnights in the mountains in the winter, and help bust and stack wood, he began to grow and become more confident and capable.  I have learned that our children can become men if we teach them how and on the job training is the best training of all. Your pal the Envirocapitalist.

Billy's Three and My Tree!

     I always find hunting early season archery here in Tennessee oddly conflicting.  It is warm, ticks are still climbing all over, and worst of all I always get poison Ivy.  These facts never stop me from hunting so I was off to meet my pal and fellow Heiskell Boy Wild Bill for a early season hunt.  Now first you should know that Billy is as much cowboy as he is country boy and at 6'1 220 lbs he is also pretty big boy as well.  I have known him since I was five years old and like most my life  long friends he is an outstanding outdoorsman and an accomplished hunter.  Recently he has practiced so much with is compound bow that he is a sure thing inside 50 yards. Unlike Billy I am a gun man and take most my deer with a muzzleloader. But I have found a cure for my lack of practice...........a crossbow.  I sight it in like a rifle and take it hunting.  Some people have the miss conception that you can shoot a crossbow farther than a compound bow but this is just not true. my crossbow range is forty yards, whereas I have witnessed Billy shoot a deer target at 60 yards with his bow. While he would never attempt that shot in the woods it is proof that the crossbow does not have an advantage when it come to distance.  I met Billy at his house and after some entertaining banter among his in laws we shipped out to the Big South Fork National River and Recreation Area.  It is only a little over 2 hours away but its remoteness makes it feel forever away from the sprawl of towns like Knoxville. After Checking in at Bandy Creek, paying for a back country camping permit, and listening to a speech from a ranger about food storage because of the booming bear population.  We pitched camp over near Station Camp and headed about a mile down the gravel drive to an area my boss had suggested we should hunt.  It was exactly as he had described, with the the tale tale signs of of old homestead.  There was what used to be an orchard now overgrown, and scrubby areas that had been clear in the past.  After a few hours of scouting Billy and I met back at camp and devised a plan.  I was going to guard the old homestead in a ground blind while he hangs in his climbing stand further out on a oak covered point.  We built a fire and settled in for the night I had told Billy that he should shoot any deer he sees that I would take it home if he didn't want it (this is standard practice for me).  Billy is usually a trophy hunter and tends to pass a lot of table fare waiting on the big wall hangers, whereas I am a meat hunter.
     We awoke in the morning to mild temperatures and a silence that can only be found in the woods.  After a gear check we moved to our respected deer stands for the wait.  The first day I saw nothing  but Billy had them scampering all around him just out of range or moving to swift for him to feel comfortable letting an arrow fly. That night a camp I decided that I was to stick it out in the same spot.  The sign was just to good to move. Billy decided to move to a different tree but stay in the same area. after a belly full of potato soup we again went to sleep with dreams of tenderloins dancing in our heads. The next morning was colder than the day before and I could just somehow feel we would have opportunity this day.




Tree I slayed by shooting under a doe.

Billy had just texted me that he had one down when I heard the snap of a twig coming from the exact direction I had my blind oriented.  I suddenly got warm and remembered the tree I had ranged at twenty yards earlier and adjusted the "dial a range knob" on my Horton crossbow to the 20 yard setting in anticipation of the deer stepping out of the dense underbrush into the opening next to that tree just as I had planned.  Time passed slowly and and I soon realized that it was more than one deer and they were circling me.  About the time I readjusted so I could shoot out the side window of the Ameristep dog house blind I saw the first doe step through the brush into my shooting lane. Without thinking I placed the red dot just behind her shoulder and let a bolt fly.  The next few seconds were surreal. While I thought I saw the bolt fly straight for the lower chest of the deer I heard a heart breaking THUNK that sounded like tree not flesh.  I usually wait before walking down to check my shot but that sound told me that it was a clean miss.  as I walked down to the tree the deer had been standing in front of it dawned on me that I had never readjusted the RANGE KNOB ON THE BOW!  How stupid..........How could I be so stupid......It hurts me now to tell the story. I stood glaring at my bolt sticking out of a tree 38 yards from my blind instead of the 18 yards I had the bow set to.  After kicking myself relentlessly and admitting that my dad had been right all those years ago when he would lament some of my forgetful behavior.




Buck Billy shot that now resides in my freezer.

I decided to hike out to where Billy had been posted up to see if he could use some help with the deer he had texted me about earlier.  When I arrived on the scene Billy had the buck spread eagle gutting it and related the story of how a doe and fawn had ran all around him prior to the buck showing up and not really giving him a shot.  It was only after they had moved on that lover boy here showed up obviously trailing the doe.  Billy grunted to stop the 3-pointer and then laid him down with a double lung shot from 30 + yards.  We took turns dragging to get the buck out of the woods. It turns out this buck field dressed at 85lbs and was 2/12 years old. Seems not only did Billy help fill my freezer but he also culled the heard.  Even though I had a monumental screw up, I put a deer in my freezer, and most importantly I had a good time and will never forget Billy's three and my tree. Your pal the Envirocapitalist.

Grandeur

The Beauty of Creation

As most who read this blog know, I not only like to spend my spare time outdoors but the outdoors is also my office at work.  One might think that spending the majority of my waking hours outdoors would dull me to the grandeur that is God's creation.  The time I spend in the splendor actually has the opposite effect.  I find my self enjoying vistas, falls, and wild lands even more.



Natural Wonder

I find lately that not only do I enjoy the exercise of retrieving my own food from the earth and not paying a middle man at the grocery store, but I also feel like I am in the "real" world when I am away from town.  It may sound crazy but when I am on pavement, in buildings, or even at my home I feel that I am in a man made matrix and that I am only truly free when I am in the woods outside the confines of society.  I feel closer to God outdoors and even seem to think clearer.  Unlike some activities being outdoors seem to only bolster my desire to stay longer or go more often.  No one judges me when I am hiking.  I don't have to worry about how to pay for my accomadations when I am backcounty camping.  I prey others out their are enjoying the adventure of the outdoors as well. I will be, October and November are the two months I kill all the venison for the year. It is important time to me but it is also very enjoyable.  I dare say for the cost it is better than a movie and it is for real.  Your pal the Envirocapitalist.

Do the Doe

Can't eat horms

I would like to convince all of the people who manage their leases for trophy bucks that they need help with doe population control.  I have heard of hunting clubs making rules that each member must kill a doe before harvesting a buck. This is to ensure quality deer management.  I would like to humbly offer my services free of charge to come to your lease at my expense and crop your does. I promise I will not only pass on all the old grizzly bucks I see but I will document their movements for you members that wish to harvest these over the hill bucks.  I think it is a wonderful idea and any of you guys who wish to take me up on it leave a comment, that is if you are within driving distance of East Tennessee.  I sure am tired of hunting public land your pal the Envirocapitalist.

Deer Season

Trophy shot by sportsman and eaten by Envirocapitalist.

It is that time again in East Tennessee, opening day of deer season. Many hunter's will take to the woods with bows in their hands.  If successful a hunter can expect (after processing )at least 40lb plus  of meat to store in the freezer.  I have found that it takes 7 small does to feed my family a year but recently that has been unnecessary.   Not only do not have the time to hunt enough to kill seven deer but I have found so many people willing to just give their deer to me that I could probably never hunt again and have plenty of meat.  It is so odd at times that they act as though I am doing them a favor by removing their "unwanted meat".  I cannot understand since it is the tenderloin that drives me to wake up early and chase these creatures around steep ridges.  It is like buying chicken quarters at the store and not eating them because it is to much trouble to cut them up and cook them.  I will always be careful not to offend my "sportsman friends" who don't eat deer but still hunt them because I am slowly becoming dependent on their kills. I only shot one deer last year and that was a miracle considering how little I hunted.  With that said I will now adjourn to my man cave to pack my bolts and sharpen my butcher knife in anticipation of success in the field, Your pal the Envirocapitalist.

The difference between me and modern hunters

I am a opportunistic Predator. It is fairly simple as to why I come to this conclusion.

1. I keep guns with me at all times
2. I eat what I kill and what other hunters kill.
3. If I see it and it is in season I kill it, skin it, grill it. Even if I wasn't hunting it at the time.
4. I have received a call and dropped what I was doing to drive down the street and shoot a Ground Hog. ( I had it cleaned quartered and vacuum sealed in less than an hour) See Ground Hog recipe here.
5. I never have the time or money to go on far away hunting trips.
6. I somehow fill my freezer every year just by taking advantage of every opportunity.

I am not ashamed that I am not a "sportsman" but a hunter. I'll shoot a doe instead of waiting on a rack buck. I kill, skin, quarter, and grind to eat, no letting a processor do my dirty work for me. I enjoy this ritual because it connects me to my ancestors , the land, the animals, and my innate need to be self sufficient. I am not competing against other men to see who the best hunter is, I am making a living off the land. Your pal the Envirocapitalist.

It is hard to hunt with a 8 year old

We typically eat between fifteen and twenty squirrels a year, they are not a favorite food of my family but they are relatively easy to obtain and hunting them late summer/early fall gives me a chance to scout for deer and turkey.  It is also an ideal time to take your young hunters afield and teach them the lessons they will need to learn to be successful when after larger game. I will be the first to admit that it is tough to hunt with young kids.  Young boys do not want to be quiet, sit still, or be patient, which are important when hunting anything. I love hunting with my son even when it causes us to be less successful because I can see him learning, growing, and enjoying the success we do have.  Knowing that it was the valuable experience I gained as a kid which allows me to feed my family and make money off ginseng and trapping on top of my day job gives me the extra incentive to teach my son all I know. If you have skills or knowledge you think are valuable please pass them onto the next generation, it will make a difference and really it is your responsibility.  On this hot August morning what might have appeared as a fun opening day of squirrel season with my son was in reality just another part of shaping the men of the future. your pal the Envirocapitalist.

Boy with squirrels, working radio

Steven Rinella hits the nail on the head.

Image courtesy of wildernessathlete.com

Every once and a while someone comes along and speaks your mind better than you do.  As is the case for Steven Rinella, who puts into words what most hunters wished they could voice and he does it in an entertaining and authoritative way.  Even though he has only written two books, (American Buffalo : In Search of A Lost Icon and The Scavenger's Guide to Haute Cuisine) He is one of my all time favorite outdoor writer's. 
          One of  his articles entitled " Steven Rinella: Why I Hunt" which I believe to be a must read for anyone struggling with the ethics of hunting, made me kick myself for not being able to verbalise any of these points to some of my outdoor compatriots who struggle with the life and death aspects of hunting.  Both books and numerous articles I read seem to really hit the nail on the head and left me craving for more of Mr. Rinella.  His love affair with the obtaining and preparing of wild foods really speaks to me. This lead me to his T.V. Show The Wild Within on the Travel Channel.  It focused as much on the skinning and cooking of the game as it did on the chase, which I believe is a major part of the hunt and sadly missing from conventional hunting shows. After devouring all five episodes I realized it didn't appear to be coming on anymore. As heart broken as I was, Mr. Rinella appears to still be writing so I digress since I enjoy the written word over television any way. He has written several other articles, of which I can safely say you will not be wasting time by following this link and reading a while. I recommend his work highly and I am sure you will enjoy what I hope becomes an outdoor voice for my generation, your pal the Envirocapitalist.

The difference between me and modern hunters

I am a opportunistic Predator.  It is fairly simple as to why I come to this conclusion.

1. I keep guns with me at all times
2. I eat what I kill and what other hunters kill.
3. If I see it and it is in season I kill it, skin it, grill it. Even if I wasn't hunting it at the time.
4. I have received a call and dropped what I was doing to drive down the street and shoot a Ground Hog. ( I had it cleaned quartered and vacuum sealed in less than an hour) See Ground Hog recipe here.
5. I never have the time or money to go on far away hunting trips.
6. I somehow fill my freezer every year just by taking advantage of every opportunity.

I am not ashamed that I am not a "sportsman" but a hunter. I shoot does instead of waiting on rack bucks. I kill, skin, quarter, and grind to eat, no letting a processor do my dirty work for me. I enjoy this ritual because it connects me to my ancestors , the land, the animals, and my innate need to be self sufficient. I am not competing against other men to see who the best hunter is, I am making a living off the land. Your pal the Envirocapitalist.

Sideways snow and a doe!

The only reason I was on a ridge top in Jackson Co. during a blizzard was the doe tag in my pocket, which is a rare thing during high powered rifle season. I had positioned myself opposite the wind from a saddle between to ridges which the deer used to access the valley to the east of the land I was hunting. I had walked up the ridge with Bob who had tried to give me some of his frozen Mcdonald's hamburgers he had purchased earlier in the week for 69 cents. We parted ways and I sat down in my makeshift blind built from dead fall. The snow was blowing so hard that I couldn't see very well and I was becoming miserable. By the time I had decided to give it up for the day I realized my boots were froze to the ground and it took some tugging to pull them free. I needed no more reasons and I headed down the hill while the snow storm pick up its force even more. By the time I reached the field that lays between the cemetery and the old clapboard sided house we use as camp, the weather could be described as a blizzard. I needed meat bad and we would probably start driving home as soon as the weather broke, but I didn't care I was looking for shelter. By the time I reached the porch of the old house I saw Bill sitting in a chair(I don't think he ever left the porch that morning) drinking Diet Dr. Pepper and occasionally stoking the warm morning stove. Before we had a chance to swap pleasantries Bill whispered "I think there is a deer behind you". I spun dropped to a knee and leveled my 30-06 and squeezed one off. The deer went down immediately, it had just entered the field about 80 yards from us. I apologized to Bill for walking up to his deer stand (the front porch) and shooting a deer. He is one of my fathers oldest friends and told me not to sweat it he would have gave the deer to me anyway since my family eats so much venison. I gutted the 1 and 1/2 year old doe where she laid. It was snowing so hard that when my father and Bob finally came down off the ridge they had no idea what had transpired since the blood was now covered by snow. Sometimes luck is better than skill when it comes to filling up the meat freezer.

Your pal The Envirocapitalist.

Dekalb County was a drag

The pressure in my head was unbearable. I took two Goodies powders in hope of taking the edge off although I knew from experience that sinus pressure would not go away completely no matter how many pain killers you take. After a drink of water I refocused on the task at hand reached down and grabbed the rope I had tied off to the doe's front legs and head and continued to drag the corpse up the ridge. I had shot the doe early in the morning and had tracked it all day off the property we had permission to be on, up and down ridges, across creeks within sight of houses and finally into a thicket. The poor creature died for lack of blood not from my accuracy with a bow. I was proud of my tracking prowess but embarrassed by my lack of summer practice with my compound bow. It was now afternoon and I strangely felt like a fugitive sneaking back across enemy lines. I don't think anyone would have said anything to me except for the sportsman's club who leased the neighboring property , which I had to cross to retrieve the deer. At this point I would have given any thing to have found someone earlier to ask for permission to cross the private land but I had always figured I would find the deer over the next rise and be gone in a flash. I picked up the pace pulling the deer which seemed to increase in size with every step. I had made it back to the sacred ground of the land I had permission to hunt covered in sweat and wanting to lay down. It was that moment when I heard my father's voice over the two-way radio saying. Hey Gabe, Bill and I have two deer down and need you to come drag them to the truck. I thought Dekalb County is a great place to hunt if you don't mind dragging deer.