growing up

The Boy and his dinner

Time moves forward and at a speed I am not always ready for. Seemingly yesterday I was taking pictures of my son with other people's deer and now he is filling our freezer himself.  At Thirteen He is close to two inches taller than me and smart as a whip. While I am extremely proud of him, this jarringly sudden maturation has caused me to think a lot about my job of raising him. I won't use this time to critique my parenting skills but I will say that I have became aware of the precious small amount of time that I have to shape my children. When we are at home there are so many distractions and influences pulling at my children that it is difficult to compete. That is why I think hunting and fishing (I'll add trapping) is actually a great parenting tool. Don't get me wrong, while in the field we are focusing on many things,  but we are together and there is no one else around and usually a lack of cellular data. I have found that a deeper connection occurs in the woods then at home and it allows me to really confer life lessons in more effective ways. I also believe that the work that is going on is so honest and real that it helps to develop a good ethic in a kid. Plus there are so many ethics involved in killing an animal that I also believe it delivers life lessons in a way that is hard for a kid to just shrug off. I am not going to lie I see some young people that I have very little respect for and I believe it to be tied to the amount of time spent on video games compared to time spent in the real world. I define the real world as any activity out in the world not just hunting and I think all work and play has value but hunting and fishing combines all elements from preparation and hard work to excitement and accomplishment. If you want to raise a man who is responsible, resilient, respectful, and resourceful you should raise him outside. Your pal the Envirocapitalist.

Eating Aliens....A book review

Jackson Landers is a interesting fellow to say the least, so when I saw that the name of his latest book was Eating Aliens I had to drop the dough to get it. Jackson's first offering "The beginner's guide to hunting deer for food" is a how to book aimed at introducing novice or even non-hunters into a locavore lifestyle concentrating on hunting deer.  Eating Aliens however is a departure from that format. The book is broken into short easy to read chapters that are more like short stories. I found it very enjoyable to read a chapter a day as though this was a collection of separate stories instead of a memoir. While Jackson's stories do provide some information about invasive species, it is far more memorable for Jackson's antics and adventures. His stories bare all from his failures to his successes. This book is basically the story of Jackson Landers deciding he wants to do this for a living and just taking off and doing it. His courage makes the reader wish they could live out their dreams with such reckless abandon. It is this feeling adventure that makes the book different from other books in the modern hunting genre. The Characters he meets along the way are colorful and  bring a some realness to the book that makes you feel like you could do this to with him. While I believe the original point of the book (controlling invasive species by eating them) is tore apart by Jackson himself when he states all of the roadblocks (mostly the USDA) that stand in the way of commercially selling the meat of most of the invasive species, he somehow draws you in and makes you want to join the hunt. Jackson makes hunting snails seem fun and entertains while educating. While we come from very different backgrounds I would love to catch dinner with Mr. Landers someday.  He seems to be one of the good guy when  it comes to hunting and conservation and finds a way to walk the fine line between ex vegetarian tree hugger and blood thirsty redneck hunter. For less than $10 you can score this book and it would make a great companion for a hunting trip. I give this short entertaining book 4 out of 5 stars. Your pal the Envirocapitalist.

Blind Hunting

G-10 ground blind set up in ruins of 18th century homestead in Big South Fork.

I like most hunter's in the eastern hardwoods use tree stands  which hang high up in  the canopy of straight timber.  But I have also found times when the deer are using areas characterized by thickets and small scraggly brush.  It is these time that I employ my G-10 ground blind which is less than ten pounds and folds up into a small backpack.  This portability and weight translate to a much more mobile and faster Envirocapitalist.  I don't believe you trade much as much visibility in a ground blind as you gain in comfort. Just recently in The Big South Fork National Wild River and Recreation area I shot a doe (which later field dressed out at about 85lbs or 45lbs of table fare) at 36 yards with my Horton Crossbow.  The doe never knew I was in the world and as you can see from the above picture I had not spent a bunch of time brushing up the set, I simply set the blind up within bow range of the deer trail near a scraggly tree to break up its outline.

The Envirocapitalist relaxing in G-10 ground blind wearing camo hat knit by Cousin Jaime

While I still prefer more active types of hunting, blinds are fast becoming my favorite type of stand hunting. It is so much more comfortable than a tree stand and allows you to move more which keeps me attentive longer. I have found it to be just as effective as climbing 15 feet up a tree and while it may have a reputation as for older hunters I am not to proud to hide on the ground. If it was good enough for Daniel Boone it is good enough for me.  I have spent much of this month in the woods and have three deer in the freezer to show for it. Stay tuned those stories to follow.........Your Pal The Envirocapitalist.

Update - late March

I am very excited for the upcoming turkey season because I have access to some private land this year. I hope to fill my four turkey bag this year to help fill my freezer. since I only put 3 deer in it this winter my meat reserves are low.  That means I need to catch more fish, kill more small game, and waste some turkeys to make up for the dreadful deer season. I will be hunting with my Savage/Stephens 12 gauge pump (old school), and despite the fact it is a modified choke and more suited to wing shooting it actually preforms nicely and I have up most confidence in it. I may play with some video of The "Hieskell Boys"  ( the group I grew up with and still hunt with) Turkey hunting to share with you all.  It is wet here so I still can't plow the garden, hope everyone out their is fairing well,  I plan on posting on a T.V. show I can actually watch called the wild within this weekend. Hope you can check it out 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.

Squirrel shoot out

I cannot count the squirrel hunts I have been on in my life, but one stands out among the rest. I had met Stacy to take a little walk about in Catoosa WMA and maybe shoot a squirrel or two. We had planned to meet up with Ron and Ray at the long field around 10 am (that was the earliest they could get there) and maybe do some deer scouting. Stacy and I got out of the truck a little after daylight and went through the anti-seed tick ritual of skin so soft and permanone application. We wondered around in the woods for a while when Stacy saw some cuttings on a stump and said "I think we ought to sit here". I had a 22 magnum and Stacy was packing a 12 gauge, we sat up on opposite sides of the small hollow we had entered and within minutes I saw a squirrel. "BAM" I dropped him, and with that crack of the rifle squirrels broke from there hiding places running away from me into the barrage of shotgun fire compliments of Stacy. This pattern continued for half an hour until we thought we had filled our limit of 20. I don't know if we miscounted or didn't find one, but we ended up with nineteen. All of this in 30 minutes out of a stand of about 7 hickory trees. I don't think I will ever be able to duplicate a day like that but hope keeps me going back. The magical day ended after meeting with Ron and Ray, showing them our bounty and bragging about Stacy's shooting prowess. We probably would have wondered around the woods some more but Ron decided to see if he could hit a hornets nest with a throwing stick...he could. After a long run back to the trucks we left catoosa. Stacy and I with 19 Squirrels and Ron with 100 seed ticks.

Gigging

We slipped through the tall grasses silently and single file. The darkness of night has long since closed in shrinking visibility to a couple of feet. Deep throated croaks in the distance dance in my ears like a siren song. We approach the pond less by sight more by memory. We take a minute to collect ourselves and organize. Ron checks the three pronged gig at the end of a 7 foot long laminated bamboo stick while I familiarize myself with the on/off toggle on the spotlight. I locate the general location of a larger croaker by the sound of his call. Ron (without a word to each other only the familiarity of the activity) starts moving in that direction. I turn the light on and begin searching the shoreline and almost immediately I see the tale tale glowing eyes of our official state amphibian the bull frog. I hold the light as still as possible in our prey's eyes blinding him to Ron's approach. In one fluid motion Ron drives the gig home like a spear. The next couple of seconds are tense until the gig is raised from the water with our first pair of succulent legs hanging for all to see. Several similar little dramas played out that night before we loaded up our trash bag full of frogs and left. While the act of frog gigging is fun, it pales in comparison to the feast we will enjoy after dropping the breaded legs into hot oil. If you haven't ate frog's legs you haven't lived.

Hunter's Code?

(1.) Obey the game laws. (2.) Be adequately armed for the game you are hunting. (3.) Respect the rights of the property owner. (4.) Extend courtesy to your fellow hunter. (5.) Aim only for a clean kill.(6.) Pass on these ethics to younger hunters. Here is the hunter's code I display at the bottom of my blog, I was wondering if anyone had any thoughts on it. Am I missing anything, is this sufficient, do you have your own code for whatever outdoor activity you participate in. I wait Breathless........

East Tennessee Bush

Sweat was dripping down and burning my eyes and mosquitoes tortured me with their constant attempts to land in my ears. I remembered all the other times I had climbed the Brier covered bank up off the road then fought through the tangles of vines left in the area cleared at the end of every summer. This pilgrimage led to the only public land that I know of where I can shoot a ground hog then skip on down to the edge of the lake and catch some bluegill without running into another human. The hike itself is not long but I have to carry my Marlin 22 mag, a telescoping fishing rod, a trash bag, and a cooler making the task much more difficult in the humid south. On this day I was alone and still in a state of panic over a 3 month old baby I had left at home. The smell of honeysuckle was thick in the air and the poison Ivy which climbed every third tree and covered much of the ground was a rich and dark shade of green. I entered the Field opposite the lake and was relieved to see that TWRA had mowed recently. I laid down under a popular tree shading me from the noon day sun and proceeded to glass the field with my Simmons binoculars. The little brown spot I had seen before now stood up and looked my direction. He was more than 200 yds away which is out of my 22 Cal. comfort zone so I left my supplies and crawled back into the woods. I slipped back out to the edge of the field but the whistle pig had moved during my short hike in the woods (closer to his hole as I later found out) so the shot would still be a little longer than I might of liked at 140 yds but manageable. I pushed my fanny pack out in front of me as I laid prone and let the barrel of my rifle lay on it. After placing my cross hairs at the top of the hog's head I slowly pulled the trigger and the mini bear disappeared. I waited a few minutes then walked to where I thought the G-hog had been standing. I was surprised to find his hole, and after closer inspection with a flash light I saw his back legs in the hole. Now, I knew he was dead but if you know how vicious a ground hog can be you understand my hesitance in reaching into his hole to retrieve my prize. I spent considerable time thinking about shooting him again....but that would ruin some meat. So I finally settled on poking him with a stick a few times then jerking him out quickly as though he would revive like a zombie . Freeze G-hog I said to my self and after laughing at myself and putting Mr. hog in the bag and jamming him into the cooler I sat down on the cooler at the waters edge and tried to finish my freezer filling day by fishing. Although I kept a watchful eye on the field in case he had company in that hole. That night as I sat cleaning the fish and ground hog, I couldn't help but feel connected to the world. I had retrieved my own food from the world. After packaging with a foodsaver and tossing them into my lay down freezer I said to myself "who needs McDonald's when you have McNature".

Should of sat still

Muzzleloader season in Tennessee is the first time you get a crack at bucks and does with a gun. I had made the pilgrimage to Jackson Co. In hopes to score on opening day. All I had with me was my pack a Knight wolverine muzzleloader and a warm jacket. I had started up the western ridge at daylight climbing a couple of hundred feet in elevation before finding a bench field and a dry pond. That is where I began still hunting around the inside of the ridge line. Three steps stop, look, listen, and wait. I did this all day jumping two does and enjoying the early fall weather. I eventually came full circle back to the bench Field below the dry pond where I found this fresh rub.

Should of sat still at the dry pond..........

spring squirrel and a G-Hog

My belly was soaking wet from the dew which clung to the grass even though the sun hung high in the sky. I lay flat sweating like a man with a secret barely breathing and hoping my earlier carelessness didn't cause me to miss my opportunity.

The morning had started out well, I made it to Cove Creek Wildlife Management Area right at daylight. The squirrels were moving on this opening day of the 2002 spring squirrel season and despite It being kind of muggy and foggy I only walked 100 yards when the first boomer found itself in the cross hairs of my Marlin 22 Magnum. I probably initiated 7 stalks that morning and brought down 5 Squirrels (all gray). I had slid them into the back pouch of the dove vest I was wearing over a camo T-shirt when I noticed the squirrels were now silent. This didn't suprise me because it was 10 am, typically nap time for squirrels in my area. I knew I wouldn't see any more squirrels until an hour or so before dark, but I still wanted to hunt.

I thought maybe a ground hog or two might be in one of the fields TWRA maintains on this managed area. So I hit a nearby logging road and headed up toward the closest of the fields. I walked right up on the field like an idiot. half not expecting to see a whistle pig at the first field I walked up to I wasn't exactly sneaking. Of course there was one standing on it's hind legs and appeared to look at me as I cleared the wood line. I quickly fell to my stomach, red faced at breaking a rule my father had always drilled into my head. He always said " your always hunting even if you are walking back to the truck, you are always hunting" I decided not to wait to long, I don't know if it was to not give the ground hog enough time to run to his hole or my anxiousness to see if I had screwed up. I raised up to one knee, my Marlin in front of me. I was relieved to see the hog still standing looking in my direction. I aimed at the top of his head (since I new my rifle would drop some at 150 yards) and pulled the trigger. I don't think he even heard the shot, since the bullet blew his brains out the back of his head leaving all of his meat undamaged. I made it back to the truck by 11:30 am but felt pretty good since my dove vest was so heavy that I think I pulled a muscle taking it off.

A Nuge influence

Ted Nugent has not been a political or musical role model to me, however his passion and love for independence and an outdoor way of life sends chills down my spine. Hearing him belt out "back strap fever" from a tree stand on the outdoor channel made me believe he wasn't just another trophy hunting T.V. host but a true outdoorsman who understands conservation ( taking does out of a population is necessary). And that he understands that taking an animal's life is not just sport but necessary if one intends to eat it. I despise people who call themselves sportsman but don't eat deer (or what ever they choose to hunt). That catch fish only to release them. I call catch and release torture. I call keeping the fish to feed my family fishing. Ted gets excited about the culinary aspect of being self-sufficient enough to retrieve his own dinner from the wilds and cook it up. It is a good feeling to rely on no one but yourself for food. For those out there that only know the Motor City Madman from his Rock and Roll or his many appearances on T.V. defending the NRA, you must watch his show "The spirit of the Wild", listen to his song about Fred Bear, or simply read his books ; Kill it and Grill it, or Blood Trails I and II and you will become a fan of the Nuge. I wish I could derail this Anti-hunting friendly sportsman movement that apologizes for killing animals. They use words like harvest instead of kill. I don't know about you guys, but I have never harvested squirrels but I sure have killed and skinned a lot of them. In one of the most ridiculous moments on T.V. I have ever seen, Jimmy Houston a famous fisherman and T.V personality tried to sell the Idea of hunt and release. He scouted , Climbed a tree stand, and when the deer walked by he said Bam got him, but did not shoot. I hate to tell Jimmy but he didn't get anything. He should really take up hiking and photography if that is what he wants to do. For myself I would pay money to see Ted Nugent kick Jimmy Houston's a** on pay per view. Got to go, my wife just finished putting the final touches on some deer tenderloin and if I don't get to the table the kids will eat it all. Just remember we are still part of the circle of life, I eat deer and earthworms will one day eat me.

That Deer was Forked

It Was a pristine fall day in 1999 and I was slipping out a ridge line on the Tennessee side of Land Between the Lakes. The moon was not full but so bright that my mini mag light was more for warning other hunters of my approach than for finding my way. I was on a meat mission, Doe tags in hand I climbed the tree stand I had hung the previous day. It overlooked a trail heading from some dense bedding to a stand a white oaks, Looked like a cattle trail. I didn't have to sit long before I saw the long head of an old doe poking out of the thick brush. I looked through the Simmons tip-over scope on my Remington 30-06. only the doe and me existed in the world for the moment leading to the trigger pull. "BOOM" I let lead fly and the woods exploded with deer jumping, bounding, and running in seemingly all directions. I had not seen any of the other deer prior to shooting the doe. They could have been bucks, fawns, or more does I should have been more aware of my surroundings. I had no Idea where my dear ran in all the confusion so I slid down the tree almost in a panic hoping to find blood (you should always wait at least 30 minutes kids). Instead of blood I found an astonishing sight, My doe was stuck in the fork of a small maple tree. I hate that I had forgot my camera but was glad I remember my hand saw. That deer was not mortally wounded and would have gotten away but she got forked.

Wild Bill's Big Buck

It was a once in a life time type of deer Billy drug out of an undisclosed area opening weekend of gun season in unit b. He knew the monster 11-point was there from trail cam photos he had collected over the last 2 off seasons but on the walk to his tree stand just after daylight he had no delusions that he would see the mighty buck today. After some time on stand,which he had gotten into late, he was starting to feel as though he could be more productive elsewhere. That's when he heard the twig snap directly behind him. The mere sight of the animal almost froze him, he swallowed hard, collected himself and grunted to stop the beast. BAM! Billy cursed himself immediately knowing he had gut shot his trophy. By the time he had jacked another shell in to the rifle the deer inexplicably layed down still in rifle range. Now I must tell you I have known Billy since I was 5 year old and he is not only an outdoorsman but a dead eye shot, so the only explanation for his poor first shot and completely missing the prone deer with a second round must be nerves. after this second miss his prize sprung to its feet and bolted. Billy had gained his composure by this time and fell the deer with a running heart shot, no need to track the deer it fell dead in its tracks. Wild Bill was so excited he missed the last three steps on the way down the ladder stand. If you have forgotten why Billy was so excited here is another picture

Congratulations Billy, most people have to leave Tennessee to kill a deer like that.

No bow hunting in the UK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I recently got a comment from a fellow outdoorsman from across the pond claiming that bow hunting is illegal over there (How un-American). I can't imagine government telling me I can't feed my family by taking an animal with a traditional and effective weapon. I feel for my friend the suburban bushwhacker. If I were him I would start making plans to immigrate to the U.S.A. as soon as possible. I would like to recommend The Great State of Tennessee as a future home. limitless private and public hunting lands, liberal seasons and bag limits. low cost of living and plenty of opportunities to work. Did I mention freedom. Yeah I can take a cross-bow and kill a deer without breaking a law. Look me up if you decide to come, we recently started stocking Elk in the cumberland mountains. soon we'll be hunting them with bows. God bless America

Out of meat

I have pretty much run out of meat. It takes 7 deer a year to feed my family. I have not been able to do any hunting due to lack of money and extra work. however I need to get back out there and provide some table fare. Two of my friends Stacy and Ray have already killed this year. Stacy bushwacked a six point in Heiskell and Ray stuck a doe in Crossville. Word is Ray may have a shoulder or two for my crock pot. Yeah he is a good friend. Maybe next week will bring me some hunting opportunities.

Day 2 no hunt

Sick........

Opening Day 08'

The alarm clock gave its warning at 4:45 am. I rolled over and turned it off then rubbed my face until the cobwebs cleared. I took a few bites of left over apple stack cake my brother brought for dinner a couple of nights before, drank some tea and dressed in faded camouflage from head to toe. It is opening day of archery season in Tennessee, this means my tenderloin is waiting on me in the woods. I am usually alone in the house at this time in the morning, however this morning Ally Grace was staggering through the living room with bear under her arm. Since my wife had not even rolled over when I got up I told Ally to get in bed with her momma. Ally was glad to oblige. I was out the door by 5 o'clock and heading north, an hour and a half later I was sitting in my tree stand near the border of Cove Creek WMA with my crossbow in hand. It was an uneventful morning except for the inordinate amount of yellow jackets buzzing around. While attempting to leave I was met at my truck by a neighbor Charles Johnson. Charles seams to know about everything and is glad to tell you about. During our informative discussion Charles' son pulled up on an ATV with a small doe on the back. He excitedly told his story of the shot with his compound bow and only tracking it 20 yards. I cut the jaw of the deer and preceded to age it at 2 1/2 years of age (no tri-cuspid but no real wear either) which was shocking to me considering it could not of field dressed more than 65 pounds. Reminds me of the little deer at Chuck Swan. I got back in my truck at 11 o'clock already thinking of tomorrow morning when I would hide in the woods once more.

Attacked by turkey

While I had the time of my life on the sprawling 2,600 acre Ode mills spring lease, I was out smarted by the wiley turkey. On this trip Ron, Billy, Stacy, and I slept under the stars (sans tent) rode four-wheelers on miles of trails up and down Powell mountain. We laughed and talked around a roaring campfire, called to turkeys and got responses, took long hikes searching for our two legged quarry, but bagged no gobbler. It was a perfect 3 days of outdoor enjoyment with my best friends. Now that I have made it abundantly clear how much I enjoyed being back country with my pals I can tell you the shameful part. Around 1 pm everyday it was reaching 80 degrees (F) and we would all meet up at camp which layed just south from the small creek that cut its way through the property. We were eating some campfire fryed grouse that Stacy had brought and drinking a few cold ones when Billy started showing us all his turkey calls. It was an impressive collection and Billy was adept at using all of them. Now you must understand that all of my friends are accomplished outdoorsmen, the type of guys you could blind fold, drive out to the middle of the woods and leave them. They would make it back by dinner. I mean Ron's house looks like a wildlife museum, Stacy has killed animals from here to Canada, and Billy has recently been on a big buck killing spree. However we all sat at camp with no guns in reach when Billy said in a low tone " you all won't believe me but there are two jakes right there." Everyone just sat still, even Ron who had been falling in and out of a not very restful sleep sat still while Billy made his move for his 12-gauge shot gun. He made his way silently to his gun and then tried to circle around for a clear shot when the turkeys started to walk away from camp (probably sensing the danger). Finally Stacy called out "Shoot!, they're heading away"............"BAM" Billy let a 4 shot shell go even though he was still shooting through heavy brush. The turkey obviously took some shot but not in anything vital and it started running straight up slope with Billy in hot pursuit. I jumped up and grabbed my scatter gun and joined the chase but I skinned off at an angle in hopes that the turkeys would turn and go side hill, I would be there to cut them off. Sadly enough the turkeys continued up hill until they disappeared over the crest out running Billy and out smarting me. It was a sad day when four experience hunters could get caught with their pants down by a couple of jakes. I bet you'll never catch me sitting around camp without a gun in my lap again.

Good friends=turkey

I got a call last week that may have just changed my turkey hunting fortunes for this spring. It was "Wild" Bill Pickett one of the original Heiskell Boys with an invitation to join him along with Stacy and Ron for a few days of tent camping and chasing turkeys over a couple of thousand acres of private hunting lands. We will leave sunday and return on tuesday which will give us alot of time in the woods as compared to my recent half day adventures. Sometimes it is nice to have good friends but other times it is great