First Buck of the Season
First buck of the season:
Well, got a big announcement for you folks today–got my first buck of the season! That’s right, I shot me a big ol’ boy.
I didn’t hunt this guy in my territory, though. No, sir-ee-bob. This past weekend, I went up to Minnesota to hunt with my old platoon mate, Buddy Wilmer. He lives up there on the prairie, roundabout Lake Wobegon.
Anyway, I went up to his place for a couple nights, packed up my truck, and prepared for a fine old expedition. And boy, did we have one! We set out early Saturday morning, before the sun got up. Ol’ Buddy Wilmer has eyes like a coondog–no sunlight necessary, and he’s already on the move. We headed through his woods, about a mile out, where he’s got one of his treestands.
Set up there for a couple hours, wiped off a egg mcmuffin on the way, ready for the wait.
Now, as you know, I’m not the most technical shooter in the world. I’m old fashioned-like, and I don’t really believe in most of the gimmicky stuff you see on TV these days. Well, I do declare that Ol’ Buddy Wilmer’s a bit more adventurous than I am. He got himself one of these rangefinder doohickeys. Anyway, we played with it for a while while we waited.
And, right on cue, two big bucks come along, I start guessin’ the wind, trying to figure out how far out he is. I’ve got me a pretty good eye, I’ve been told. Buddy says we’re gonna take a little bet. He reckons I’m wrong, using his little toy. I say to hell with it.
It’s a breezy day, plenty of give in the trajectory, he thinks he’s got a better shot than I do ‘cause of his technical wizardry. I’m not having any of this. Well, we got ourselves ready, both aiming at our bucks.
We counted down, three, two one…
Well, he got his. That’s all there is to say really. Now, I maintain that he shot first, and scared off my buck. But fact of the matter is, he made his shot and I didn’t. Only one person in the world can beat Edwin Hawkins in a shootout, and it’s Buddy Wilmer.
So I decided to have me a piece of that. Since he got his buck the first day, I tried playing around with the rangefinder the next morning. I still maintain I have the best eyes east of the Rockies. But I guess they ain’t what they used to be. Consistently off by about 10 yards, once you get over 100. Huh. Well, at least I’m consistent.
In the end, I got me the first buck of the season. Slung it on the tree, butchered it up right that day, and drove home with a freezer. I drove home with something else, too, but we don’t have to talk about that. let’s just say it has the words “range” and “finder” in it.
I still maintain it’s no substitute for instincts and an eagle eye. But for an old fogey like me, there’s no sense not taking a helping hand once in a while. It sure filled up my freezer in a hurry. If you’re interested, Buddy sent me to this page for the best rangefinder reviews.
-Over and out.
Groundhogs for GrubGreetings!
Today, I’ve got rather a strange post for y’all. I’m gonna be talking about groundhogs. Specifically, groundhogs for grub. Now, like any good Southern Gentleman, I do enjoy the proper victuals a man makes for himself. And it is my firm belief that what a man can kill, a man can eat.
If you’re from where I’m from, killin’ groundhogs is one of life’s greatest pleasures. The pesky varmints get absolutely everywhere, and it’s only right you show ‘em who’s boss.
Well, now you come to the sticky bit. What to do with all the dead critters? Only one thing for it, folks. It’s down the gullet with them.
Here’s a few things I’ve tried.
First way, just grilled straight. Stuck the bastard on a spit and roasted it over a campfire. Now, on principle, it was pretty satisfying. As far as the actual eating of it went, not so good. Stringy, tough, and gamey doesn’t begin to describe it. It needed work. If you really want to know how it tasted, it tasted like a chicken run up the wrong side of a slim jim.
So, take two. I soaked the little guy in wine, marinaded it overnight. A full 24 hours. Then I roasted it again. Better. Definitely less tough. But there’s definitely a stringiness to it. That’s when I had my great idea. I though the texture was like pulled pork, but more tenacious.
That brings me to the final one, which was actually pretty good. The crock pot never fails, folks. I popped it in there, with all your average stew stuff and lots of spices, and let it go all day. I have to say, it was unexpectedly good. I might’ve lowered my standards, I’ll give you that. But if you’re a man of principle like me, slow cook is the way to go.
Over and out-
Smellin' Like Shit
Here’s my hunting tip for you all today. Smell like shit.
It’s pretty simple. Animals smell real well, better than me, better than you. So you’ve gotta beat them at their own game. They don’t want to smell humans, no sir. So, you’ve got to smell like them.
That’s where the shit comes in. Start collecting it, and rub some on your clothes. That’s why you layer, folks. Treat all your outer layers, and you’ll do a world of good without getting it on your skin. Rub that scat all over your boots, your outer jacket, and you gloves.
Don’t wash those clothes, either. You want them smelling like that for the whole season. Trust me, if they’re too ripe for you, they’re just about irresistible to a fellow critter.
All you need to think about, is get as dirty as possible. Cover up all your natural scents. You don’t have to go overboard on the scat, either. Just get nice and muddy, do some mud angels in the woods. All that dirt covers up your natural man scent and makes you a much better hunter.
Just remember to leave those outer layers in the shed, or your wife might put you in the doghouse.
Over and out-