Sitting in a Tree Stand, Listening to Night Sounds (Blog 156)

With the goal of not spooking any deer, I arrived at my Roanoke County, Virginia tree stand during the state's urban archery season extra early this morning.  A heavy fog caused me to drive slowly to the property, but I still managed to arrive about an hour before sunrise.  Not long after arriving, I sat through a performance of a variety of creatures.

Just minutes after I had settled into the stand, I heard a rustling of leaves and feared that a whitetail had already shown up.  But the source was a squirrel that had decided to begin its nut cracking extra early.  Next was a barred owl which began to belt out "who cooks for you, waaaaah" for my pleasure.

I then expected to hear a great-horned owl or perhaps a screech owl to lend their voices, but that did not happen.  Instead a killdeer made its trademark sound, giving this avian the title of the second species to greet the morn.

As daybreak grew closer, more birds began to join in: pileated woodpeckers, blue jays, white-breasted nuthatches, and, of course, crows and ravens.  Later, Carolina chickadees, Carolina wrens, red-bellied woodpeckers, and downy woodpeckers announced that they too were awake.

Interestingly, I did hear a screech owl but it was not until 9:00 A.M. And I did not see but one deer all morning and that one at 9:18 and some 100 yards away.  The deer hunting was poor, but the birding, as it is most days, was interesting.

The Boss Crows (Blog 155)

Bruce Springsteen may be called "The Boss," but in our backyard, he who goes by that name is our  5 1/2-month-old cockerel, Boss.  And at no time since our five heritage Rhode Island Reds (Boss, Johnny, Sweetie Pie, Baby, and Tootsie) arrived last May was this so apparent as it was Wednesday morning when Boss crowed for the first time.

As is his wont, Boss was the first one out of the henhouse, and as I was watching, I noted that he seemed more virile, I guess is the word.  He shook himself, stretched his neck, then emitted a screechy, quarter formed crow with no ending whatsoever.

"Elaine, Elaine," I yelled, and she quickly came running from the house.
"Boss just crowed for the first time, did you hear?"
"No," said Elaine.
But as if on cue, Boss sent forth three more crows, all as weak, poorly formed, and truncated as the first one.
But crows they were as our young cockerel is on his way to being a rooster.  I am so proud of my boy.

First Deer of the Season (Blog 154)

Today is the first day of Virginia's Urban Archery Season, so I went hunting in Roanoke County on a parcel where I have permission.  I have hunted this property a number of times before, and the landowner has asked me to park in one of two places, either by a fence line or next to the barn.

So with high hopes of bringing home a doe, I arrived at the property well before sunrise.  I drove up the lane, unhooked the gate, drove through re-hooked it, and headed toward the barn where I prefer to park.  The barn is only 200 hundred yards from the gate and a "straight shoot." 

Yet somehow I became confused in the dark, bumbled off the track, and couldn't find the barn.  Finally, I re-found the lane, located the barn, and scrambled out of my vehicle with the landscape beginning to lighten.

I then scooted toward the woodlot, some 300 yards distant, found my tree stand, climbed the steps, secured my safety harness, and hand-lined up my bow.  Breathing hard, I noted that dawn had arrived.

Five minutes later at the early stages of shooting light, a doe appeared, and I arrowed her at 6:48.  And after arriving home, Elaine and I spent much of the next three hours, with help from our son-in-law David, butchering the first deer of the season.  I was angry with myself for my nocturnal confusion, but as the proverb states..."sometimes it is better to be lucky than good." I did not do a good job as a deer hunter today, but I was very fortunate to tag a doe.

Scouting for Deer (Blog 153)

Today, I spent much of the mid-afternoon period rambling over two Roanoke County farms as part of my preparation for the county's urban archery season.  Visits to both farms, as well as my earlier pre-season jaunts around Elaine's and my Botetourt County parcel, indicate that acorns are going to be scarce this autumn.

I only found about a half dozen white oak and scarlet oak acorns and they were not overly big for the species.  Although of course, conditions can change, my pre-season hunch is that Southwest Virginia's whitetails will need to be visiting fields and agricultural areas if the animals want nourishment.

Again, though, autumn has not even officially arrived and much can change between now and early October. But I would still doubt that hard mast will be abundant come autumn.

What about soft mast?  Friday, I did locate some persimmons on a tree in our yard and have made note of some grapes.  I would be interested in hearing from other bowhunters.

Elaine and the Corn Snake (Blog 152)

Thursday morning before school, I was working on a magazine article upstairs in my office.  Suddenly, I heard a scream then "Come down here right now!"

Elaine was babysitting our grandson Sam, and I was afraid that something had happened to him.  Bounding down the stairs, I was greeted with another shriek.

"There's a snake under the table!" Elaine yelled.

She then picked Sam up off the floor and plopped him into his crib, which caused the youngster to start crying.  Sam knows when his naptime is and this for sure was not it, and his cries were a protest against this injustice.

"Get that thing out of here, right now," demanded Elaine.

"First, let me see if it is poisonous before I start messing with it," I replied.  "Get me the flashlight so I can see it better under the table."

Elaine retrieved the flashlight and shining the light under the table, I saw a six-inch snake with round eyes, meaning it was not venomous.  Upon further examining its markings, I identified the reptile as a corn snake - a harmless little creature that mostly eats insects at this stage of life.

While I was going into a detailed explanation to my wife on the virtues of corn snakes, she interrupted me.

"Get him out of here, right now."

Using a dust pan, I flipped the snake into the device then released him outside.

Order restored, Sam was removed from his crib, Elaine looked relieved, and I headed for school.

Deer Season Fast Approaching (Blog 151)

Mid August may not be considered "deer season" but for those of us who pursue whitetails, the season is truly fast approaching, and there is much to do.  I have been practicing with my compound bow for well over a month now, and today I want to sight in my Parker Thunderhawk crossbow.  I have ordered a muzzleloader and that as well as my 30.06 rifle will have to be sighted in, too.

Habitat improvement projects have long since started.  Today, my son Mark and I plan to finish mowing the seeded logging road that crisscrosses our Botetourt, Virginia 38-acre spread.  Earlier this week, I limed and reseeded the food plot behind the house.

This week I also obtained a new ladder stand, and that needs to be put up in that same food plot.

Also earlier this week, the deer stripped all the apples from the Rome apple tree in our backyard, which reminded me that I had put off too long the necessity of putting a wire enclosure around the tree.  That, too, will be accomplished today.

The Dolgo crabapple tree is bearing heavily, and it too will have a new enclosure constructed around its perimeter.  Elaine is studying recipes for crabapple tree.  I don't mind the deer eating some of the crabapples, but I do want some of them.

And when the chores are finished, it will be time for me to visit some farmers in Botetourt and Roanoke counties.  I have plenty of farms to hunt in the area, but it never hurts to have a few more.

Highlights of the Summer (Blog 150)

Soon it will be time for me to return to teaching high school English and my summer will be over.  I really cannot complain about my summer, because it has been wonderful.  There have been many highlights. Earlier this week, my son Mark and I floated the James, as he too is about to return to teaching school. 

In June, guide Britt Stoudenmire of the New River Outdoor Company and I fished the New River at night for a magazine article and had a stupendous fishing trip - certainly my favorite one of the summer and also the one where I learned the most.  I also made trips to the Greenbrier River and Second Creek in West Virginia for stories.

Elaine and I picked 10 gallons of wild wineberries and blackberries and she made jam from both (see below) as well as we froze a number of  quart bags for wintertime pies and cobblers.

Our heritage Rhode Island Red chicks that we ordered are now much larger, and we hope to have roosters crowing and hens laying sometime in September.  I worked on the food plot behind the house and hope to have the plot reseeded by the end of August.

All in all, life is good.

Of Grandsons and Chickens (Blog 149)

One of the joys of my life has been Elaine and I spending time with our nearly 14-month-old grandson Sam.  Recently, I decided to teach Sam how to feed bread to our three mature hens: Ruby, Spotty, and Tallulah.

So Sam and I sat down on the front stoop of our house and gave the "lookie, lookie," call which is the cue for the hens to come running.  I gave Sam a piece of bread and announced.

"Sam, feed the chickens!"

Sam's response was to eat the bread.

"No, Sam, feed the chickens," I said as I handed him another piece of bread.

Sam again ate the bread.

Meanwhile, the chicken trio, beside themselves with bread lust, were crowded around Sam.

"Feed the chickens, Sam," I instructed again.

This time, Sam dropped the bread on the stoop and he and Tallulah both tried to grab a piece...which both of them accomplished.  This seemed to make Ruby and Spotty more agitated as they had consumed nothing.

"Sam, feed the chickens!" I tried one last time.

This time, Ruby grabbed the bread from Sam's hand, and she and Spotty took off  with the latter trying to steal the bread from Ruby while Tallulah was off eating her chunk.

I don't think Sam has mastered the whole feeding the chickens thing.

Virginia River Smallmouth Bass Fishing: Rain and More Rain (Blog 148)

For over 10 years year, fellow school teachers Doak Harbison, Tim Wimer, and I have gone on an annual summertime river smallmouth float on a waterway in Virginia or West Virginia.  This year we tried to go on the Rappahannock River, but high water and rain constantly thwarted our plans for the Rap.

Finally, we decided to go close to home on the James in Botetourt County.  The weather looked perfect: only a 20% chance of rain on Friday afternoon and a rainless Saturday morning, but an afternoon replete with thunderstorms.  That forecast was acceptable because we planned to complete our trip before noon. Friday's fishing was fine (and the weather was beautiful as the picture below of Doak and Tim shows).

And we even experienced a pleasant evening around a campfire.

But such was not the case on Saturday morning.  As a light sleeper, I was awoken early by the patter of rain.  And soon afterwards the rain began to fall heavier and we had to end our outing.  There is nothing like breaking camp and becoming miserably wet - the mosquitoes seem to flourish around wet humans.  But such is life sometimes, it has been a summer of tomatoes afflicted with fungus and river fishing trips that never were or ended prematurely.

Making Wild Berry Jam (Blog 147)

Bruce has been picking berries every day….. starting with raspberries, a rare and precious fruit, then wineberries, and now on to blackberries.  I rarely pick, leaving the plowing through brush and brambles to him, but once the berries come inside the house I am on deck.

This week I made a batch of blackberry jam.  Boiling the jars to sterilize them, boiling the mashed berries with sugar and pectin to make the jam, boiling the water in the canner to process the jars……at times I was boiling as well. 

Canning brings to mind the memory of my mother working in the relative cool of the basement over an old gas stove, the best spot to do a hot job in the days before air conditioning.  Like she did, I wear an apron to protect my clothes and keep a tea towel to wipe the sweat from my face .

 But the final result is worth the effort.  Little jars of summer, jewel-colored, giving a happy “pop” as they cool from the water bath.  Little jars of joy

Of an Imperfect Daisy, Rabbits, and Coyotes (Blog 146)

I have been working on a magazine article on coyotes, which will be out sometime next year.  As part of the assignment, I have been trying to take pictures of some of the creatures that coyotes consume, which includes rabbits.  After all, what prey animal that exists doesn't eat Eastern cottontails.

Every morning I walk three miles after breakfast and often see bunnies along the rural road near our Botetourt County, Virginia home.  Finally, the thought dawned on me that I ought to take  my camera with a telephoto lens along on my morning jaunts.  Many, many mornings, the rabbits allow me to come quite close to them.

Predictably on the first morning that I toted my Nikon camera, all rabbits seen were at least 20 yards away and all bolted when I tried to move closer.  It was as if the D5100 pointed at them were some kind of doomsday weapon.

After several failed stalks, I gave up on the idea of capturing a cottontail on film - at least for that morning - and decided to see what else was about.  At last, I came across a common daisy, growing out of a thin layer of dirt intermixed with roadside gravel.

The daisy was rather shriveled in appearance, maybe because of its hardscrabble circumstances and its form was not typical as its petals were droopy.  But in this common plant's ability to eke out a precarious existence there on the roadside made it a noble photo opportunity.  There is often beauty in the smallest things.

A Memorable July 4th at Home (Blog 145)

Yesterday, Elaine and I awoke to find that our basement had flooded and that our chicken run was on the verge of collapse - the torrential rains from the past few days playing a part.  Elaine spent much of the day vacuuming water from the downstairs while I had a friend come over to study about what to do with the run.

After I worked on two magazine articles, I went gathering wineberries for two hours and ended up picking a quart, which we froze for the winter.  If I can average gathering a quart of wineberries a day for the next fortnight, then do the same with blackberries for the following two weeks, we should have enough in the freezer for future pies and cobblers.  Of course, some of the berries will be made into jam.

The highlight of the day was going to our daughter Sarah's and her husband David's house for dinner. Our one-year-old grandson Sam is now walking.  It is fascinating to watch him follow our conversations now and to see him laugh when we laugh.  It is all part of learning how to be a social human.

Our chickens, despite their coup problems, even enjoyed the Independence Day celebration, as they were rewarded with a slab of watermelon.

Virginia's Wild Berry Season Begins (Blog 144)

For the past few days, I have been wandering our 38 acres in Botetourt County in search of the first wild berries of the season.  Elaine and I try to gather about 10 to 12 gallons of berries every year, and we are anxious to start our picking.

So far, only about three cups of raspberries have trickled in, but today I espied the first two ripe wineberries of the summer.  And I noted that the blackberries have started turning red from green.  Even a few dewberries have changed to red.

Picking wild berries is part of our quest to be as self-sufficient as possible.  Coupled with the deer and turkeys that I kill, what we grow in our garden, and the eggs our chickens produce, we do all right in this regard.

Right now, it is impossible to tell if we will be able to gather enough berries to supply all our jams, pies, and cobblers for the next year.  I also noted this morning that competition exists for our fruits. At one of my favorite wineberry patches, which lies adjacent to our food plot, a rather large creature had cut a huge swathe through the vines.  No doubt a black bear has found our patch.

Leader of the Flock...Boss or Johnny? (Blog 143)

Our heritage Rhode Island Reds are now 11 weeks old, and in not too many more weeks, our two cockerels, Boss and Johnny, will be crowing.  Elaine has made it abundantly clear that she does not care for Boss, who stands beak and head taller than Johnny and much more than that over the three hens.

Elaine calls Boss a "bully" for his constant badgering of Johnny and, frankly to a lesser extent, every other member of our flock of five.  I don't imagine that Boss will ever stop bullying Johnny, but I do believe he will become more solicitous of the hen trio, as they and he mature.

I am not sure at which age a cockerel will start sharing his food with the hens, as our late industrial R.I.R rooster Little Jerry was very attentive to the hens and as soon as he would come across any morsel would sound the food call.  But I can't remember at what age he began to do that.

The picture below shows Boss on the far left.  Johnny is completely out of the picture (the birds are in our chicken tractor) as he spends a great deal of his time avoiding Boss.  In any event, I want to keep both Boss and Johnny, but the time may come when Johnny is kept in a separate enclosure.

Elaine Names the New Chickens (Blog 142)

Well, Elaine has officially named the five heritage Rhode Island Red chicks that we ordered from California.  The two cockerels have been dubbed Boss (for obvious reasons) and Johnny (after the main male character in Dirty Dancing.  Boss is currently riding roughshod over Johnny and won't let the latter move about without giving him periodic angry stares and the random chest bump.

Two of the pullets have been named Sweetie Pie and Baby (as nobody puts Baby in the corner, again from Dirty Dancing). Sweetie Pie is the prettiest of the young females.  She has a white face, whereas everyone else features a brown one.  It will be interesting to see if her face remains that pale.

The fifth chicken Elaine has given the appellation Tootsie, from the Dustin Hoffman character in the movie.  Brice Yocum, whom we bought the chicks from, told us he was unsure of the sex of this bird (they were eight weeks old when shipped, now they are  10 weeks old).  Elaine's reasoning was that since Tootsie could be either male or female, Tootsie would be a nice safe name.

However, I am now about 80% sure that Tootsie is a female.  Boss has shown no interest in thrashing Tootsie, which is another clue that she might be a female.

Heritage Rhode Island Red Chicks Growing Restive (Blog 141)

We have now had our five heritage Rhode Island Red chicks (they were 8 1/2 weeks old when they arrived) for nine days and they are growing quite restless.  During the day, we keep them outside in our chicken tractor as much as is possible, but in the evening they come inside and spend the night in a fenced end enclosure in our basement.

Our three production Reds (Ruby, Little Spotty, and Tallulah) were not kind to the five birds when they arrived. Ruby, in fact, pulled a mass of feathers from the newcomer we have named Sweetie Pie.  We were fearful that Ruby would have killed the smaller members of the quintet if we had left the new flock in the chicken run.

Yet this morning it is obvious that the heritage flock cannot remain inside much longer.  When we came downstairs to check on them, four of the five were perched on their fence.  It seems it will be only a matter of time before they decide to "bust out" of their enclosure permanently and wander around the basement.

What to do, what to do.

Heritage Rhode Island Red Chicks Arrive (Blog 140)

Yesterday began Elaine's and my foray into raising heritage Rhode Island Red chickens.  Brice Yocum, who operates Sunbird Farms in California, shipped us five eight-week-old birds which arrived in much confusion.  Brice shipped them overnight on Tuesday, but the quintet did not arrive on Wednesday or Thursday morning.

When we began to fear for the birds' survival, as they were traveling from California to Botetourt County, Virginia, Elaine received a call from the Troutville Post Office that they had arrived and needed to be picked up by noon.

Once here, though, the youngsters seemed none the worse for their cross country junket, and after I put them in the chicken tractor, the chicks began busily foraging. Our daughter Sarah and grandson Sam also came over to see the newcomers. The next problem was introducing them to our two-year-old chickens: Ruby, Little Spotty, Tallulah, and Dot.

Predictably, Ruby, our alpha female, erupted in loud squawking and bit a chunk of feathers out of one of the chicks.  Dot, who often pecks us, attacked one of the chicks and was about to do so to another one.  But Dot had picked on the largest of the chicks, which I already had identified as the alpha male of the two young roosters that arrived.

The cockerel stood his ground at Dot's advance, flared his wings to make himself look bigger, and, to my great interest, Dot quickly backed down.  This cockerel clearly has potential as a future flock leader.

First Strawberries of the Season (Blog 139)

This Saturday, Elaine and I spent the morning performing chores that I had neglected because of my turkey hunting trips in Virginia, West Virginia, and Tennessee.  We put new mats in the hen house, planted sweet potatoes and chives, and I swept out the wood chips and straw that had accumulated in the garage.

But the most pleasurable thing I did was gather the first strawberries of the season from our garden.  As always, I brought the berries to Elaine and told them they were all for her.  Typically, given how sweet she is, Elaine offered to let me have them all or at least to share them.  But the first strawberries of the season should always go to someone who is my best friend/girlfriend/helpmate/wife.

We have a lot of projects to accomplish this Memorial Day Weekend, as I don't return to teaching school until Tuesday.  We are going to gather up leaves from our woods and dump a huge pile in the chicken run.  I am betting the birds will be thrilled to explore this gift to them.

Then I have to do some wood cutting, as several more dead or dying trees on our 38 acres need to be cut, and they are just the right size for firewood.  But the most wonderful part of the holiday is spending lots of time with Elaine.

Eating Locally (Blog 138)

Yesterday for dinner, Elaine and I sat down for a meal where most of what we ate came from local food sources.  The entrée was venison burger, which came from a deer that I killed on a farm 4.1 miles from our house.  Topping our burgers were onions from our garden.

Our green vegetable was asparagus that I picked a few minutes before from our backyard garden.  Elaine sautéed the asparagus in olive oil.  Also from our garden were some chives that were harvested at the same time the onions and asparagus were.  The chives went on our baked potatoes.

Of course, it is too soon for potatoes from any garden in Southwest Virginia where we live, and our whole wheat bread didn't come from our land, either.  But all in all, I think the meal was a good example of leaving a small carbon footprint.  The only downside was that we were too full to have some blackberry jam (made from blackberries I picked behind our house last July) slathered on toast.

West Virginia Turkey Hunting in the Rain (Blog 137)

After finishing up my turkey hunting in Virginia last week, I turned to spring gobbler hunting in West Virginia this week, taking a half day off school as part of our personal leave program on Friday and spending all morning in the woods on Saturday.

Friday, I called two different gobblers in but did not see either one of them - not surprising given the mountainous terrain I was hunting in the Mountain State.  Saturday was a miserable one, spent on a cold, breezy, rainy mountaintop.

Around 8:30, I heard a hen yelp and several minutes later two hens meandered in.  Unfortunately, no gobbler was in tow, so the females left the way they came after taking a look around and not seeing the fellow hen (me) that had called to them.

I knew the conditions would be miserable, but I enjoy spring gobbler hunting so much that I went anyway.  Over the years, I have killed very few spring gobblers when precipitation was taking place, but the more I dogo in the rain, the more I am beginning to believe that precipitation is largely irrelevant to turkeys.

The exception would be when a heavy rain is falling.  I have never seen any gobblers when that was taking place, only a few bedraggled hens.

I will be able to take one more vacation day from school and one more Saturday is left in West Virginia's season if I want to punch a tag as the coming week is the last one in the season.

Success in the Virginia Spring Gobbler Woods -Finally (Blog 136)

I have failed to punch that third and final tag all sorts of ways this spring in Virginia's fields and forests.  I have moved at the wrong time, not moved at the right time, set up too far away and too close to birds.

But Wednesday morning things finally broke my way.  I had set up a good hour before sunrise near a known roosting area.  I had anticipated that the turkeys would be well up the hill some 75 to 100 yards away from me and that they would make their way toward me as I called.  I had chosen this particular spot because it is near a field that these turkeys like to feed in early in the morning.

However, my distance estimation was totally incorrect.  A gang of four to six jakes were roosted just 25 yards from my position.  They never made a peep all morning, just flying down right in front of me to my surprise.  I shot the closest one and my Virginia season was over, except for taking a friend afield and hopefully my son Mark and son-in-law David.

Meanwhile I have gone to West Virginia, coming agonizingly close to killing a bird on Thursday when I  took a half day of vacation time from school.  Saturday, I was never in the game as the wind howled and the toms gobbled only on the roost.

I have two Saturdays and a 1 1/2 days left of school vacationto take a West Virginia bird.  Will I have enough time?

Frustrating Virginia Spring Gobbler Season Continues (Blog 135)

Well, since my report last Saturday on my abysmal Virginia spring gobbler season, things have only grown worse.  The low point for the week would have to have been Wednesday when I sat down in the dark under a flock of gobblers.  They all flew down into a field, but by the time it was light enough for me to see that they were toms, they were on to the blob - me - that had been sitting among them.  As far as I could tell, the entire assemblage consisted of jakes.

Today, Saturday, I worked one gobbler for nearly four hours.  But, in reality, what I thought was one mature gobbler turned out to be four jakes, one of whom sounded like a mature bird.  About 11:15, I finally called them in, but they started fighting among themselves and stopped their progress toward me.

Adding to the frustration was the fact that I put my scoped shotgun on several of them, but they would not stand still - except for one lucky jake who paused behind a deadfall.  It was his lucky day - but not mine.

There's always the next outing, which will be Monday before school.  Things can't go on like this...or can they?

The 12:04 Gobble (Blog 134)

I have endured a very rough, frustrating start to Virginia's spring gobbler season, and today, the second Saturday of the season, was typical of how the first week has gone.  In Virginia, we have to be out of the woods at noon, and I arrived at my vehicle right on schedule.

While I was putting my things away, a gobbler sounded off right behind the car.  Then he erupted again a few seconds later.  Not wanting for the tom to come running toward my car, as he seemed bent on doing, I hurriedly departed.

The irony was that those gobbles were the only two I heard the entire day.  I was afield on a Franklin County farm that is my favorite place to turkey hunt; yet not one tom uttered a peep all day during legal hours.

I have been rained on the past week, endured two hot, muggy mornings and a cold, windy one this morning.  I  called in a number of toms on Friday, but they all were directly behind me.

The good news is that I will be afield on Monday before school.  And hope is something I always have.

Opening Day of Virginia's Spring Gobbler Season (Blog 133)

I began turkey hunting in 1986 and over the years, I have rarely missed an opening day of Virginia's spring gobbler season...and this year was no exception.  And over the years, I have only killed a gobbler on three opening days, roughly one per decade...and this year was no exception.

From the beginning, nothing went right.  I had a poor night's sleep as on Tuesday I had to resume taking medicine for my Lyme Disease.  Friday night, the medicine "kicked in," giving me stomach cramps for much of the night.  When I arrived at the Franklin County farm, I headed for a spot where I killed a tom in late April last year.  But some 100 yards from the car, I remembered that I had left my camo gloves in the vehicle.

After retrieving the gloves, I headed for my spot, and the morning started well with four toms gobbling on the roost.  But about the time they flew down, both of my legs started cramping and I was unable to keep my knees up with my shotgun resting on them.  After a long and frustrating morning and with my legs still cramping, I headed back to the vehicle so as to be out of the woods at noon, as is required in the Old Dominion.

I placed my gun, seat cushion, daypack, and car keys in the back seat...then found that the car had "locked itself," which resulted in a half-mile walk to the farmer's house.  Fortunately, I had left the driver's side window cracked open, so an acquaintance was able to jigger the lock to open by using a clothes hanger.

I am due to kill another gobbler on opening day of Virginia's season around the year 2020.

Spring Gobbler Hunting, Bird Watching, and Snow Falling (Blog 132)

Last week, I wrote about the last snow of winter, which I surely thought it was, but as I write this from Elaine's and my home in Botetourt County, Virginia, snow is falling...on April 4.  I normally go to Tennessee to spring gobbler hunt and this year I did the same the first three days of that state's season.

Like here in Virginia, the weather in Northeast Tennessee was very cold, but fortunately, thanks to my good friend Larry Proffitt's turkey hunting skills, I was able to kill a nice gobbler on opening day of the season.  But Sunday was cold and rainy and Monday was cold and windy.  The most interesting thing that happened on the trip was Larry and I seeing four albino turkey hens - a first for me.  They were all in the same flock and with a bearded hen.  What an interesting genetic study this particular flock would make.

Since coming back home, I have spent a great deal of time bird watching.  This morning, I thrilled to the dulcet sounds of a hermit thrush and observed such interesting birds as golden crowned kinglets, plus observed five black vultures perched in a sycamore tree next to our house.  Nothing had died, or nothing that I could see or smell, but it's never a pleasant thing to come out of your house in the morning and seeing black vultures waiting expectantly.

Snow, albino hens, and hermit thrushes...interesting things always happening in the outdoors.

Chickens and the Last Snow of Winter (Blog 131)

This past Sunday, Elaine and I spent much of the afternoon, trying to keep the netting covering our chicken run from collapsing.  For the third time this winter, a heavy snow fell, collecting on the netting and weighing it down.

The first two times this happened, the netting collapsed and consequently caused the post holding our solar power unit to fall as well.  It was a miserable experience for Elaine and me to slog about in the snow, trying to right the fence, repair the netting, and replace the netting in a number of places. The whole process was upsetting to our four-hen-flock as well, as egg production was negatively impacted.

So on Sunday, once every hour either Elaine or I would go to the chicken run and gently shake the snow off the netting.  Although some holes in this defense web did occur, when Monday morning arrived the netting was still in place and the chickens had been protected from airborne predators.

In about a month hopefully, our heritage Rhode Island Red chicks will arrive.  We can hardly wait to begin the process of raising them.

Building a Turkey Blind, Planting Onions, Watching the Tarheels (Blog 130)

This Saturday morning, I mapped out my weekend.  The first thing on my agenda (which I have already accomplished, was to set up the framework for a turkey blind.  Behind Elaine's and my Botetourt County home, a path intersects with our seeded logging road - and that is where I positioned several evergreens this morning.  Later, I will lay some other limbs and boughs there to finish the subterfuge.

After I finish writing this blog, I will plant 80 white onion sets in the garden.  I plan on letting our chickens out in the garden, so that they can swarm off the earthworms that no doubt will be displaced.  Interestingly, of our four hens, Ruby is the only one that is a fanatic worm eater.  The other ladies will take a worm if they have the chance, but Ruby will specifically target worms as she is sifting through litter.

When the onions have been planted and Elaine's and my lunch of venison burgers has been consumed, I will work on some magazine assignments that I have, then watch some games in the NCAA tournament.  But what I am really waiting for is the start of North Carolina's basketball game against Kansas on Sunday.  As a Tarheel fan of now 46 years, I am fearful of the Jayhawks, but we will see how things develop.

Not an overly exciting weekend, but a nice one out in the country.

Waiting for the First Gobble of the Spring (Blog 129)

Every morning when I go out to let our Rhode Island Reds out of their hen house, I pause to listen for that first gobble of the spring.  Surprisingly, I have not yet heard a gobbler sound off behind our Botetourt County, Virginia home.

I am not at all concerned, though.  There is a rhythm to the natural world and its creatures, and if there is anything I have learned from a lifetime spent outdoors, it is that wild animals are on their own time and not ours.

In the nearly 25 years that Elaine and I have lived here, we have heard turkey gobblers sound off on cold January days, hot July 4 afternoons, during springtime thunderstorms, and early fall mornings.  Why do turkeys - and other creatures - do what they do? Who knows... such is the mystery of life.

Interestingly, the hens behind our house have been quite boisterous at times, as well as being quite numerous.  Perhaps the toms have not been talking because there is no need to.  Again, I don't know.

But I do know that I will be hunting in Tennessee, Virginia, and West Virginia this spring, and this spring will be like every other spring season - unique unto itself.

Going Fishing for River Smallmouths (Blog 128)

Tomorrow, Sunday, will be my first river smallmouth fishing trip of the year.  With fishing shows to attend, school to teach, wood cutting to accomplish, small game animals to pursue, and magazine articles to write, I have not been able to seek out my favorite game fish until tomorrow.

Today, I have spent a great deal of time looking over my various tackle boxes and placing lures in my small hard plastic boxes - my go fishing boxes as opposed to my storage boxes. I also have put fresh line on the two spinning rods and one baitcaster that I plan on bringing tomorrow.

I will be going fishing with Britt Stoudenmire of the New River Outdoor Company.  Britt and I usually go river fishing early every March, and we usually, thanks to Britt's uncanny ability to locate quality smallmouths, do quite well.  I hope this March's outing will be similarly successful.

Mentally as I write, I am going over in my mind what my game plan will be for tomorrow.  I am hoping, given the warm weather, that I will primarily be able to toss hard plastic jerkbaits, which I am very comfortable doing this time of year or perhaps even crankbaits, which is another comfort bait for me.

Hopefully, the smallies will not be tight to the bottom, where I will be forced to inch jig and soft plastic chunks along - not one of my strong points.  Can't wait to see what tomorrow will bring.

Timber Stand Improvement (Blog 127)

This Saturday morning friend Bob Boeren came over to help me with some Timber Stand Improvement projects.  Bob, who has recently started a business, Ranger Bob's Forestry Services, (www.rangerbobsforest.webs.com) has long been a big help to me with habitat improvement projects.

This year, since I am recovering from Lyme Disease, I want to finish all my habitat projects before the end of March, since it was last April when I was bitten by a tick that caused me to come down with the affliction.  Of course, I will be spring gobbler hunting in Virginia, West Virginia, and Tennessee, but I do want to limit my time afield as much as possible when the ticks become active.

Anyway, the best project that Bob and I completed was daylighting a white oak that was surrounded by red cedars.  Bob said the oak would likely flourish now and might even produce acorns within a decade.  That sounds like a long time, but in the long lifespan of a white oak, that is no time at all.

Bob also showed me how to better cut through downed logs and even helped with a magazine article I am doing on bowhunting for deer.  All in all, it was a very productive day.

Saturday Spent at Fishersville Show (Blog 126)

Today, I drove to Fishersville, Virginia  for the Western Virginia Sports Show held annually in February at Expoland.  For the September issue of Virginia Game & Fish every year, I profile four of the hunters who entered trophy bucks.  

It is fascinating interviewing these fortunate and talented individuals and learning, so to speak, the stories behind the stories.  Another great thing about the show is that I am able to meet guides, outfitters, and folks in the fishing and hunting business in the Mid-Atlantic region and beyond.     

I also am able to touch base with friends in the outdoors business, as today, for example, I was able to talk with people such as Jim Clay, Sherry Crumley, and Dennis Campbell.  I also talked to some outfitters that I hope to go fishing and hunting with in the future.

I can't reveal here the stories behind the stories on those trophy bucks, of course, because that article will go in a magazine, but I can state that visiting the Western Virginia Sportshow is a great way to spend a winter day.

Cutting Wood on a Saturday, Part II (Blog 125)

Today, Saturday, I continued to work on providing our firewood needs and in freeing up some hard mast trees.  Soon, March will arrive and my Saturdays will be filled with river smallmouth trips and some native brook trout fishing, but, for now, I want to finish some timber cutting chores.

The first task was to cut up an ash that crashed into a  ladder stand several years ago.  The wood has seasoned nicely, though the stand has long since made its way to a recycling bin.  After that, I cut up a downed oak and a fallen ironwood tree.  Ironwood must be the hardest wood I have ever tried to saw through.

While toting the wood back to Elaine's and my house, I spotted a small oak that I had never noticed before.  Four small red cedars and two Virginia pines encircled the four-foot-tall oak, so I felled them all in order to give the young oak a real chance to grow and hopefully thrive.  I just really enjoy releasing a tree so that it can perhaps reach its potential.

After that it was time to babysit my grandson and to watch North Carolina host UVA - which resulted in a Tarheel victory.  Nothing momentous happened today, but it was surely a great way to spend a Saturday.

Cutting Wood on a Saturday (Blog 124)

Saturday afternoon, my beloved North Carolina Tarheels were being blown out of a game against Miami, and I must confess that I turned off the game part way through the second half and began early what Elaine's and my scheduled Saturday chore was...cutting firewood.

I used to despise winter, especially after the late muzzleloader and squirrel seasons ended.  But now, I truly enjoy this time of year.  I like going behind our house and cutting up for firewood hardwoods that have fallen.  Today, Elaine and I worked on a fallen ash and a downed oak, plus a black walnut that had been damaged during the high winds that took place last June.

The downed oak was easily turned into firewood and is already stacked in our garage.  The ash was much larger, so it will be split Sunday afternoon.  The black walnut is too green for firewood this season but will serve nicely next year.

Another activity that we enjoy doing is looking for opportunities to do some Timber Stand Improvement.  Two Virginia pines that are crowding a quartet of oaks are just begging to be cut, and that deed is on our list of future Saturday activities.  It was definitely good to go into the woods after a disappointing UNC loss today.

Heritage Rhode Island Red Chicks? (Blog 123)

Currently, Elaine and I are in the midst of a debate on whether we will try to purchase chicks to raise this spring.  I told Elaine that the final decision is hers because given that I am away teaching school Monday through Friday, she will be the primary caretaker.

Right now, Elaine is leaning toward us purchasing some heritage Rhode Island Reds.  In May of 2011, we bought 10 "industrial" RIR chicks.  We only have two birds left from that purchase (Ruby and Little Spotty Hen) as two chicks died not long after the purchase and the other six were roosters.
We bought two young hens in August of that year (they were crosses between Rhode Island Reds and Whites).

The quartet has done a great job of producing eggs up until the last three months or so.  But the production that was once three or four eggs per day has dropped to only six or seven eggs a week.  Part of the decline has been because our hens are moulting, but part also is that egg production decreases once hens reach two years or so.

We have always been interested in "heritage or traditional" apples, so we thought that we would like to try raising heritage RIRs.  The problem is that we don't know where to buy heritage chicks.  If anyone can help with this, we would appreciate that individual e-mailing us or leaving a comment.

Chickens and Snow (Blog 122)

We have experienced two snowfalls in Botetourt County over the course of the past week or so, and the precipitation has been very stressful for our quartet of hens.  The first snow was the most traumatic as about three inches of very wet slush fell which caused the netting over the run to collapse.

The collapse of the netting caused the post where the solar unit is located to crumple, which, in turn, caused the solar unit, which protects the perimeter through the means of two wires, to fall to the ground.  The falling of that post caused the gate to the run to not shut correctly.

So Elaine and I after dark that snowy day struggled to reset the solar unit post and to fix the gate to the run.  When we peaked inside the hen house, we only saw three of the girls with Little Spotty Hen no where to be found.  We feared that she had been injured or even killed by all the "collapsing" that was going on.

Finally, Elaine found Spotty under the hen house.  The next day she was limping, so indeed she may have been injured.

Yet another snowfall took place this Friday with the hens spending much of the day either in their house or under it.  It is very clear that our Rhode Island Reds do not like snow.

The Chicken that Won't Go to Bed (Blog 121)

In Elaine's and my fascinating foray into rearing chickens, another aspect of chicken behavior has manifested itself.  My job is to let our flock out of the hen house in the morning while Elaine's is to put the gang to bed in the evening by making sure all four hens are ensconced in their abode.

But for the past six weeks or so, Dot, who ranks last in the pecking order, has refused to go to bed no matter how late the hour.  Elaine has become increasingly frustrated by Dot's obstinacy, so I have been more and more taking on the evening chore.

This is how things typically unfold in the evening.  Ruby, our alpha hen, goes to roost in the house a good three minutes before any other hen.  Little Spotty, who ranks third, enters next and immediately pitches up next to Ruby.

Three or four minutes more elapse, then Tallulah, second in the pecking order, goes into the house.  It is at that time that Dot goes to the far end of run and awaits at the door.  Elaine refuses to pick up Dot and place her in the house.  And then the two of them engage in a battle of wills concerning which will do something next.  Often the two of them are out there until after dark.

Friend J.J. Alderson who lives a few miles from us says that she has a half dozen or so chickens that likewise refuse to go into their house.  Her misbehaving flock flies up to a table outside the Alderson house and wait for J.J. to see to their bedtime needs.

I won't participate in Dot's stalling tactics (who knows what is going on in the mind of a chicken anyway), scooping her up when I enter the run and placing her on the gangplank leading into the house.  Dot always goes straight in when I do that.

I was wondering if other chicken owners have experienced this behavior and if they could e-mail Elaine and me about their experiences or perhaps post comments here?

Bunnies and Bushytails Behind the House (Blog 120)

With Virginia's long deer season over, I can now enjoy some of the most relaxing hunting possible - pursuing rabbits and squirrels behind our Botetourt County, Virginia home.  Late in the afternoon today, I am going to take a walk on the seeded logging road that runs throughout our 38 acres and visit brier patches, clearcuts, and brush piles for bunnies and hardwood hollows and pine glades for bushytails.

Few pleasures in life are as soothing as being able to walk out your back door and go hunting and fishing.  When Elaine and I were considering whether to buy this land in 1988, I told her how meaningful and special it would be to me to own it.  Of course, the land was expensive, like just about any property, but she was sweet  to let me have it.

In the 25 years we have owned the land and the 24 that we have lived on it, I have made numerous habitat improvements, thinning trees so that the survivors could produce more mast, having clearcuts done to benefit songbirds and game animals, creating a food plot, and planting oaks and white pines. In January and February, I have planned more Timber Stand Improvement projects.

So today around 4:00, I am going to walk out my back door and take that walk.  Whether I bring home any game or not is irrelevant- the joy of being outside, as always, will be paramount.

Virginia Deer Season Ends (Blog 119)

As I write this, it is 4:40 A.M., and I am preparing to take my son and son-in-law deer hunting in Craig County, Virginia. Today is the last day of the late muzzleloader season.  After killing a deer on Monday, I am satisfied with the amount of venison in Elaine's and my freezer, so I won't be carrying a gun.

The temperature, according to www.weather.com, will be around 10 degrees in the mountains of Craig this morning, and I am not looking forward to venturing out in the frigid air.  Though we will be dressing as warmly as possible,  I wonder how long we will last out in the elements before the car heater beckons.  Making things worse is the fact that the wind is howling.

I started deer hunting on Labor Day Saturday, participating in Roanoke County's first urban archery season.  I was aloft in a tree stand about 30 minutes before sunrise, and the temperature was about 65 degrees.  By the time I descended, the temp was around 80 degrees, and the mosquitoes had begun to eye my skin with increasing aggressiveness.  No need to worry about them today.

I am looking forward to going squirrel hunting on Saturdays in January.  One of the great joys in the sporting life is pursuing wintertime silvertails behind our Botetourt County home.  On a warm, say 40 degrees, Saturday afternoon, I like to sit under an oak tree, reading a book and periodically scanning the area for movement.  If I don't bring home any bushytails, no big deal.

How I Almost Met General Norman Schwarzkopf (Blog 118)

The recent death of General Norman Schwarzkopf made me recall how I almost met him but turned down the opportunity.  Several years after the Gulf War ended, I had a call early one September from a resort inviting me to come stay, free of charge and with my meals paid for as well, for a two-day sporting clays shoot with the general the very next week.

The resort's public relations person said that he "hoped" I would do a magazine article on the weekend, touting the resort's features, its excellent sporting clays course, and the resort's connection with the general.  From the start, I knew that the resort more than hoped I would do a story, the establishment was expecting  a major article in a national magazine.

I explained to the PR person that besides being an outdoor writer, I was also a high school English teacher and that school had just started for the year.  I said I would think about the offer and return the call in a few days.

There were all sorts of proverbial "red flags" tormenting me.  In the first place, I didn't feel comfortable going at all, knowing full well what the resort really wanted out of me - a profile in a major national magazine. Since the general was coming in less than a week, the resort's PR person had not given me much time to find an assignment.

Also, I had never been to a sporting clays course before, and this is no false modesty, I am a terrible wing shot for grouse and doves - as anyone who has ever bird hunted with me can attest.  The thought of standing next to this American hero and missing shot after shot was not a pleasant vision. My school system then had a policy that our two annual personal leave days could not be taken back and back and that was another complication.  And what if the resort's food and accommodations were lacking, how would the establishment have felt if I had written that?  Furthermore, I didn't know enough about sporting clays to even know if the course would be any good or not.

Finally, I decided to do what I felt was the right thing...to turn down the invitation, telling the PR person about my school's personal leave policy, which was a truthful statement on my part.

And so I didn't go to the event.  A few days later I told my principal about the invitation and he said that he would have arranged for the school policy to have been broken.  I have always regretted not meeting General Norman Schwarzkopf, but I have never regretted not going to the resort that time.

Chickens Hard at Work (Blog 117)

Our flock of four hens never ceases to amaze us, specifically the quartet's industriousness.  For example, Elaine and I never rake leaves, preferring to let them rot into the soil.  The one exception is the big piles that gather at our garage doors.  We typically rake those and deposit them into the woods.

However, several weeks ago, we decided to deposit the leaves in the chicken run, where our girls were delighted to constantly sift and scratch through them.  The two piles we placed there were soon "flattened out" and now shredded leaves are scattered throughout the run.  By spring, we will be able to gather up the leafy debris, mixed in with manure, and either put the mass into the compost bin or perhaps a corner of our fenced garden for further decomposition.

Ruby, Little Spotty (shown below at work scratching), Tallulah, and Dot are also doing a superior job at "tilling" our garden this winter, which lies adjacent to the chicken run. Already they have eradicated a particularly stubborn line of weeds at the upper end of the garden.  They have also thoroughly scratched the spaces where the tomato plants grew this past summer, no doubt consuming many harmful pests that otherwise would have overwintered and returned to plague our vegetables.

And, of course, there are the droppings from our hens.  Last fall, every time we cleaned the henhouse, we dumped the straw and droppings into the garden.  Later, I worked in the "litter" into the soil.  I am convinced this extra organic matter was a major reason why Elaine and I enjoyed the best garden we have had in many years.

This fall and winter, we have not even bothered to work in the litter.  We are letting the chickens do that - a task they seem to relish.

Venison Tenderloin and Wineberry Cobbler for Lunch (Blog 116)

It's a cold, rainy, dreary winter day in Botetourt, and Elaine and I have spent the day at home, mostly indoors.  It's the type of day to have meals made from food that we have killed, gathered, or raised during the year.

For example, for lunch our entree was venison tenderloin that came from a doe I killed on a Botetourt County cattle farm.  Our dessert was wineberry pie, which came from wineberries that we gathered behind our house this past June.

For dinner in a few hours, we will have omelets, made from eggs that our four-hen flock produced this month.  Today, we even put a "sunflower chain" out for the songbirds.  Saturday while I was deer hunting in Franklin County, I came across a recently harvested sunflower field.

I gathered a half dozen or so flower heads, and this afternoon Elaine strung them on a piece of twine to create a little wayside eatery for the tufted titmice, Carolina chickadees, and white-breasted nuthatches, among other avians, that will, no doubt, soon discover this little mini-restaurant for them.

Nothing of much import really happened today, but Elaine and I had a nice day in our country home.  Perhaps tonight, we will even play Scrabble.

Trapped in the Chicken Run (Blog 115)

Last week, I wrote about leaving hunting gear behind, my incompetence manifested itself in a new way this week on Friday.  I locked myself inside the chicken run.

Elaine and I split the duties regarding taking care of our chickens.  Usually, for example, it is my job to let our flock out of their henhouse in the morning, while she puts them to bed at night.  Friday evening Elaine was grilling venison burgers for dinner, so I volunteered to make sure that Ruby, Little Spotty Hen, Tallulah, and Dot were locked inside their house safely.

I accomplished that task satisfactorily.  But when I pushed on the chicken run door, it would not give.  After some struggling against the door, I belatedly decided to check on the lock.  Somehow the hook had fallen into the eye and "locked itself," leaving me trapped inside.  I began yelling for Elaine to come let me out, but I could hear the oven grill exhaust and she clearly could not detect my cries.

Our daughter Sarah, her husband David, and son Sam live across the hollow from us, but that is a good 125 yards away from us and its wintertime, so no windows are open.  Luckily, a neighbor across the road was outside and heard my pleas, so she called out if I needed help.  Too embarrassed to yell back what had happened, I merely shouted for her to call Elaine and ask her to come outside.

Predictably, Elaine laughed and teased me about my plight, and even went so far as to suggest that our hens probably wouldn't mind if I spent the night in the chicken abode. I also think she took a little longer than necessary to unlock the gate.  One of the reasons I love her so much is that she constantly teases me about my shortcomings, a number of which have been showing themselves lately.

Leaving Gear Behind in the Woods, Part II (Blog 114)

Several blogs ago, I wrote about my penchant for leaving gear behind while hunting.  Today, on the last day of the general firearms season West of the Blue Ridge in Virginia, I outdid myself.  My son Mark and I drove to an Alleghany County property where not only was the deer hunting wretched, but I also left my camera case and lunch box behind.

Now as a freelance writer/photographer, my most important gear item is my Nikon camera which is stored within a Pelican case.  For someone in my profession to leave such an important item behind is like a carpenter leaving his tool box behind or a fishermen forgetting to bring any fishing rods on a fishing trip.

Come to think of it, I once left my fishing rods behind.  Elaine and I had just been married for a few months and decided to go on a combination camping and fishing trip.  I left behind the fishing rods, tent, and several items which now escape me as some 34 1/2 years have passed.  To forget to remember to bring what are arguably the most important items on a combo fishing and camping trip (ie the rods and tent) is just unfathomable and wreaks of incompetence.

Elaine has just called the landowner and apologized for my snafu.  The aforementioned items are in the landowner's driveway.  Our son Mark will pick up the items one day this coming week at the landowner's place of business.  My long suffering sweetheart of a wife definitely has to have a great patience in dealing with me.

My Career as a Deer Hunting Guide (Blog 113)

I have experienced a very satisfying deer hunting season overall, so for the past week I have devoted myself to trying to help my son Mark and friend Doak Harbison kill a deer.  In short, my efforts at putting Mark and Doak on whitetails has been spectacularly incompetent.

Yesterday was typical of the week as a whole.  I took Mark afield to a Roanoke County woodlot where the landowner has complained about too many deer being present and where on seven previous trips this fall, I have seen deer on five of those visits and killed whitetails on two of them.

A cold front was beginning to pass through the area, so I told my son that he had a very good chance to experience success.  The result? We not only did not glimpse any whitetails but we also saw no game animals of any kind - not even a squirrel.  The big "thrill" was when I heard footsteps in the leaves behind a row of white pines.  I told Mark to prepare himself for a deer emerging from the evergreens, but what did come out was a feral house cat.

The day before we spend almost the entire outing at a Botetourt County farm where I have counted 45 deer sightings over the course of six previous trips, and where I have already killed three deer this fall, two of which were killed with a compound and a third with my Parker Thunderhawk crossbow.  Surely, a whitetail would come within gun range?

Nope, none did, although we did at least espy a few gray squirrels.

Mark can't go at all Monday through Friday because of his school schedule, so it is next Saturday or nothing for him.  I hope to put Doak on some deer after school this week.  Meanwhile, I am glad my job is not as a deer guide.

Chickens Hard At Work (Blog 112)

Ever year around this time, I put the "garden to bed," digging up the weeds and removing the dead vegetable vines and plants so that no disease or bugs will carry over to the next season.  However, Elaine and I have now raised chickens for 18 months, and we have found there is no need to do anything except remove the dead vines.

That's because our chickens are quite willing to do all the "ground" work for us.  Every day when I come home from school (on days I don't go hunting) the chickens spot me and raise a great hue and cry.  I know what they want - to be let out of their run and into either the garden or the yard.

Of the two destinations, our flock of four clearly prefers the garden.  They will even line up to enter the fenced in garden.  Once inside, Ruby, Little Spotty, Tallulah, and Dot immediately begin sifting through the debris, eating just about every insect they encounter and inspecting every little clod of earth.

Any kind of bug - almost - is fair game.  Interestingly, only Ruby seems to like earthworms, as I have seen her target those specifically, whereas the other three prefer beetles and grasshoppers.  All relish stinkbugs, no one seems to care for ants or sow bellies.  Indeed, it has been very disappointing to Elaine and me that our birds won't eat ants, as we have had carpenter ant problems for years.

But all in all, we will give our quartet an A-minus on their overall bug eating skills.

Saturday Hunting (Blog 111)

Over the years, I have kept detailed records of every deer and turkey I have ever killed, including the day of the week.  Today, Saturday, I just returned home from muzzleload hunting in Franklin County in the morning and Botetourt County in the evening.  And though does were legal quarry in both counties today, and I went to the farms that have been most productive over the past few years, I never saw a doe the entire day.

With the peak of the pre-rut going on right now, one would think I could manage to see at least one doe.  I did glimpse one deer, a nice, little six pointer that was probably 1 1/2 years old.  I had no intention of shooting him, so predictably he came within 10 yards of me before he became alarmed and then ran off only 40 yards.  The youngster then continued his mad search for a doe.  The little buck did not seem to have any more skill at finding a doe today than I did.

My Saturday deer hunting this year has, in a word, been horrible.  I have not killed a deer on this day and many of those outings have resulted in me not seeing any whitetails.  Conversely, my Monday through Wednesday hunting has been outstanding.

Of course, one thing that needs to be written is that I have hunted far less this year because of my Lyme Disease.  I just have not had the energy to go afield as often as in the past.  In January, I will go to my doctor for another round of blood tests.  I am hoping that I will receive a good report.

Thursday Evening Hunt Behind House (Blog 110)

One of the wonderful things about living in rural America, especially where Elaine and I do in Botetourt County, Virginia, is that I can go outside our back door and fish and hunt.  As I wrote about in an earlier blog, I have Lyme Disease and have hunted much less this fall because of the fatigue associated with LD.

But with the high winds that struck this area Monday through Wednesday, I did not do any hunting those days, so somewhat refreshed, I went bowhunting behind our house Thursday on our creek ridge.  The wind was still howling, but I wanted to enjoy the outdoors and had little expectation for success.

And that lack of confidence was justified as events transpired.  I saw three squirrels, one raccoon, and the deer that Elaine and I call Little Bucky.  He is a wimp of a 2 1/2-year-old buck with a disfigured side, making him a very distinct appearing five pointer.  Little Bucky wanders aimlessly much of the time and several people on our road have given me reports of seeing him.

At 6:35 P.M., I descended from my ladder stand, and stiff-legged from the cold and wind, I wended my way through the hollow to our house.  As I neared the garage door, I smelled welcoming wood smoke from our fire - certainly one of the most pleasurable smells to greet a cold bowhunter.

I think I won't hunt Friday after school and then go turkey hunting Saturday morning and deer hunting that evening, as Virginia's muzzleloader season begins that day.

Leaving Hunting Gear Behind in the Woods (Blog One-hundred nine

Both the fall turkey and bow seasons for deer are currently in here in Virginia, and Thursday I bowhunted after school in Botetourt County and today (Saturday) I drove to Franklin County for opening day of the fall season.  And in two days afield, I managed to lose two more gear items.

On Thursday, I misplaced my Quaker Boy gloves while I was field dressing a deer I had killed with my new Parker Thunderhawk crossbow.  It is my understanding that Quaker Boy no longer makes those gloves, which are the best I have ever used, and they were my next-to-last pair.  I returned to the site where I field dressed the deer on Thursday, and the gloves were nowhere to be found.

Today, I killed a turkey in Franklin and while rushing to the bird, I apparently knocked off my Hi-Viz Turkey Buster front sight  Although I searched for the sight for some 40 minutes, I never found it.  Now my Remington 1100 shotgun is out of order until I can order a new sight.

Two weeks ago, I lost one of my favorite turkey calls, a Perfection 3-D Omega diaphragm, last month I lost the bottom of my ThermaCell, and earlier this week I misplaced my glasses while target shooting with my Matthews Switchback.  Fortunately, I found the glasses a day later...right where I had left them on the sundeck, which is where I shoot from.

Of all the snafus on my part, losing the Quaker Boy gloves is the most exasperating.  I had left them in Craig County while hunting the previous Saturday, so I drove over there after school on Monday to retrieve them.  Then I lost the gloves again on Thursday, this time probably permanently.  My incompetence in keeping up with my hunting gear is really quite pathetic.

Story on Elaine and Casting for Recovery (Blog One-hundred-eight)

In the November/December issue of AMERICAN ANGLER, which has just come out, I have  the Waterlines column for that issue, "She Still Can't Cast." The editors gave the story a subhead of "A story of true love and trout fishing."

The story is about my wonderful wife Elaine, how we met, began dating, and fell in love, her battle with breast cancer, and how Casting for Recovery (CFR) helped her in the healing process.

It's hard to write about one's own writing, but, in all humility, I cannot write any better than this.  When I finished the story, I cried.  When AMERICAN ANGLER accepted the story and I told Elaine about it, she wanted to immediately read the story.  I told her she would have to wait until the story came out, which happened this week.

So when the magazine arrived on Tuesday, Elaine quickly read the story about her, and she too began crying and then said, "That was very sweet of you."

If you have a chance, pick up a copy of AMERICAN ANGLER, and if you are unfamiliar with CFR, please go to its website...www.castingforrecovery.org.  (Photo by Brad Marlow)

Bobcats and Mountain Lions (Blog One hundred-seven)

I just returned from a hunting trip to West Virginia where one of the high points was watching a bobcat hunting through a woodlot where I was aloft in a tree stand.  The wind was blowing in such a manner that the first 20 or so seconds that the cat was in view, it did not detect my presence.

But eventually it came across my scent, and the bobcat immediately made a U-turn and quickly departed from the area.  A few minutes later, a spike buck came through and, I believe, detected the scent of the bobcat and quickly fled.  All in all, it was a fascinating 10 minutes or so, as I observed the reactions of both a predator and a prey species when they winded something that they felt was dangerous to them.

The sighting of the bobcat made me think of a recent episode in my high school English classroom when a student asked if I thought that mountain lions lived in Virginia.  My answer was no and I explained why...that is, that no one has yet been able to confirm that wild mountain lions have become established in Virginia.

Many people who think they have spotted cougars actually have glimpsed bobcats, I believe.  Although, cougars are some five times the size of bobcats, people so very much want to confirm the presence of the big cats that they let that desire overwhelm their better judgement.  Not only is there a great size difference, but the mountain lion boasts a much longer tail than his smaller relative.  A bobcat's tail is just a little stub of thing.

Maybe one day, the mountain lion will become established in Virginia and West Virginia once again.  But as for now, county me as a skeptic.

Chickens in the Garden (Blog One-hundred six)

The last of the tomatoes have been picked and eaten, and now it's time to let our chickens do their work.  Elaine and I have been letting our four birds  through the garden gate to search for any pests that remain where our tomatoes, onions, squash, and zukes once grew.

And we have been very pleased with the labor of Ruby, Tallulah, Spotty, and Dot.  They have mowed down the weeds and we frequently see them scratching up some insect to consume.

Followers of our blogs may note the omission of Violet.  Last May, our late rooster Little Jerry crippled one of Violet's legs during his overzealous mating.  A number of times we removed Violet from the flock so that her leg could heal, but it never quite did.  Meanwhile, Violet plunged to the bottom of the pecking order because of her infirmity.

The first thing the other four hens would do, when they were let out of the coop, was to maul poor Violet.  Predictably, she took to remaining in the hen house or hiding under it, and she stopped laying eggs.

Finally after trying and failing to nurse her back to health for many weeks, we had to dispatch her last Sunday.  Her last gift to us was Sunday lunch and several lunches after that.

Deer Hunting Success At Last (Blog One hundred-five)

Wednesday I finally killed my first deer of the season, arrowing a fine mature doe right before the end of shooting light.  The blood trail was bountiful and short, and I had heard the whitetail fall earlier, so it was an easy matter to find her.

I didn't go Thursday and Friday, preferring to take Elaine out to dinner on Friday and spending Thursday cleaning up from the Wednesday hunt.  One of my long time deer hunting goals has been to kill a deer in Virginia and West Virginia on the same day, so I spent the morning in Roanoke County in the former and the afternoon in Monroe County in the  latter.

And struck out in both states, even though I had deer within 20 yards of me in both the Commonwealth and Mountain State.  In both cases, I was preparing to go to full draw when a trailing deer spotted me moving on the whitetail I was preparing to shoot.

The West Virginia trip was particularly upsetting because I had gone to full draw, the lead doe had moved behind a shrub and her head had already appeared around the other side.  I was waiting for her to take one more step when she turned around and bolted away - no doubt because the trailing doe had snorted and danced about at my movement.

In this heat, I am having a terrible time keeping the deer from winding me.  Comments on how to avoid that issue would be welcome.

Red-headed Woodpeckers and Bowhunting (Blog One-hundred four

Virginia's urban bowhunting season continues to be an abysmal experience for me.  I went out four evenings this week and saw a grand total of one doe - and she was 60 yards away and heading in the opposite direction.  If there are plenty of deer in Roanoke County, I surely have been unable to find them on the four properties I have visited.

My incompetence at finding whitetails aside, there are charms of the season.  One evening I watched a flock of night hawks "hawking" for insects.  It was the only time all year I have seen this species.

As great of an experience as that was, the highlight of my bowhunting and birding has been on a Roanoke County farm that possesses red-headed woodpeckers in great numbers.  I have been to two woodlots on the farm and both have healthy populations of this woodpecker, which is a threatened species in many states.

The red-headed woodpecker makes a very interesting sound, its "scream" is similar to that of the red-bellied, but the former's noise is higher pitched and not as loud.  On one outing, I watched two males fighting over turf while a third individual, presumably a female, watched nearby. Both males were shouting non-stop at the other.

I have been looking for my first kinglets of the season, but so far none have shown up, just like the deer.

Bowhunting Struggles (Blog One Hundred-three)

I continue to struggle during Virginia's urban archery season.  This morning (Saturday) I was on stand an hour before shooting light, hoping to make sure that I did not bump any deer coming to my Roanoke County stand.  I succeeded in that task and then spent the next hour in the dark not hearing any deer and the first five hours of daylight not seeing any.

I decided to go home for lunch and a nap and was back on stand shortly after 3:00 P.M. I had moved the stand about 10 yards and felt like I had make the logical decision as I was right where two travel lanes crossed with food along both of them.

However, the deer were not impressed with my logic and I spent the evening watching whitetail after whitetail pass by me, seven in all, just out of shooting range.  Finally at around 7:15, a doe and a fawn came within shooting range, I drew back, but could not release the arrow because it was simply too dark to attempt an ethical shot.

After the duo departed and I climbed down from my hang-on, I moved the stand to the tree where all the previous deer passed by.  I am hoping this little change will pay off on Wednesday when I return to the property.  I am very, very frustrated.

My Bowhunting Week (Blog One hundred-two)

It was not a good bowhunting week, continuing the unsuccessful start profiled in last week's commentary on opening day.  On Labor Day Monday, I went afield before dawn at a Roanoke County farm.  However after a buggy morning of multiple insect bites and no deer sighted, I retreated home.  Before leaving, I scouted the farm and could find no deer sign at all.  I won't be returning there this month.

On Wednesday evening, I finally saw my first deer of the season.  Around 7:30, just before shooting light would start to wane, a four pointer led four does and fawns toward my stand.  But at a distance of 60 yards, the wind changed, the buck detected my existence, and the entire quintet fled back the way it came.

Friday evening I tried again on the same farm as the Wednesday misadventure.  This time a mature doe led her two fawns toward my stand.  I drew back, feeling the doe would soon come within the 20 yard shooting range that I have.  However, for some inexplicable reason, my bow string chose that moment to come off, sending the arrow falling to the ground and the deer fleeing.  I have never had such a thing happen.

Right now as I write, the weather is rainy and breezy, and I am doubtful of being able to go hunting Saturday evening.  Next week has to be better.

Deer Season Begins (Blog One Hundred and One)

Today was the first day of deer season and the whole thing was rather surreal.  I have never hunted this early (today is September 1) except for a trip I took to the South Carolina Low Country in 1989 where the season begins in mid August.

But this year, Roanoke County has an urban archery season that began today.  I arose at 4:30, drove 20 or so miles from my Botetourt County home to the next county over, Roanoke, and climbed into a tree stand and affixed the safety harness.

At 6:30 A.M., I could glimpse a rabbit 35 yards from me and a few minutes later, squirrels started cutting on oak and hickory nuts.  But as the hours passed and the temperature continue to rise, the heat definitely became oppressive.  Meanwhile, no deer showed.

Finally at 9:50, I descended from the tree and walked over the Roanoke County suburban lot that I was afield on.  A series of houses, all on approximately five-acre lots, surrounded the property I was on and none of them had deer on them, or least seemed to have any from my vantage point.

By 10:30, I was on my way home, totally baffled about how to go about this suburban deer hunting exercise.  I will try again Monday, weather permitting.