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.

My 100th Blog (Blog One Hundred)

When I started writing a weekly blog nearly two years ago, I began numbering the entries, a habit I have  maintained.  Although I don't have anything earth shatteringly profound to comment on today as part of blog one hundred, I would like to return to a common theme on this site - my passion for the outdoors.

This morning when I took my daily walk of three miles, which is both great exercise and a source of daily renewal, I found, like most mornings, sublime pleasure in observing nature.  This morning, I let out the chickens before I left home, so dawn had already broken.  Still, I heard two screech owls taking the opportunity to utter their piercing screams at each other before going to roost for the day.

Next, I came across two wide-eyed fawns, which couldn't quite decide whether to stare at me, stomp one of their front feet at me, or flee.  Finally, their mother arrived and they followed her lead - they fled.

Another 80 yards or so of walking brought me to a field where 19 turkeys were searching for various insects and the odd wild seed or plant.  I noted two adult turkeys and 17 young, although it is becoming harder and harder to determine which flock member is a young bird and which is the flock hen.  Soon there will be no telling apart  by size.

I then flushed a dove off the road, reminding me that dove season will be here in a week and then heard several gray squirrels barking at each other.  In squirrel language, each was probably proclaiming that this particular stand of mockernut hickories was off limits to the other - a warning unlikely to be heeded.

When I arrived back home, it was time to work on a magazine article.  I would have loved to have lingered outside longer, this being a Saturday, but the Lyme disease that I am currently battling has stolen a lot of my energy.  Hopefully, I will be back to normal in a month or so.

Dealing with Lyme Disease (Blog Ninety-nine)

Thirty days ago I was diagnosed with Lyme Disease and would not wish this affliction on anyone.  My symptom was a tingling sensation in my left toes.  Three weeks later when my right toes started tingling, too, I decided it was time to visit my family physician.  A blood test was given and a week later the results were in that  I had tested positive.

The medicine I am on is doxycycline.  It is potent stuff and it makes me nauseous almost every time I take it.  To counter the nausea, I try to wake up in the middle of the night and take a pill, hopefully falling asleep before the nausea kicks in.  During the summer, I would take the pill around 1:00 P.M., then take a nap - again hoping to avoid the queasiness.

Another effect of being on this medication is that my doctor told me I should avoid sunlight.  This, of course, has ruined my summertime river smallmouth fishing.  But such is the nature of things and I just have to deal with the no fishing edict.

The tick bite that I believe gave me the disease took place in mid April while I was doing a magazine story in Augusta County, Virginia.  The day was a blustery, cold one, but I arrived home with two ticks on me, one of which was attached.  Of course, it is difficult to know for sure if that was the tick that was the cause for my ailment.

The only good thing to come from my illness is that I have been able to do a great deal of writing.  I finished my fifth book, which is on the South Branch of the Potomac and the upper Potomac, and it should hopefully be out early in 2013.  Since I couldn't go outside, I decided to make good use of my time.

Elaine and I always thoroughly check each other every time, truly every time, we come in from the outdoors.  Yet, doing so was not good enough to avoid my coming down with Lyme Disease.  As I have always thought and said, ticks are the creatures I fear most in the outdoors.

Chickens Love Whole Wheat Bagels (Blog Ninety-eight)

It's not good to keep secrets from your wife, but I must confess that I have not told Elaine why our five hens have enthusiastically followed me everywhere for the past week when I have let them out for their daily hour of free ranging about our yard.  Our 38-acre parcel is mostly wooded, and I have counted 13 different predators that frequent our land, so we only let out our hens when they can be supervised by us.

Our chickens are rarely ready go back to their run when their hour has passed - until I hit upon the idea of while they are out, periodically dropping whole wheat bagel bits on the ground.  There are certain foods that our quartet's members have a frenzied passion to consume.  Corn on the cob would be number one beyond a doubt, but one can not carry corn cobs in his pocket.

Whole wheat bagels rank second to corn, though (and fit much better in pockets) and whenever I give the food call, "lookie-lookie" and toss bagel bits on the ground, they all come running.

The other day (I know this is devious) I gave the food call, dropped the tidbits, the chickens came running, and then we all paraded by Elaine.  I bragged that the chickens were so obedient to me and why oh why could they not be so dutiful to her.

Elaine is puzzled by my suddenly being in such command of our birds.  However, I have a feeling that this will soon change.

Night Sounds (Blog Ninety-seven)

During the heat of the summer, and we've had a hot one here in Botetourt County, Virginia, I have taken to walking before sunrise, specifically the last hour before the sun starts to rise and I have to unlock the hen house to let the chickens into their run.  One of the enjoyable things about walking in the dark is listening to the night sounds.

For example, the 30 minutes before first light is a time when the last sounds of the night birds merge with the first ones of the diurnal ones.  Great-horned owls (shown below) are still making their haunting hoots and one morning, I heard two screech owls emitting their piercing whistles at each other.

Soon the cardinals chime in, as the redbird is an early riser if there ever was one.  Carolina wrens are often the next to make music, but the sound the male most often seems to make is the call note to his mate.  Soon she answers back with her "whirring" response.

Perhaps the most vocal bird, even with the advent of August, is the indigo bunting.  The male indigo belts out his explosion of notes as if he himself were about to explode.  How and why does he sing so loud and so often even during the heat of August?

But August is also a time when the dawn period is one of the quietest of the year.  Most birds have stopped singing now, mating and the rearing of young are both just about over.  And all too soon some species will even be starting to migrate, the barn and rough-winged swallows will be among the first to depart.  Meanwhile, I will enjoy the night sounds on my early, early ramblings.