Out-takes: Matthew 4:19

"And He saith unto them, Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men. Matthew 4:19 (KJV)

*Be sure to check out the surrounding verses.

Blind Ambition Part III

When I began writing this story my biggest fear was that there would be some who would look right past all the time, practice, and preparation that went into this hunting trip and think I was reckless or unaware of the dangers. I would encourage you to look at the other stories and pictures (Part I and Part II) to be reminded that we have been at this for a while. I have always been an outdoorsman. At the same time though part of the goal is to encourage those with disabilities to get outside and do what you love to do. Find out what makes you come alive and well…. do that!
We have hunted this same place in Alabama for three years. My band of brothers has been encouraging and helpful in finding my way around the farm. I have driven four wheelers, cooked bacon and eggs, and helped put a roof on a hay shed. We have many hunts under our belt together and are familiar with our surroundings. It is always a must to keep the safety of yourself and others a first priority. I have my own firearm and am comfortable with using it. Now I am familiar enough with the farm that I can get from field to field on my own. I have this map in my mind of where things and places are like an internal compass if you will. This story should include some humor. Remember we are all about hunting, eating, and sleeping, but there is some fun mixed in too. Like me being able to scare my friends in the dark because I don’t need a flashlight. Like my “friends” putting things on or in some cases taking things off my plate at dinnertime. Like somebody lying on my bed very quietly until I sit down to take my boots off and grabbing me. You have to be on guard with these guys.

Out-takes: Jeremiah 16:16

"Behold, I am going to send for many fishermen,” declares the LORD “and they will fish for them; and afterwards I will send for many hunters, and they will hunt them from every mountain and every hill and from the clefts of the rocks" Jeremiah 16:16 NASB

*Be sure to check out the surrounding verses for context.

First Turkey: Man What a Morning

On Friday morning I had planned to get up well before daylight and head over to a nearby farm that I have permission to hunt. As usual, I was running behind and hopped in my truck a little after 6:00am. In just a few minutes I was at the farm I hunt. Daylight had arrived and I began to wonder if I had missed my opportunity to see or hear a turkey. My conversation the night before with my wife was that I would love to harvest a turkey and be home before my boys went to school. My oldest son always wants to know if I see or got anything. As the season before ended he had hopes for me this season. Upon entering the opening to the first field, I called a couple of times with no answer. I eased on down the tree line to a break between fields and called once again. No answer. As I waited about fifteen minutes and called a couple of more I decided to head back to the truck and try a different spot. With my call, decoy, and gun I walked back to the truck imagining a gobbler in full strut. After driving several hundred yards to a different location I decided to shut off my engine prior to rounding the last curve before the area where I park. As I coasted about thirty yards out of a heavily wooded area to a small patch of woods, I could see into the field in front of me. Something caught my eye as I spotted movement around 175 yards from me on a knoll between the fields. The truck eased to a stop and I realized that this it was a turkey. The turkey turned and walked over the knoll in the opposite direction. Well again I thought if only I had been here sooner, maybe…… As soon as that thought passed through my mind, I could see the turkey was not completely out of site. I grabbed my Dad’s old Browning shotgun, three turkey load 2 ¾ shells, put on my gloves, put on my facemask, got settled and watched. There is an old path that is made from tractors and other vehicles that go in and out of the fields. The night before on Realtree Outdoors, David Blanton had used a road bed and a decoy to lure in a big gobbler. I remembered this and watched the make shift trail or road to see what would happen. I did not have time to put out the decoy so I was hoping he would walk the path. The turkey moved around a little bit and then began to move toward me. A few moments later he was coming straight to me. My heart was racing as I could hear another bird gobbling in the distance. As he moved closer I could make out a beard on this turkey. I never touched my call, I just sat and watched. In about five minutes the turkey was only thirty yards out and a little to my left. I shoot left handed and would have had to shift a little for the shot, so I just waited.

Out-take: Psalm 19:1-4

The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge. There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard. Their voice goes out into all the earth,their words to the ends of the world. Psalm 19:1-4 (NIV)

*Be sure to check out the rest of the chapter for context.

Blind Ambition Part II

Some of you may recall the article from last year detailing a quest for a friend to help a blind man harvest a deer. This is a follow up or progress report of sorts if you will. The friend is Rev. Rusty Asble. I am the blind man. We thought it would be interesting, and hopefully inspiring, to hear the story from another perspective. You may remember that the Lord laid this on Rusty’s heart first. This is why it is so important to keep in mind that often times God uses others to pull us out of darkness. Never under estimate the power of that first step of obedience. It could just change your life. And, God may use you to change someone else’s.
We returned to Alabama to the hunting cabin belonging to friends. After having to cancel our normal mid November trip I was excited to get to hunt again before the end of season. It was very stormy and warm on travel day. The next morning it had turned cold. For the next two days no one saw movement at all. We were to travel back home on Sunday after church services with our friends. So we knew Saturday evening hunting was our last chance this year. We used a ground blind, no pun intended, to hunt from. We were in a perfect setting with clear shooting lanes to the left and right and an open field directly in front of us. Over the last year Rusty, Emory, Paul, and John had successfully put an elaborate battery, monitor, and DVD system together to allow Rusty to see on screen what I normally would see through the scope. It is cumbersome for Rusty but it works.
Rusty and I had been in the blind since 2:30 and not seen even a squirrel. A young button buck entered the field and fed for an hour or so but we both decided not to shoot.
Just a few minutes before dark we decided to lift the gun and put the young deer in our sights to make ourselves feel better. At least we had seen a deer up close. Just then deer began pouring into the field from every direction. The buck had been our decoy. All of the sudden we had a choice. There was a bullhorn buck in the pack and the rest good-sized does. By this time it was too dark to use the DVD gizmo. Also we couldn’t use my gun because the laser is illegal in Alabama. With options disappearing fast Rusty said let’s try his gun. His rifle was a .243 with a scope like most “normal” hunters would use. We had briefly discussed this option earlier but I had never even held this gun. I raised the rifle and tilted the scope over to the right. Rusty with his left eye helped me get the buck in the crosshairs, which had now become an “X” because of the angle. A little left he said. A little more and when I say pull you go. By this time I couldn’t feel anything except my heart in my throat. He said pull and I did. In the excitement he ordered me to reload and handed me a shell. I had never loaded or fired this gun and couldn’t. I handed it to Rusty and it took him a second to realize it was his gun and he could reload. Then he said there’s something white out there. There’s a deer on the ground. There’s a deer on the ground. At 44 yrs. old and blind I had harvested my first deer at 154 yards. But it wasn’t the buck. As I shot the buck bent down to feed and I shot the dough standing right behind him. Oh well, they say the first is always the hardest and the most unusual. God is good. All the time! Because of that one step of obedience more good things, more ministry, more God things, have happened than can be measured.

Blind Ambition Pt.I

I heard it myself and I could not believe it was being said; “Your kidding me – right” or many times it was just silence and no response with a look of bewilderment. What am I talking about? Please bear with me while I try to explain.
Back in April of this year, I was heading back to my home in Tennessee from northern Alabama. As I was traveling along I noticed a “shooting house” off in a beautiful green field. Like any outdoorsmen, I began to daydream about sitting in that stand watching a beautiful, thick-necked buck walk from under a nearby persimmon tree.
This daydream went on for about 10 miles until a song came on the radio reminding me of a friend, Steve Morgan, who had recently become blind due to the onset of Multiple Sclerosis. I began to pray for Steve, his family, his abilities and his MS induced limitations. That’s when the Lord laid on my heart the desire to take Steve hunting. This would be no problem because I have guided clients as well as many friends and family members on outdoor excursions. I knew I could sit with him and relate what was happening by painting word pictures.
So I drove on, happy with myself, until I came to another, large food plot with a deer-stand tucked way back in the corner. Then the impression really hit me, “Don’t just take Steve to the deer-stand, but do all you can, to help Steve use his abilities to shoot and harvest a whitetail deer.” Just like you – my first thought was, “Lord, he’s blind. How is that possible?” His response was, “You figure that part out…”
So here we are. I began to pray and seek Christ’s guidance and human advice. I mentioned what Christ was leading me to do through some very close colleagues and mentors. But still I haven’t talked with Steve. I didn’t even know if he even liked the outdoors.
I let a couple months pass before I talked with Steve. Then one afternoon, at a Church function, we crossed paths. Being unsure how to ask I fumbled with the wording, finally blurting out, “Steve, do you like to hunt?” His look of surprise startled me but I proceeded to tell him what was on my mind. He called for his wife Cheri and asked me to share again. Her mouth dropped open leaving me a little unnerved. Steve explained that on the previous evening they were talking about how, because of his blindness, he was going to miss having outdoor experiences. It was the confirmation I was looking for. I knew, somehow, we were going to make this thing work.
So we embarked on the adventure. Of course the obvious obstacle was figuring out how a blind man can shoot a deer, something that many folks with sight have trouble doing. But there were many more questions than that. We were going to have to change our way of thinking, maybe even become a little non-traditional in our methodology. That led me to the doing some research on the internet, somehow stumbling upon Travis Noteboom of Crimson Trace Laser Grips. Travis had previously assisted two hunters with their quest to hunt again. So I contacted him and shared my story. Travis was unbelievably helpful in many areas but primarily regarding equipment. He made it possible for us to use a custom Crimson Trace laser grip placed on a 44 Magnum Stainless Ruger Super Redhawk revolver. WOW! What a gun. Accompanying the gun were a five boxes of COR-BON ammunition. Legends Outdoor Sports of Athens was most helpful in assisting with the required paperwork and transactions for the State.
Once the gun and ammunition were acquired, I knew a lot of practice was in order. I contacted Steve and shared that everything was complete and had a Church member assist us by accompanying us to Cleveland Pistol and Rifle Range.
With Steve being a knowledgeable, certified handgun user, we already had a head start but going at it “blind” was the new challenge. At the range, Steve familiarized himself with the gun and its components (chamber, barrel, trigger, hammer, ejectors, grip and laser) and ammunition. As we slowly shot the first round, I was amazed at how well he did. The fifth shot was half-an-inch below the bulls’ eye at 25 yards. As we continued to shoot we began to face some reality scenarios. The first was with traditional hearing protection, a pair of silencing muffs, Steve lost another sense…his hearing. He turned to me and shared that he was becoming nervous due to loosing this feeling. So at this point he had to take the hearing protection off and hesitantly we continued. The second, as we began to pattern a great pattern of shots, it began to surface that they were dipping down and to the right consistently. Once we figured out the problem we proceeded to consistently hitting out target.
How did we do it? I sat behind Steve, he lit the target with the laser and vocally directed him to the bulls eye and pull. The shot would ring out.
On November 16 we headed to Alabama for an introductory opportunity of harvesting a deer. In dealing with Alabama State Wildlife laws they do not allow lasers for hunting. So we had to improvise as nanny-cam/scope situation. Although we shot twice we were unsuccessful in our quest for the harvest. However, much was gained in the learning process of acclimating to the deer-stand, communicating shot placement and just plain remaining calm when the moment of truth happen (Authors Note: I was bent out of my frame with excitement with the first shot was taken…thus the remaining calm statement.)
Our season is not over with and we have just begun. Keep us in your prayers as we make this a possible realization.

“We live by faith and not by sight” – 2 Cor.5:7

Two Promises: An OBX Adventure

On our drive to the beach, that early November morning, my friend and fishing mentor, Dick,made me two promises: One, I would catch a lot of fish and, two, I would catch a big fish. After a couple hours in the truck, most of which was spent fighting Dick’s lab, Ernie, for the front seat, the terrain began to flatten and I could tell we were getting closer to our destination, the Outer Banks. My adrenaline began to flow as my excitement grew. Little did I know how soon the fun would begin.
Crossing the Hebert C Bonner Bridge, our discussion turned to acquiring bait and I quickly spotted a large crowd of people. As it turns out they were fishing along a rock jetty and each person was catching fish on nearly every cast. We were good on time so we decided to check out the fun. After rigging a couple rods, Dick and I began casting our lines. An immediate hookup proved this to be a prudent stop and after an hour or so we had caught enough bait for the week. In fact, I caught fish until my arms were about to fall off. We caught a lot of fish, and Dick kept promise number one.
The next day we got up around 5am and headed out to Cape Point. Since most of my angling experience involved bass fishing it took some time to get used to the ten foot heavers used on the Point. The fishing proved to be slow, or maybe it was me whipping the water into a froth throwing the required 4 oz. sinkers and bait into the surf. Finally, at about ten, while I was watching some buddies fool around on the beach, IT happened. I felt a bump, set the hook and line started streaming off my reel. It took a couple minutes to slow him down and reel in the line that I’d lost. When he was five yards from the surf I reeled in as much line as possible and began backing up the beach, bringing the largest fish of my life ashore. The red drum measured twenty-seven and one-half inches. After several photos, we tagged and released him into the Atlantic. I still smile as I think about that day. I caught a large fish and Dick kept promise number two.

Out-takes: Psalm 8:3-9

"When I look at the night sky and see the work of your fingers - the moon and the stars you set in place— what are mere mortals that you should think about them,human beings that you should care for them? Yet you made them only a little lower than God and crowned them with glory and honor. You gave them charge of everything you made putting all things under their authority—the flocks and the herds and all the wild animals, the fish in the sea,and everything that swims the ocean currents, our Lord, your majestic name fills the earth." Psalm 8:3-9

*Be sure to check out the surrounding verses for context.

Before...

You never really think about words that would devastate you. Spoken words that would rock your world and leave you numb. You think maybe something bad will happen when you get older, much older. Never do you think that at 23 years of age, in the prime of hope, life and love would you be told you have cancer. This is not just any cancer, but angiosarcoma. A cancer of the blood vessels that only has affected 10 or less people in the United States last year.
This is what happened to my friend, colleague and fellow sportsmen Michael Schwarz. Michael worked and ministered with me at Central Baptist Church in Sanford, Florida. We found a mutual friendship in sharing and loving Christ, playing softball and enjoying God’s Great Outdoors together.
Michael and I began to hunt during our time off. He assisted me in doing many Sportsmen For Christ hunting retreats as a guide. During our down time from both ministries and families we were in the woods of Volusia County, Florida. There we pursued Cypress swamp wild hogs, pineywood whitetails, dodged hidden rattlesnakes in palmettos and watched the wiley Osceola turkey meander across the open flatlands. It was a great place to experience the outdoors. This place allowed Michael to harvest his first 200+lb wild hog and trophy Osceola turkey. However, over my three years in Florida, we just could never connect with a Whitetail. It seemed like an impossible task to put both deer and Michael together.
In the winter of 2005, God had plans and moved my family to Tennessee. That next year, our dear friend and landowner, Robert Hirt, passed away from his own personal fight with cancer. It was devastation for both Michael and I in the loss of Robert. We both let go of hunting for that year. With the move and the loss of Robert, it just did not seem right.
Michael and I kept in contact and when I found out that he had an illness concern we were not too alarmed. He’s strong, young and of good health. Then the news came. CANCER! A rare and deadly cancer. It quickly took its toll on him. Repeat treatments, change in treatments, loss of weight, low iron,high potassium, multiple hospital stays, loss of hair and financial burden. Life quickly changed and dreams were dampened.
In between one break in treatments Michael came to Tennessee to visit his family. His parents were now working with me in ministry. They thought it would be a great break to come and just get away. I sat in their living room with him one night, just the two of us. We chatted about meaningless stuff until he asked me one question, “Do you think we can get me a deer….before….?” I immediately said, “Yes” not wanting him to finish the sentence. The feelings of loss over came me. My friend was talking about death. I had to my part to see his dream fulfilled. “Yes, we can get you a deer and this season we will try”.
Michael headed home and finished this series of treatments. Michael was running a life-race. The cancer was taking a toll on his body. My friend had lost over 50 lbs. He was pale, weak and tired. I remembered…that I promised to do my part. So plans were made. Our dates were set for the last two days of muzzle loading season and the beginning of gun season in Alabama. There, we would be in a stand hunting with a dear brother in Christ, Emory Steedly, on his wife and brother’s, L.C. and Kaye Steedly’s, famous ranch. It was a place for hopes and dreams to come true. On the second night of our muzzle-loading hunt, it was still, cool and quiet. Michael was placed in a box blind overlooking a small green field that meandered back into a hardwood swamp. We both knew he had one shot – one chance this night. I left him there and headed up the hill to a small field overlooking the bottom area. I knew if he shot I would definitely hear him from that vantage point. It was about 30 minutes; just good enough to get settled in when the quiet was broken with a “BOOM” from the bottoms. It was Michael. I bolted from my stand back down the hill to the entry road to his location. As I quietly walked towards his stand, there he was standing – waiting for me. He confirmed he had hit it but lost it in the muzzle smoke. As we walked to the spot, we saw great dig marks in the mud and dark blood on the grass. It was an easy trial 30 yards deep into the hardwoods. Just a couple steps further and there she laid…a great doe with a perfect heart shot from 50 yards. Michael and I hugged, cried and celebrated. Finally, his first deer. It was a great feeling for both of us pulling his deer out of the woods.
Michael continues with his personal fight against his cancer. We are there cheering him on and know that God is in control. He hears our prayers, knows our hearts and desires our worship in good and bad times. Please continue to pray for his recovery and God’s will for him. Thank you Lord for hope, determination and opportunity.

First Time for Everything

After piling into a Suburban with three duck hunting veterans, I felt very much unprepared as we headed east on I-40 on a rainy Sunday afternoon. Our destination – Cedar Island, North Carolina. It was going to be my very first duck hunt and I really didn’t know what to expect. Borrowing most of my gear from these three friends I felt like a freeloader and a fifth wheel, but the relationship and camaraderie that had built up over the past few years with these guys lessened my feelings of ineptitude as we drove into the night.
We arrived late and got settled in. By 4:30 the next morning we were up and pulling on waders before loading guns, ammo, and other gear into Ken’s Suburban that would take us to the dock where our guide, David, would take us to our blinds.
It wasn’t cold at all as you might expect in January, but the wind was relentless as we set off for the outer banks and our plywood box home for the next six hours. David had the foresight to construct a “dog box”, a wooden shed on his boat, to protect us from the elements for the 30 minute boat ride. We talked with water flying by the only viewing area at the back of our shelter. It seemed like I was talking only to keep my mind off the growing sickness that comes from riding in those conditions for a prolonged period of time.
I felt surprisingly well as we stopped at the first blind. It was still dark, but as I stepped out of the box I saw that our guide already had the decoys out around our blind. We climbed into our blind and loaded up with the anticipation of some action. As light started to appear a lonely sea duck flew just overhead and just to get the feel of the gun I pulled up and shot at the struggling bird missing painfully high but feeling the rush of adrenaline. Anticipating more I waited patiently for another chance, but none came before lunch. Ken and I sat for a good bit shielding ourselves from the wind and rain as it seemed every bird knew just how far to keep itself from our range. Still the scenery was beautiful and the time spent talking and laughing was priceless.
After lunch we went to the “back bay” and were set up in a shore blind looking out toward the northeast with the sun setting in brilliant fashion behind us. Once again, we failed to experience the rush of a shooting spree despite witnessing the painfully slow advance on our position of a thousand very cautious ducks. These veteran hunters looked like kids in candy store as the fickle fowl moved toward us but, “unexpectedly,” as they were just coming into our range – they fled.
What a letdown. We did manage to bag a few birds before sundown, but I could tell from the hunter’s faces that it wasn’t looked upon as a good day with only five or six birds between four hunters. Just as we were leaving, though, six or seven ducks came within touching distance and landed in the water as if they knew when the shooting curfew was The next day was far more rewarding as we shot our limit before 11:00 am. It was a joy to see grown men smiling like they did when they were little kids. It seems we’ve forgotten how these days.

Fly Boy

Where do you want to go to college Addison?” how many time have I been asked that question. I finally decided on Haywood Community College in the mountains of western North Carolina.
Let me step back a few years into my childhood when my grandfather gave me a fly rod that had belonged to him and taught me how to use it. He taught me in the street, and showed me using the manhole cover in front of his house as a target. I soon, with much practice,learned how to cast and could put the tip of that fly line in the center of that cover.
Okay, back to college I went to Bass Pro Shops before I headed off to college and bought a White River fly rod. I soon learned the fun and excitement of fly fishing.
The first time I decided to go, on my own, was in the fall. I went to the local fly shop the afternoon before and asked the owner what flies I should buy. The woolly bugger was the ticket. The next morning I went to the river and put in at the wildlife access for delayed harvest on the East fork of the Pigeon River and walked to the river. I had tied on the woolly bugger. I cast and began to strip the line back to me I felt a heavy thump I stripped again, and the fight was on a nice 10 inch rainbow trout. Well I had been ordered to take by camera by my parents so I took his picture and released him with a Thank You Lord!
As I walked down stream and saw a beautiful hole of water. I made my first cast toward the upstream side of the hole and let it drift. I began to strip as before and I felt another yet stronger thump and I set the hook again the fight was on. As I fought this fish it was apparent to me that he was much larger. When I got him close I began to back up on the rocky bank that I was standing on he slid up on the bank and I couldn’t believe my eyes, a 17 inch rainbow trout.
When I went off to college I got involved in a Church home. Today it is rare that college freshmen will join a church away from home. The Bible talks about training a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it. That remains true in my life. My parents took me to Church when I was young, my grandfather taught me how to throw a fly line and I'm still doing it today. The pros say this all the time, so today you’re gonna hear it from a rookie “take a kid hunting or fishing with you when you go, pass it on.

South Dakota Supplication: A Pheasant & A Prayer

As we stepped to edge of the field there was silence and sense of awe among our hunting party. My dear and faithful friend Paul was with me, along with new found friends Kelly, Morris and Travis our guide from Pheasant City Lodge. We stood glancing at the adventure soon to be set before us. I asked before we began if we could pray? Everyone huddled together and we bowed our heads,
“Dear Lord, thank you…
My senses were firing on all cylinders. My ears could hear the quiet rustling of switch grass with a prairie its sweet melody as it blew and swirled in the wind from all around. I heard the distinct cackle of a pheasant cock launch from behind the gnarled cedar, seasoned by seventy years of nature's elements.
With each breath of God I could hear the dropping of stalk ripened milo to the ground, a very distinct sound, one that I have never heard before
....to be in South Dakota and have the physical ability to enjoy…
I shuffled my feet and heard the crunch of the last remaining snow as it was ever so quietly disappearing from the earth. I anticipated because I have never hunted in snow before.
...Your creation as You designed by the stroke of Your finger...
I wanted to open my eyes so bad to give attention to the deep flutter of the pheasant hens that had heard us as we entered and were making their nervous retreat as we prayed
....protect us today and may Your favor be upon us as we become stewards of Your land...
I was about to bust with excitement with the possibility of what was to come in the morning hunt. As the sun began to rise in the east, I could feel its warmth on the back on my neck. It was the feeling and smell I had always dreamed of when I was a child when I read my neighbors hand-me-down Field and Streams. The dogs at our feet were waiting for the command to hunt. My Condor 12 gauge over-under broken across my arm…My empty blaze orange game pouch waiting to be filled…My briar chaps ready to be slapped…My shot shell pouch full of Fiocchi #5’s ready to be transferred to the empty side.
It was at that moment I became that little scrubby headed 8-year-old little boy, with Field and Stream tightly grasped in my fist, running home to absorb the paragraphs, pictures and possibilities of this very day. I wanted to holler out, “I am in South Dakota…thank you God!” But, with my hat in my hand, head bowed and humbleness in my heart, I closed this prayer with all sincerity,
...in Jesus' Name, Amen."
As I opened my eyes, it was a dream to behold of broken down cornstalks, blue skies, and the beginning of this adventure that would bring a dream to reality. Then the most favored cry in a pheasant field was hollered out… “Rooster!” Truly, thank you God

Montana Song Dog

I was fortunate enough to have been asked to hunt elk in Montana and even more fortunate to have been drawn to receive an elk tag in the wildlife lottery. I was excited to have the opportunity to hunt elk, but even more excited to be able to spend a week enjoying the beauty of Montana. On the second day of our hunt, I settled in for the afternoon hunt on a knoll overlooking a clear valley with a patch of Aspen trees at the base of the valley. I sat on the ground next to a small pine tree with sagebrush providing good cover. My friend positioned himself on the other side of the knoll over looking open grasslands. After about an hour into the hunt, movement caught my eye. Two coyotes followed a fence line on a steady pace. Both stopped within 100 yards from my position to take a quick drink from the small stream. I contemplated taking a shot since predator hunting has always fascinated me, but decided against it since I was there for elk. Just as soon as I made the decision not to shoot, my friend, on the other side of the knoll, and not knowing what was happening on my side, decided to use his cow call to try to stir up some action. Almost instantly both coyotes reacted as if a dinner bell had been rung. Since I was between the coyotes and my friend over the ridge, the coyotes darted up the knoll directly in my direction. I lost them briefly in the sagebrush, but knew they would emerge very close directly in front of me on a dead run. I quickly raised my 30.06 and steadied it on the first coyote once it emerged. I touched the trigger and sent the 180 grain core-lokt bullet on its way, quickly dropping the first coyote. I then located the second coyote, put another round in the chamber and raised my gun, but decided against the shot as it ran by me within 5 yards to my left. The coyote instantly disappeared in the sagebrush. Within seconds, the excitement concluded as quickly as it started, and I had taken my first coyote. My friend had no idea that his cow call stirred up the excitement, but I was grateful that he decided to do it. The rest of the week was fantastic as we saw elk, mule deer and enjoyed the beauty of Montana. Although I was not able to harvest an elk, it was a hunt of a lifetime that I will never forget.

Oh Osceola! A Floridian Turkey Tale

"Watch out for bears. We've had some feeders torn up and have seen plenty of sign." Not exactly the words I wanted to hear as we walked through chest-high palmettos but my guide and friend, Rusty, wasn't joking as he relayed his stern warning. Without being able to remember if I'd kept my life insurance policy premiums up-to-date, the more thoughtful portion of my brain was begging me to consider, "What have I gotten myself into?". I uttered a quick prayer and kept right on walking, maybe a little more vigilant, gripping my flashlight a little bit tighter.
A brush slapped me in the face as I simultaneously made yet another misguided step into a pothole whose depth proved to be just over the top of my knee-high snake boots. Meanwhile hordes of mosquitoes were making mince meat of any exposed flesh seemingly ignoring the deet I'd doused myself liberally with. Wild hog sign was everywhere, humidity was one-hundred and fifty percent and the temperature was hovering just over eighty degrees. These were not exactly ideal hunting conditions and this was not exactly the Disneyesque image I had of Florida.
Upon reaching our desired predawn location we began using locator calls, primarily owl hoots. The swamp remains has quiet as a funeral parlor regardless of our calling. Rusty informed me that the gobbling had been fierce for the last week but yesterday's heavy downpours had put a severe damper on the amorous intentions of every turkey in town. Apparently there were no longer turkeys in Florida, their departure directly corresponding with my arrival in the Sunshine State.
Ten o'clock found us walking logging trails in shin-high water, looking for turkey sign and wishing we'd brought along some snacks and bottled water.
As we rounded a bend in the road we spotted a flock of hens feeding several hundred yards away with a boss tom strutting his stuff for all the world to see. As stealthily as possible, we eased back around the bend, placed a couple decoys in the middle of the road, concealed ourselves in the brush and began softly calling the trophy bird. Nothing doing. Although we roused his curiosity quite a bit, there was no way that wise old fella was going to leave his lovely ladies no matter how beautiful the serenade. Desperate times call for desperate measures so we devised a quick plan. Rus would enter the woods, sneak a hundred yards or so past the flock and bust out onto the road bed hopefully spooking the birds back toward me and my camo-clad twelve gauge.
Many anxious minutes passed and I was just about to give up on our little scheme when I heard several excited cuts and saw two hens coming around the curve. Following the first two were two more, then another, then another and another until the road was covered with osceolas. Finally the tom showed himself. A series of high pitched clucks on my diaphragm call stopped him in his tracks and he began strutting and drumming fifteen yards in front of my barrel. He never knew what hit him when a shell-full of number 4's changed him from drummer into dinner.
As I held my first Osceola in my hands, admiring his beautiful, iridescent colors shimmering in the sunlight Rusty walked up and sent up a whooping yell. With a grin covering his whole face he looked at me and asked, "Was it worth it, with the mosquitoes and the mud and the briars and all that?" As I thanked God for my trophy all I could say was, "What mosquitoes?" Isn't it funny how fast a sportsman's perspective can change?