Hunting with Mike

The Ansel “boys” (there are six of us) all like to hunt. Collectively we have 30 years of bear hunting under our belts, and in all those years many a story has been shared around the campfire. The one I’m about to tell you is no story, but the honest to goodness truth.

My youngest brother Dean was just 14 years old when my father passed away, so it was up to us older guys to teach Dean the ways of the “wild.” We all liked to bear hunt, and a practical joke, or a little harassment, was all part of us rubbing shoulders together at bear camp. Dean was quite the prankster himself, and we were always looking for ways to get even with him.

On one particular fall hunt we had to drop hunters off at their stands, and then pick them up at dark. My brother Darryl had the farthest spot so he was the one picking me and Dean up at dark.

During the evening Dean had a nice sized sow with cubs come into his bait. He enjoyed watching them until momma got a whiff of “Deano” and woofed those cubs up the tree right next to him. The cubs are bawling, momma is mad as heck and popping her teeth, and Dean is hoping she doesn’t come up his tree! For over an hour Dean is yelling at the sow, throwing things at her, and even considering shooting her as a last life saving resort. Scratch that idea, as he drops his quiver full of arrows on the ground.

Thats where we come in. Darryl was late picking me up, so he is also late picking Dean up. We pull back to our rendezvous point and to our surprise- no Dean! Darryl rolls down the window and yells for little brother. Dean yells back that a sow has him pinned in a tree, and can Darryl please come back and get him? Darryl’s response is something like this “What do you think I’m blankety-blank-blank- nuts?” Dean then ask if Darryl will at least meet him half-way? Darryl yells back that as soon as Dean hears the car door slam to start down the tree and he’ll meet him half-way. Darryl looks over at me with a smug smile on his face and says “watch this.” He opens the car door and then slams it shut, as we both peer into the cold Marquette darkness. Off in the distance we can hear a lot of commotion, brush breaking, and some unintelligible language. Soon we see a flashlight beam bobbing wildly through the dense underbrush. Little brother appears somewhat bloodied (branches and tree limbs-not bear claws) and very winded! “You tricked me” he gasps at Darryl. Darryl responds that only an idiot would be running through the woods at night with a mad sow in the area, as he gazed in Deans direction. All Dean could say was I’ll get even-I’ll get even! “Brothers, you gotta love em.”

I love to turkey hunt.  I am not a good caller with a diaphragm call, but I can make my box call talk turkey.  I also use a slate call at times, just to get a variety of sounds when I’m trying to fool Mr. Long Beard.  I used to hunt a lot around Fairview, and that is where the story begins. My friend and co-worker Jack Richmond had drawn a permit for my area, so our plan was to get Jack his first turkey. We were staying in a tent, and doing our cooking over an open fire. We only had one day to do any scouting, but the abundant sign told us there were plenty of birds in the area. We were tired from our drive up north, and the rigors of setting camp up, but we stayed up quite late swapping hunting tales.

Sure enough, opening morning found us snug and snoring well after daylight. The sun shining in our tent finally woke us up, and we put it in high gear once we hopped out of our sleeping bags. By the time we were dressed, and ready to go turkey were cutting loose all around us. A lot of noise was coming from a small valley where they liked to sun themselves on a day such as this. Thats where we headed. I never used my call one time, as the “Toms” seemed to be calling us in.

We belly crawled the last 30-40 yards, and peered down the valley, from the top of the ridge we were on. Almost in front of Jack were several gobblers strutting and acting goofy in front of a hen, (like all males do) Jack asked me “which one should I shoot?” I said “It doesn’t matter, but you probably should try for the closest one.” “Bam!” Its all over, end of story, Jack has his first bird, and I never made one peep with my call. Sometimes things just don’t go according to plan, but that isn’t always a bad thing.

Mike

” />While on a Quebec bear hunt several years ago my son and I got a chance to do a little lake trout/northern pike fishing one morning. The lake we were on was about 12 miles long, and very cold and deep. The owner of the camp said we would have to go almost to the end of the lake to find the “secret spot.” We left early in the morning in an 18 foot boat powered by a new 15 horse Yamaha motor. Don (another bear hunter we had met) tagged along with us, as we motored across the beautiful calm waters.

I was glad it was a nice day, as the rocky tops of submerged (hills) were laying in wait, just below the surface of the water. We arrived at our destination, which was a smaller lake connected to the big one. We fished this area for about 3-4 hours, with only 2 nice northerns to show for it. The surrounding hills sheltered any wind from stirring up the water very much, but I was starting to notice some dark clouds moving in fast.

I told Don we needed to start heading back before we got caught in a storm. By the time we came to the end of the little channel, connecting the two lakes, I could see white caps and bent trees! We hit the big lake with throttle open all the way. I could not see where the submerged rocks were, and was fearful of us not making it back. The wind picked up more, and the rain was blinding my vision. I could not let go of the throttle for one second! If I did the wave directly behind me, would swamp the boat instantly.

I told my son, if we went in the water, to swim for the nearest shore, and wait for help. I explained that I would be ok, and not to worry about salvaging anything. Don was older than I was, and I told him to stay as close to my 9 year old son as possible, and that I would hopefully be right there with them. It really did not look good to see this wave (two foot higher than the motor) trying to come down in my back pocket. We prayed, and I told my son how much I loved him, and that no matter everything would be alright.

I don’t think I truly believed that myself, and my hand was starting to really throb, due to holding the throttle wide open for so long. The little 15 horse needed about 10 more of his buddies helping him!

How we made it back without hitting the rocks, or being swamped, is beyond me. I think our guardian angels worked some overtime, as our prayers were surely answered. I never let on to my son that it was a “big” deal, but I did tell him it would be nice if he didn’t mention it to his mother. As far as I know our little secret is still “our little secret!”

Mike

Just this past Sunday My wife and I saw an old friend at church, and it brought back memories of the biggest buck I have ever seen in the field. Mike Heil (evangelist, pastor, friend) invited me to hunt his dads farm in the Brighton area during shotgun season.

The first part of the day we saw a few does, but no bucks, as we traversed several hundred acres. Right behind his dad’s house was a 40 acre swamp with a lot off marsh grass, and an active flowing creek running through the center. Mike and I had run into a couple young hunters on the farm, and we talked them into making a drive through the swamp. As Mike and I walked the edge of the marsh grass we kept noticing the amount of buck rubs in the area. We were almost to the back of the property, when 30 feet to our left, a nice little 8-point breaks cover on a dead run. As I’m lifting my model 870 to my shoulder I hear ‘kabloom!” The deer drops dead, and Mike is standing with his gun at hip level,and a smug smile on his face. “How did you do that?” I exclaimed! “Buckshot my friend buckshot” was all Mike said as he walked over to claim his prize.

I continued to the back of the swamp, where the “Big Boys” should be sneaking out, and waited for our young drivers to plow through the muck, and half frozen areas of water. I didn’t have to wait long. A huge buck was threading its way through the underbrush to higher ground, but came to a screeching halt went it noticed me standing 100 yards away. It stood like a statue as I raised my gun, centered on the front shoulder, and squeezed off a shot. The deer did not flinch or move a muscle. I quickly racked in another round trying not to concentrate on the picket row 2-foot inside spread of this monster. I did not count points, but knew it was a least a 10 and probably bigger. I talked to myself on that second shot, confident that this one was going into the “boiler maker.” “Boom” again no reaction not even a twitch! I eject that shell, slam another one home, and try to bring my now rattled nerves under control. Finally this is to much commotion for “Mr Boone and Crockett,” and he wheels to head back to the safety of the swamp. As I throw my third shot in his direction my eyes catch movement to the left of the running deer. “Was that a tree I just saw fall over” I wondered disbelievingly! As I approached the area the deer had been standing in I saw a 3-4 inch diameter tree laying on the ground. Perfectly placed, around the deers chest height were two round slug holes, 1-inch apart, on either side of the tree. Barked was sprayed for several feet behind the tree, and it had to of showered the buck. “How did he hold still through all of that?” I sawed the section of tree, with the holes in it, to bring home and put over my fireplace. It didn’t take long and I decided, revenge is sweet, so it went in my fireplace!

Two weeks later Mike found out the next door neighbor shot a 180 class “picket fence 12-pointer!” “Sooo close, but sooo far,” at least I had my chance!

Mike

Each year that we venture to Marquette Michigan for the September bear hunt, we have always visited Presque Isle Park. This beautiful protrusion into the gleaming waters of Lake Superior is a welcomed friend indeed. It would not be an official bear hunt if we did not explore the coastal scenery of this pristine county park. In the early years of our visits to the park the county maintained a small zoo near the exit. Animals native to the area were displayed, with quite a large area for deer. Well; over the years deer kept escaping from their enclosure, intermingling with the wild deer on the point. The zoo was dismantled many years ago, and a new water park has been added. The deer established a growing population, and despite trapping and relocation, continue to thrive in the park.

As one takes in the sights of this rocky outcropping you drive from water level to well over 100 feet above Lake Superior’s blue/green waters. With several places to park along the way you can be assured of getting a Kodak moment. There are nature trails in the park, where you stand a good chance of seeing a whitetail or two. Depending on the direction and strength of the wind Superior can put on quite a display of raw power. If you are ever in the Marquette area, for any reason, take the time to enjoy the park. You’ll be glad you did.

Mike

12 years ago this fall my son Micah went on his first bow deer hunt. Several of us leased about 300 acres in Harrison, and it was very productive. I had a hot stand, so I decided to put my boy in it for his first ever hunt on his own. It was an evening hunt, so I walked him to the tree stand, and strapped him in. I gave him some final instructions, checked his flashlight, and told him where to meet me at dark.

The whole time I was in my stand I was nervous about him being about 400 yards away from me. I didn’t see any bucks that evening, and was getting anxious to see the smiling face of my 12 year old. At dark I walked to our rendezvous point and stood staring at the darkness between me and my sons stand. I wasn’t going to wait to long, and just as I started back for him I saw his flashlight beam in the distance. When we met I saw he didn’t have any arrows in his quiver. He says “Dad I saw five, no seven, no nine deer, and I think I got one of them.” I said “calm down son and start from the beginning.” He reported he saw a big doe first that kept staring at him every time he went to shoot. After several frustrating attempts he put an arrow over her back. Next came in three does, but he spooked them when he dropped his arrow off the rest, and it hit the metal bow riser. Then came in a nice buck chasing a doe. My boy said he wouldn’t hold still long enough for a good shot, as he just kept chasing that doe. Well the little 6-point finally did stop broadside at 12 yards, and my boy said he “wacked” him. He then explained to me how after the shot something happened to his legs that he couldn’t quite explain. He said “Dad I had to kneel down they were shaking so bad!” “Been there done that son; now tell me what happened to the rest of your arrows.” He said “well when my legs quit working they fell out of the stand onto the ground.” “Ditto!” The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. “What makes you think you hit the buck son?” “Well there was a loud “smack” and I could see the arrow hanging from his shoulder as he jumped the fence. Not good!
We gave it the old college try the next morning, but that little buck probably had no more than a scratch. From all appearances it looked like a shoulder shot to me. I never did find one speck of blood, but we didn’t find the arrow either. If you hunt with a bow long enough, sooner or later an arrow will go where you did not intend. Hopefully this will make you a better hunter in the future. My boy was really bummed about his first deer being a no-show on the game pole, but I’m proud to say he has never wounded another deer. His legs still shake sometimes, but even that is not as bad as it used to be.

Mike

A few years back I applied for a second period bear permit. What I didn’t know was the rest of my brothers put in for the 1st. period. Well we did lousy on the draw anyway, with me being the only one to receive a permit.

As it got closer to Sept. 10th. promises to tag along with me began to fade. I had collected a lot of bait and was ready, except for having someone to help me with all the rigors of bear hunting. It is almost impossible to go-it-alone on this type of hunt. The day before I was to leave I still had no one to go, as my son-in-law had to back out, do to problems with his business. That evening I got a phone call from my son-in-law telling me of a young man he knew that would probably love to go. He gave me his phone number and as they say “the rest is history.”

I picked “Dave” up early in the morning, and we were off on our adventure. We chatted, and tried to get to know one another a bit, as we drove through the darkness toward the “Big Mac” bridge. One of the reasons you need someone along is to help drive the 500 miles to your destination. I had driven approximately 5 hours when I woke Dave up, and asked if he could drive for awhile, as I was getting very tired. No problem he said, as we switched places, and I laid my head against my pillow to catch 40 winks. I no sooner dozed off when tires started squealing, stones were flying, and the trailer was in a jack-knife. I grabbed the wheel, and helped get us back on the road just before we would of been a highway statistic. I semi-hollered “Dave what are ya doing?” His response was “I fell asleep!” I mumbled a few things and told Dave to move over. If I’m going to get killed on the road, I’m going to do it-not some “rookie” I don’t even know!

That first day we freshened baits ( I drove up previously to set baits out), and put stands up. Early in the morning, on the second day, we loaded up my Polaris 4-wheeler with bait, and headed out. I had Dave follow me in my ranger pick-up with additional boxes of bait. One spot was getting hit very hard, but the other area was nothing to get excited about. This took several hours, and both of us were quite tired. Dave had been moody for the most part, and I hadn’t warmed up to him as yet, so there had not been much conversation between us. Once we got back to the truck; Dave asked if he could ride the Polaris back to camp. I thought well this could be an “ice-breaker” so after questioning him about his riding experience I thought it was worth taking a chance. He assured me he had ridden plenty at his uncle’s place, and that he would be careful. Besides I would be right behind him in the truck.

Dave “the 4-wheeler expert” left and disappeared over a small hill, just as I closed the truck door. I couldn’t of been more than 10 seconds behind him, and when I crested the little hill there is Dave, laying in the road, with a Polaris broken into 3 major pieces! I am in shock and disbelief, as I try to comprehend what just happened. Dave is muttering something unintelligible, and all I want to do is “KILL” him!

I have to go get help to lift my broken 4-wheeler onto the back of my trailer, and don’t even feel like hunting anymore. My trip is ruined!

Next morning I call Grey-Hound to see what it will cost me to send “my helper” packing. The cost was to much, so we stared at one another for the next three days. Dave never did a dish, fixed a meal, or was useful in anyway I can remember. To make matters worse I found out my insurance had lapsed on the Polaris two week prior to my trip. Unless Dave surprised me with any help; the cost to fix my machine was going to be $2000.00.

Dave did not disappoint! He never gave me one red cent and became quite indignant when asked. If you take anything away from this “blog” may it be “NOT JUST ANYONE WILL DO !”

A side note to this little excursion is that I did get a 185 pound boar the last evening of the debacle (I mean hunt.) That was good, but every time I ate a bear steak Steve’s face flashed before my eyes.

Mike

I have bear hunted for over 30 years now and have seen a lot of them during that time. I respect them, but on a couple occasions they have given me cause for concern. I’ve learned though, you can’t take anything for granted when you are dealing with a “wild” animal. The very word “wild” means “living in a state of nature; not tame.” People must remember there are no Yogi’s or Boo-Boo’s or Snagglepusses actually roaming the forest waiting to be your friend. The only picnic lunch they want to have with you is the one where “You Are Lunch!”

I remember one such encounter with a medium sized black bear that did not go according to plan. For whatever reason, there are always exceptions to the rule when it comes to wild animals. Up to this point, we had our run-ins with dozens of wild bear, which had always given us humans a wide berth, and had never seemed very aggressive toward us. My own opinion is, where bear or cougar are allowed to be hunted, a natural “fear” of man conditions these animals to avoid us, at all cost. Where you have restrictions, and no hunting, the natural predatory instinct of the animal kicks into high gear, due to the lack of hunting. Anyway; my brother Darryl wanted to get some bear on film, so he set-up about 15 yards away from me. Right on time this 200 pound “blackie” comes into the bait, and starts to feed. I had elected not to shoot, this average size bear, so we were just going to enjoy his antic’s. That’s when it got interesting.

As the evening shadows started to dim the forest light; the bear decided to check out my ladder stand. His front paws were on the fourth rung, and he was looking me right in the eye. In a normal voice I said “Get out of here!” He was not impressed! This bear was supposed to run away never to frequent a bait pile again, but he evidently didn’t know that. He started circling my tree, and then spotted my brother in his tree stand. He walked over and started to climb Darryl’s stand; much to My brothers dismay! Darryl threatened to throw his camera at the bear in a “not so normal voice,” and hollered at me to shoot if he continued to climb! It was not a good shot to take with a bow, so we both put our voices into hi-gear. Well; the bear backed down the tree and went off about 15 yards in a thicket. He sat down on his butt and popped his teeth at us. By this time it was dark, and we had to keep our flashlights trained on the bears glowing eyes. Darryl threw his backpack down on the ground, which made a loud clang. (metal tree steps) The bear moved back a few more yards, so we decided it was time to make a run for the truck, which was about 200 yards away. We agreed to start down the ladders at the count of three, and then run down the trail together. There was only one problem with that plan-Darryl was a much faster runner than me. So I did what any good survivalist would do. I left the stand on the count of one, beat Darryl to the ground, and put it in high gear. Its a good thing I did cause half- way to the truck Darryl went flying by me like I was stuck-in-mud. I think all the commotion and noise we made during our little “race for a cure” finally sent that unusual bear packing.

Just yesterday there was a report of a young boy being mauled by a mountain lion at a campground in British Columbia. It seems we are hearing more and more about these kinds of encounters, and usually the human comes out on the loosing end. A lot of these attacks occur in parks or states where hunting is restricted. Without the fear of “man” these wild animals are only doing what comes natural to them. Me I would rather be on top of the food chain than be part of the food chain!

Yesterday my son-in-law Tony and I went over to Hillsdale to check out our hunting spot, and do a little work on our blinds. Archery season is still two months away, but now is the time to start making preparations for the fall.

I’m trying something this year that should work alright, but there is an “unknown ” quantity about my little experiment. I hauled over 22 bales of 1st cut hay to use as a ground blind. They are stacked high enough that I can stand up in, and wide enough to pull my bow back without interference. Two 4×8 sheets of particle board are across the top for a roof, and a camouflaged tarp is then draped over the whole thing to keep the hay dry. There will be three windows, and the scent of the hay should mask my scent quite well. It should be warm and dry, and once deer season is over the deer can “eat” my blind. Hopefully a big buck might want to eat it during bow season! Twenty two bales were not enough; I needed ten more.

Next we worked on Tony’s ladder stand, cut some shooting lanes, and cleared brush away. We want the deer to get used to us re-arranging their living room furniture, so they don’t freak out two months from now. It was 92 degrees yesterday, so our little fanny’s were dragging by the time we drove back to Monroe. Its best to do as much as possible, as early as possible, so there’s not a lot of commotion in your area a few days before season.

Mike

Today my grandpa ask me, his oldest grandson (Quinn Russo) to write a blog for him. There are so many things I could write about but I think I should write about the person that means a lot to me ,my grandpa. We have been on so many hunting trips together and each one of them are unique . But I think the most memorable trip was when my grandpa Mike, Uncle Dean, my Dad and I went up to Marquette to bear hunt. I was about only nine at the time but I was surely a big part of the hunt. I remember riding four wheelers, putting out bait and getting the best pizza’s at a gas station. The most memorable moment was when my grandpa shot a big black bear, he called all of us together to go look for it in over a 1000 acres of woods. We started making are way around following the bears blood and hanging up glow sticks on trees but sooner or later we got lost in bear country . It was probably one of the most scariest moments of my life because there was bear signs everywhere huge tracks, droppings, fallen trees. After hours and hours of walking my dad finally found a dirt rode and we made it back to the cabin at four in the morning. The guys went back out the next morning to look for the bear while I stayed in bed.

I was up there for a whole week, but I had to come back down to Monroe because I was missing to much school. My dad and papa stayed in Marquette and they shot a decent sized black bear that is hanging up in my room. I’m thirteen and whenever I look up at that big black bear, it reminds me of that week I spent with my papa.
love you papa
Quinn