Hunting with Mike

This is yours truly with a 500 pound Michigan bear. Of the more than 40 bear that we have harvested this is the “KING!” There have been only five others taken that weighed over 300 pounds, so a bear of this size does not come along very often. My brother Darryl did take one with a bigger skull, but he weighed in at a puny 465 pounds.

The reason I mention this is that a 5 year old Arkansas boy killed a 445 pound bear just a few days ago. That is close to the size of the bear in the above picture! Tre Merritt was hunting with his grandfather from a tree stand around Dewitt Arkansas. Grandpa (Paw-paw) Mike said Tre did everything on his own. Tre’s father Wheatley Merritt said he started training his son how to shoot when he was 2-1/2 years old. Evidently the lessons paid off. This pint sized hunter also shot three dear last year.

Seems Tre has some pretty famous blood flowing through his hunting veins. Tre is the 10th. generation great grandson of none other than Davy Crockett. I seriously doubt if Davy “killed him a bear when he was only three!” I’d be more willing to bet that Tre is probably the youngest person to ever harvest a bear of this size-or any size for that matter!

I have yet to read the caliber weapon Tre was using-only that it was a youth gun. Evidently there is no age limit for hunting in Arkansas. That is a new one on me. Also the sheer size of the bear tells me it was a boar. Rumors are already circulating on the internet that it was a sow with a cub. I’ve read 10 articles so far, and none of them say anything about it being a sow with a cub. The anti-hunters do a good job of making law abiding hunters look like uncaring wacko’s who’s “blood lust” must be stopped, or all species will become extinct! The successful brainwashing, of the next couple generations, could have a huge impact on hunting and hunters in the near future. If the “misinformed” only realized that hunters are the most valuable “friend” the animals have!

You can read all about Tre and his Davy Crockett style exploits on the internet.

Mike

Amigo number three: My son Micah and his first buck. Actually it’s his only buck! (8-pointer)

Micah was my part time hunting companion by the time he was 6-years old. He’s probably seen and filmed more bears than most of you reading this. He was on his own, with a bow, at a very young age. I can’t tell you how young-his mother still doesn’t know! Over the years he had taken a couple does with his bow, but hadn’t had a chance at a buck yet. His involvement in high school sports (wrestling, baseball, and soccer) didn’t leave much time for hunting with dad.

When he was a senior I was hunting a friends property not far from our house. I had been trying to get Micah to go with me, but his interest in hunting had been “waining” over the last few years. The rut was in full swing, and one Saturday morning I woke him around 6:00 A.M. and said “lets do it today!” He mumbled something about “go away it’s still dark out!” After about 20 minutes I gave up, and crawled back into bed myself. The sun streaming in my window woke me up around 8:00 a.m. and I decided to call my buddy and see if the deer had crossed over into his woods yet. Usually his wife would be standing at the kitchen window between 8 and 9:00 o’clock doing dishes, so she had a few of the deer “patterned.” Beckey told me they hadn’t crossed yet, so I again woke Micah, and this time he responded favorably.

We had to rush, as I grabbed gear, and threw it in my ranger pickup. Micah had not shot his bow since last year, so quickly I told him to “check it out!” We made one sight adjustment, and I told him to drive, while I set-up some new broadheads on his arrows. We arrived at the property, and were unloading our gear, when a big doe ran into the woods. I figured we could make a stalk on her, but couldn’t get a shot, as she was in a very dense thicket. After she “spooked” I told Micah to climb into the tree stand I had placed there, and I would “rattle” from the ground! I had a folding stool, and sat down behind the cluster of trees Micah was in. If the deer came from the east (like they were supposed to) I would have good cover. If they approached from the north or west we were in trouble.

I waited about 10 minutes before I rattled my first sequence. As I glanced up the tree it looked like my son was falling asleep. Boy it looked like this was going to be an exercise in futility! I loudly rattled again, waking up Micah, and motioned him to be alert. I was watching the neighbors woods, to the east, as I rattled once again. I casually looked up at Micah, surprised that he was slowly rising to the standing position bow in hand! As my gaze turned back toward the ground I could hear “grunting” coming from the north. A fine little 8-pointer was coming right into us, and I had absolutely no cover! I froze as the buck stopped 18 yards from my position, and tried to stare holes through me. I allowed only my eyes to look upward at my son, who didn’t even have his bow raised. Flashbacks of all the times I’d blown it came racing through my mind, as I felt Micah was about to blow it himself! The deer was getting nervous, and took three more steps toward heavier cover. I glanced up again, and Micah was at full draw! Whack! The arrow hit, and red blood showed immediately around the 12″ of shaft protruding from the back part of the deers chest. He bolted east, as the arrow clanged on the trees until it finally broke off. He was about 70 yards into a cut soybean field when I hit the rattle horns again. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, as the buck made a u-turn, and headed right back for us! I told Micah to get another arrow ready, but suddenly the deer raised up on its back legs, pawed the air several times, and dropped dead. No curse on my son! “Cool hand Micah”proved he wasn’t a chip of this “old block!” The razor sharp broadhead did it’s job, as it had sliced through the liver, and back part of the lung.

After some back slapping and acting like we had just taken a new world record, Micah said “What’s so tough about shooting bucks?” Beginners luck is all I could think of, but quite frankly I could of cared less. This experience was as good as it gets, for a father and son, on a Saturday morning, during the “rut!”

Mike

In my last blog I told how my dad shot his first buck, and I now will relate to you, just how I stumbled onto my first buck.

Just for the record I had been gun hunting for about 18 years, and had never taken a buck. My dad had a nick-name for me “old no-shooting Mike!” It wasn’t that I wasn’t a good shot (qualified expert in the army) – I just couldn’t close the deal! I can tell you story after story about how I would “blow” a sure buck on the pole. One such incident that will forever live in my mind was that beautiful piebald 8-pointer that I let slip through my “gloves!” I would bet that not 1% of all hunters ever encounters such a rare deer; let alone one with a nice rack!

The story goes like this. I was “snooping and pooping” through 5 inches of fresh fallen snow, just trying to cut a good track, or catch one in its bed. I had jumped several does, but the bucks were laying low. Right around noon I decided to stop for awhile and eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwich smashed in my wool coat pocket. I know sooner found a tree to lean against, when I saw movement about 80 yards away. At first I thought it was a couple snowshoe rabbits, as I kept seeing brown and white movements! By the time I realized it was a deer – the deer realized I was a hunter!! As I raised my Savage 308 I just about had him in my open sights, when the glove I had removed to open my sandwich, slipped from my hand, and spooked that deer into the next county. All I could do was watch in amazement as this beautifully marked buck bounded away. I could go on, but I’m supposed to be talking about the one I got not the ones that got away.

It was In November of 1978 that I nailed my first buck. My dad had died earlier in the year, and our annual Lewiston trip was just not the same without him. As usual I didn’t do any good up north, so when a friend from work asked if I wanted to go with him to Hillsdale over Thanksgiving, I jumped on the opportunity. It was a one day hunt, and neither of us did any good on the morning hunt. By mid-afternoon we decided to look for another farm to hunt. As we were pulling out of the driveway of the farm we were on, I saw a deer 1/3 of a mile away, in a cut cornfield. We couldn’t afford binoculars in those days, as we strained to see if there were any horns. We didn’t see horns, but I had a doe permit that kept hollering “use me use me!” The only approach we had was low crawling along a fence row for several hundred yards. It took us awhile to get to the corner of the fence, which then made a right turn away from the deer. Kenny (my buddy) decided to try and sneak back to the woods, in case I missed and he ran that way. We couldn’t put horns on this deer, as he stood in a little dip surrounded by the cut cornfiel. I waited for Kenny to get to the woods then rested my new Remington model 870 slug gun on the barbed wire fence. I estimated the deer was 90-100 yards away, as I put my open sights right on the shoulder. I held steady, took a deep breath, and slowly squeezed off the shot at the unsuspecting “doe!” The deer whirled around, on impact, ran about 10 yards closer, and then stood broadside facing the opposite direction. I quickly got off another round, and saw the hair blow off the shoulder, right where I aimed. Now let me tell you right now I was a doe killing machine-no problemo-no buck fever-just another”doe for the pole.” That’s what I was thinking as I approached the downed “doe” as it lay in the little valley of this cut corn field. “When what to my wondering eye’s should appear but eight beautiful points on this tiny reindeer!” I about flipped out, and kept saying “thank you dad thank you dad!” The nice little buck had two holes through his shoulder not 2-inches apart smacking him from two different directions! Ken came running from the woods when he heard me hollering and carrying on! He couldn’t believe it either, cause he saw the same “doe” I did. We later surmised that the color of the deers horns blended in perfectly with the color of the cut corn in the background, and that’s why we saw a doe. Divine intervention? Maybe, but this first buck got the monkey off my back, and seemed to forever break the curse of “no-shooting Mike!”

Will tell the story of my sons first buck on my next blog.

Mike

These are not the biggest bucks I have hanging on my family room wall, but they are the most memorable.  What makes these deer so special is that they are all ” first Bucks!”  The one on the left is my dad’s first buck.  The middle is my first buck.  The one on the right is my son’s first buck.  Something else that makes these smaller bucks unique, is that I was with my dad and my son when they shot their deer!

I was a senior in high school 43 years ago when my dad shot his 6-pointer.  My brother Randy was in Viet Nam, and brother Darryl was to young to go. (13)   So it was just me and my “dear ole dad” heading up to Lewiston Michigan in my dad’s white rear engine corvair.  The place we normally stayed at (Lewiston Lodge) was booked solid, so we asked around for lodging.  The only available place was a couples house with attic sleeping quarters.  There were about 10 cots squeezed into this small space, and I swear 9 of these guys snored!  It’s a good thing I was young, cause the bathroom was not available very often.  I do remember the smell of fresh coffee, and frying bacon, waking me up at 5:00 A.M. each morning.  The owners of the house made sure we went out into the dark cold air on full stomachs.

My dad had been hunting a piece of state land off of Wolf Lake Road for many years, even though he had never taken a buck there.  We had about 4 inches of snow on the ground opening morning, and just before we pulled into our two-track we saw a nice buck along the road!  That was a good sign, and it got our hearts thumping!

My dad walked me into a spot that had a good runway, and plopped me down.  He walked off to my right, and said he would be about 150 yards in that direction.  We planned to meet at around 10:00 A.M. to check on one another.  I wasn’t seeing anything except a fox trying to catch this extremely fat turkey, who seemed to be having a hard time getting off the ground.  It was kind of funny as the fox (tongue hanging out) just couldn’t quite catch up to the “can’t barely get off the ground turkey!”

That’s when the first shot rang out; followed a few minutes later by another!  I knew it had to be my dad, so I started following the tracks he had made hours earlier.  Sure enough it was “Pappy” grinning ear-to-ear!  He told me the story of the “stair-down,” and how he had to “snap shoot” as the deer turned to run.  He was on the mark, but needed another round to finish off his first buck.  We were in a thick stand of softwoods, and dad wanted me to “stand guard” as he gutted the deer.  The year before a hunter shot a nice buck, and a group of “crooks” stole it from him.  Dad wasn’t about to let this happen to him, so he instructed me not to let anyone get to snoopy.

We drug the “trophy” back to dad’s car, and ran a rope through the back windows then rolled them up on the rope to tighten everything down.  We had some problems driving home, as the rear engine corvair needed the “vents” we had covered for the engine to breath.  After several adjustments, to the position of the deer, we finally were able to get the car running right.

Those little corvairs were just the ticket for cooking while you drive!  You see, once we got home (240 miles) we discovered that half the deer was “cooked” by the heat from the engine.  If we would of only known, we could of seasoned it, and made “jerky”for the journey.  The other side of the deer was ok, and a lesson was learned.  I don’t think Ralph Nader ever got wind of this “corvair problem!”  We talked dad into getting his “first buck” mounted, and the rest is history.

I will share more in upcoming blogs about the other two bucks who round out “The Three Amigos.

Mike

A few months back I wrote a blog about Michigan’s problem with roving bands of wild boar (feral hogs.) I had also done an extensive article for my local paper concerning the statewide implications of “hogs gone wild!” Several weeks of exhaustive research went into documenting this problem, with help from the D.N.R. and the Michigan Department of Agriculture. Even though the newspaper article was highly edited (lack of space) I forwarded my total findings to my contacts in both departments.

Well just in this past week the A.P. has had two articles appear in the Monroe paper concerning this very problem. The writer of one of these articles was Kristine Brown, my D.N. R. contact person. It felt very rewarding that this potential “time bomb” was jumped on, and taken seriously, by our state officials. About 4 years ago I had taken the only recorded “feral hog” in Monroe county, but according to this new article other encounters have been reported.

The picture at the top is of my brother Darryl and myself with one of the “free range” hogs we took while hunting in Tennessee. The state of Texas is a good example of just how prolific feral hogs can be, as they have an estimated 1.3 million of the critters running around that state.

If any of you, that read my blog, has seen or shot a wild boar this season let me know or contact the D.N. R.

Mike

I recently had a discussion with my wife concerning the amount of money it takes to put 60-100 pounds of venison in the freezer. Generally speaking you can buy half a side of beef for around $400.00 or so. It would take a phone call, and maybe a trip to Farmer Jone’s house, which would involve a couple hours of your time. If meat were the only thing that counted in this equation then it would be down right “stupid” not to buy the cow! If a hunters quest for deer was to put a few pounds of meat in the freezer to save his starving family then we hunters are “most foolish!” I could definitely buy “beau coup” more groceries than the amount of venison back straps I could put on the dinner table. I do not even want to go “there” concerning the “total” it has cost me to enjoy myself afield this year. As far as I’m concerned “you can’t put a price on it!”

Now let me just say, as the provider for my family, that I shouldn’t be doing anything that would hurt or hinder my family financially. What I spend during hunting season does not come from our general budget. I try to set aside finances all through the year, do extra jobs, sell unused hunting accessories, and so on to make sure my outdoor activities don’t create a cash-flow shortage.

To me there is a priceless side of my experience as a hunter. For me number one is the memories! When I get “in stand, especially in the morning, my mind reminisces of past hunts and adventures. My dad has been gone for 29 years, but at these precious tender moments he shows up, and we are hunting again! We laugh, talk, and even shed a tear or two, as Technicolor memories play through the movie theater of my mind. My dad usually doesn’t show up alone, as hunting buddies, camp cooks, and all sorts of colorful characters pay me a visit. It only takes a sight, sound, or smell to get the memories reel moving.

Past memories are not the only memory involved either, as I am creating present “films” to be shown “on demand!” So far this year there are several “neat” things, that happened, that I’ll cherish all my days.

Who can put a price on a sunrise or a spectacular sunset? The “honking” of a flock of geese flying in a perfect “V.” A doe and her two yearling’s, coming out of the fog, as they sneak through the little draw. The”mill-a-second” glimpse of that “monster”, new state record, that gets bigger each time you tell the story of “almost!” That “darn” fox/red squirrel that tells everything within earshot where you’re hiding. Those unsuspecting turkeys, that you couldn’t possibly get close to during season, now surround you with their 12 inch beards. Helping your hunting partners track the “big one,” camp chili, hunting stories, camaraderie, and laughter are all part of the “can’t put a price on it” hunting clause!

For me there is one more really important part of my experience. I can’nt look around me and not be thankful, to the “Creator,”for the beauty that He made for my (our) enjoyment. The heavens and the earth certainly declare His Glory, and I am humbled that He would care so much about me. Just as I talk with my earthly father I also have some most intimate times with my Heavenly Father.

So in the final analysis, putting venison in the freezer is a very small part of the “hunters quest!” It’s the “trip” and not the “destination”that is most important.

Mike

Just some updates on a few of the hunting success stories I am aware of. This is Tom Calloway’s brother-in-law Chris and his nice Missouri 10 pointer. Chris also took an 8-pointer in Iowa with his bow. My brother Darryl took a nice 7-pointer in Ohio last week, and his partner Dan filled a doe tag. My older brother Randy took a buck in the U.P. but details are not all in concerning the rest of his crew. I had one report that the senior Baldwin (Dick) shot two nice 8-pointers, and that his boys, and son in law, also took deer. I’m still waiting on a report from them. Josh Auer, from across the street, got his first deer ,while hunting with his dad Randy, at there place up north. I saw pictures of Josh’s deer, and it is a beauty. Also ran into a guy at Cabela’s who showed me pictures of Lenawee County bucks he and his dad shot. Both deer were in the 140-160 class!

Muzzle loader season is just a few days away, and hopefully the deer have settled down a bit. I never heard of anyone taking the two big boys hanging around my lease, so I will be over there this weekend. Keep your powder dry, shoot straight, and be safe.

Mike

My brother-in-law Pat Boylan with a nice coyote taken right here in Monroe County. Yesterday (Saturday) Pat called me on the phone and said he had been seeing a big coyote in his back hay field. I wasn’t doing anything at the time, so I grabbed my 22-mag. and headed for Pat’s house. When I pulled in his driveway Pat motioned me to be quiet, as the coyote was back in the field hunting mice. I got the gun out of the case, and told Pat to see if he could “pop” the varmint. Pat didn’t want to take a chance with someone else’s gun, so he told me to “have-at-it!” As I tried to sneak around the barn the coyote saw me and “booked” it to the woodline. I had him in the scope, but a 100 yard running shot just wasn’t going to get it.

I left my gun with Pat, as we both figured he’d be back at some point in time. From what I saw he was a “big male”with a head the size of a basketball!

Well this morning I get another call from Pat to come down and see his “nice” coyote. Pat set up on him, early in the morning, using a fence-row for cover. Just after daylight the “little wolf” shows up hunting for mice again. Pat took a good rest on the fence, and touched off a round. The coyote spun around several times, and disappeared. Pat figured it was all over, except the skinning, so he went back to the house and retrieved his 22 pistol. Little did he know he had a tracking job ahead of him. When he caught up to the critter he was hunkered down near the creek. Pat made a clean shot that ended the chase, and was dragging “her” out when I pulled up. That’s right I said “her!” Evidently “Mr Big Head” is still alive and well, and chowing down on field mice somewhere else today. The coyote Pat took is a mature one, and weighed in the neighborhood of 40 pounds.

Pat’s friend Jim Chapman came over to help skin it so Pat could have the hide tanned. I got in on the process when they got to the eye’s, mouth, and nose. Up to this point they had done a real good job, but they wanted an “old timer” to finish up. “Thanks guys” I’m glad you trusted me not to screw it up! It will make a beautiful rug, and they were going to try and cook the backstraps later on. Call me when you do fellas.

Mike