November 26th, 2011:

November 26th, 2011:

Brookfield, NY
Whitetail Deer

Set the last couple hours of daylight aside today to enjoy an afternoon in the deer woods. After meeting with my fur buyer / friend, it was back down to our hill in Brookfield to try and fill the one remaining DMP.

Partly sunny skies with temperatures in the 50’s made for a very comfortable late November outing. Light weight clothing, gloveless hands, and a ball cap are far from the usual attire this time of year. 2011 has truly seen an exceptionally warm fall. Many are saying we will pay for it with lake effect snow this winter…

A fairly careful still hunt had me up the hill and on stand around 3:30pm. The final hour of the day would be spent in the same location as opening day’s morning hunt. This effort was the first this season that didn’t have much preplanning or evaluation. Taking a carefree, “willy nilly” approach provided a fine sense of joyful freedom. In a way, I actually missed the less focused way of going about it…

Tucked in amongst a series of blow downs, the area was much harder to scan without any snow on the ground. A small nearby spring brook had risen a bit from the snow melt, and was playing perfect music by feeling everything in its purest form. Other than the trickling water, the woods was very, very quiet.

Over the song of the brook, the ears were dialing in on every little sound in the dry leaves. It was almost as if the mind wanted to hear approaching deer so bad that it was creating audible hallucinations. On several occasions my heart was fluttering and my hands were gripping at the gun, only to realize it wasn’t deer approaching that I had heard…

Just as the fat lady stepped up to the mic, the undeniable sound of approaching footsteps erupted about a hundred yards out in front of me. I could see a large dark figure slowly moving about. First thought (safest thought) was that it might be another hunter.

As the being turned broadside, it became obvious that it was a large animal!? It looked to be a Bear! It immediately registered that a bear season was opened up in this area a couple years back in an effort to eliminate a population from establishing itself. Never thought in a million years that I would actually see one down this way.

Being ever so careful to make sure it wasn’t a lost calf or some sort of livestock, I studied it in the scope. “Oh my god!” “It is a bear!” “A big bear!!” I lined up the crosshairs behind the bear’s shoulder and eased back the trigger. KA BWOWW! The rifle roared, and the bear immediately went into a powerful “fullback” type sprint.

It was knocking down trees as it ran. There was a concussion that could be felt through the ground and air from the massive animal's paws pounding on the earth. Just as it went over a nearby ridge out of sight, there was a loud crashing commotion. It was obvious that the bear had gone down. I was standing there in disbelief as if a lightning bolt had just passed through me.

Suddenly, there was this loud, all encompassing, deep moaning sound echoing through the woods. The bear was down! A snap judgment was made to quickly make my way to the downed bear to finish it off.

Moving quickly toward the crashing and moaning, I was making quite a bit of noise myself. Suddenly, as if the bear had heard me coming, the sound of it crashing about turned and began moving quickly toward me!! Oh my god! It was coming to confront me!!

Like a soldier in combat, I dropped to a knee and braced for the incoming danger. The life threatening situation instantly provoked a heightened state of awareness. The moment another shot presented itself, my mind was ready to dial in on the shot like a computer. Missing was not an option.

Before the bear showed itself, the woods once again grew very quiet. The hairs on the back of the neck felt the air for the slightest trace of vibration. Hands remained readied to react with mechanical type precision.

Silence remained for a few minutes, so once again it was time to press on forward. A short stalk revealed the big black mass lying motionless on the ground. Holy Shit! I had just harvested a big ole black bear!! But wait, How am I going to get it out of here? I’m almost a mile up into the woods hunting by myself.

The worried thought passed for a few minutes as I just admired the bear. God, those minutes will certainly be with me to the end. The bear’s design is so massive and powerful. It was an awe striking experience to say the least…

After admiring the bear it was onto field dressing it. Always wondered what it would be like to do one. It really wasn’t much different from a deer. Crazy thing was, there was movement a short ways away the whole time I was cleaning it out.

It sounded like something big was rustling around in the leaves approximately 80 yards away. Thinking it might be another bear, the rifle remained within grabbing distance the entire time. Speaking loudly didn’t seem to be scaring the creature off. Eventually, whatever it was moved away without issue.

Next, it was onto facing the music of getting it out of the woods. There was just no way I was going to get it back to the truck on my own. God bless the cell phone! One call to my father, and it so happens that his neighbors are hunting down the road from me and willing to help!

Within an hour of giving the guys direction, there is three flashlights heading up the hill toward me. The first guy I meet is Joe. Built like a linebacker, Joe looked like he could do some serious pulling. Soon as I saw him, the words just left my mouth. “Oh yeah, we got some big ole’ boys!”

The other two men are both good sized guys as well. I couldn’t thank them enough for coming to help. They said they were just happy to be part of the bear harvest. Josh and Ryan Cobb grew up a few houses down from me. Both are avid outdoorsmen and great people.

Together, we pulled that bear through the bush with everything we had. Finally getting to the truck provided a great sense of accomplishment. We all shook hands and admired the massive animal for awhile. Each one of us surely had a good night’s sleep.

Before heading back home, I had to stop by my parent’s house to show them the bear. Dad had a spotlight set up in the yard. Neighbors all gathered around taking pictures. There was all sorts of cameras and flashes going off as I sat there holding the bear’s head up on the back of my truck. I think I might have caught a glimpse of what it’s like to be a celebrity.

Now it’s on to getting the bear examined by the DEC, processed for the table, and prepared for the taxidermist. This hunt was literally a dream come true. Life is oh so sweet!

November 6th, 2011

November 6th, 2011
November 6th:

--Trapline--

Marcy, NY > Steuben, NY

Coyote, Red Fox, Grey Fox, Raccoon

Mink, Muskrat, Beaver, Otter



After a fantastic day on the trapline, the acquisition of company for today’s check kept the high rolling along. My main man Jonathan wanted in on the action. After a good breakfast, we hit the ground running in anticipation of some new catches.

We saddled up the four wheeler and slowly muscled through the terrain checking the half dozen sets that are here behind the house. Smiles defined us as we excitedly rounded the corner to each trap location. The short first leg quickly came and went without any new catches.

Next, it was onto the water line before wrapping it up behind gramma’s house. Jon worked his way along the banks of the creek as I checked traps and installed new ones. He did a great job of pointing out hollow spots up in the banks of the creek. His young eyes quickly dial in on where the furbearers are going…

Emotions plunged below the sea level at one unfortunate point. Traversing a flooded pasture, Jon was riding piggy back to dry land. The muck bottom provided little support as we moved out into the deepest part of our obstacle. It became too deep and Jon’s little rubber “barn boots” quickly filled up with icy cold water. Panic got the best of him, but we sorted through the situation. Uncle Issiah’s big wooly socks were protected by neoprene waders and remained dry and toasty. They rode all the way up Jon’s little legs and saved the day!!

Again, no beavers, rats, or mink. There was a sprung pair of 330’s guarding the entrance to some bank dens used by beaver. It is the same situation as last year. Explanation is leaning toward muskrats springing the big traps without getting caught…

There are many spots where the beaver are entering / exiting the water to access the trees up on the shoreline. Most of these locations are too steep to guard off with a large conibear trap. Many look to be excellent spots for foot holds with drowning rigs. Trouble is, I have no experience or the equipment needed for that method. If I’m going to continue to be welcomed to trap the creek without company then I better go get the gear and figure this out. The beavers are really making a mess and the farmer wants them out!

A few new traps were put in for rats in some very hot looking locations. Perfect little bank den holes were guarded with 110 conibears and 1 ½ foot holds. There should be some new fur to throw on the pile soon.

After our work was done on the existing water line there was still no word from my friend doing the trap check at the hunting lease. So, everything must have been left untouched there.

It was onto to our last leg of the line behind gramma’s house. Hope was in the air with the new set edition going in last night. The new dirt hole set was only twenty yards from yesterday’s end of the line catch. The remake was quickly made into a post set. To be honest, the mind was already preparing for the skunk. It had been a beautiful fall day with great company.

Prepping for the minor disappointment proved to be unnecessary. Driving down the little two track road behind gramma’s we cruised along like a plane headed down the runway. Fifty yards from the new set location, I began seeing the coyote head darting around through the brush. The nose of our plane lifted up as I turned around to look at Jonathan behind me. His young eyes were wide with excitement and we were airborne!!

Glowing with pride, Jon and I took some memorable pictures of the great catch. It was the perfect ending to our day on the line together. We headed back home hungry and tired but happy with fulfillment. The magnificent predator lay over the pack basket with its fur flowing in the wind. The ride was laced with bliss having the elusive target in our laps.

Furthering the sense of accomplishment was the perfect front paw catch. The coyote appeared to have committed to the set just as I had directed it. The winning lures were Chain Reaction, Red Tornado, Red Fox Urine, & a fresh piece of venison. All the lures are made by Night Owl.

May 4th, 2011

May 4th, 2011:

Steuben, NY
Turkey (Spring Gobbler)

Joy seemed to be sitting on a fence as a night of persistent rain showers segued into a dismal grey morning. Cold air and misty drizzle has a way of making us contemplate life a little more than usual. Especially the sorrowful things that keep us from enjoying it.

The world had turned cold, but the prospect of another action packed spring turkey hunt was keeping a positive mindset afloat. If some birds could be located surely the excitement of the hunt would win over the emotional state.

Sunrise once again began without any gobbling, but there was a hen sounding off. The yelping certainly added a bit of hope into the outlook. Hens are what the gobblers are looking for this time of year, and chances are one would greet her as she flew down off the roost. Going with that line of thinking, an effort was made to move closer to the vocal female turkey. It proved to be a wise decision.

While skirting along the edge of the woods, a turkey was spotted about 150 yards out into the hayfield. Out came the binoculars, and through the glass lenses one could see a small beard on the bird. I was in business!

Because of the rain, the slate call which saw action at 1st light was not working well. Out came the trusty ole’ box call that has been used for many years. A few light purrs that bled into a series of yelps, and all hell broke loose.

An explosion of sound erupted as a big tom gobbler let one rip. He was only a little ways from the jake down in a dip. Making things even more interesting was that a hen started yelping in the woods behind me! “Oh god, was I in an ideal location.”

The jake and gobbler in the field started gobbling their heads off while slowly moving closer. When another soft purr was added into the equation, the situation took a frantic turn. The two birds started on a run toward me!! My heart almost pounded a hole through my chest as my entire body was energized with screaming adrenaline.

The big tom got to within about 60 yards and stopped. He peaked in to where he had heard the hen, then proceeded to flank my location off to the right. The jake came in with a full head of steam, busted through the brush, and eyed me up at 20 yards. Shooting it wasn’t an option; All focus was on harvesting the big tom.

Sensing something wasn’t right, the young male turkey started making the alerted putt sound, and moved off quickly in the direction of the gobbler. Seeing that the window of opportunity was fading fast, a move to try and intercept the fleeing birds was made by using a large pine tree as cover.

The jake must have picked up on the movement because he came screaming by like a 20 year old in a GTO. Behind him was the tom. It was moving cautiously and seemed very confused by the jake bird’s state of panic. Before long, the gobbler wandered into a clearing about 35 yards away. The beads of the shotgun were lined up and placed just under the big turkey’s head.

“Ka BWOW!“ It was a clean shot and the bird went right down. The impact from the single shot 10 gauge damn near dislocated my shoulder. After losing close to a 100lbs of body mass from months of diet and exercise, the shoulders don’t absorb the impact like they use to. I guess that’s one of the downsides of weight loss. Ouch!

The big tom had 1-1/8” Spurs, a ten inch beard, and weighed over 20lbs. A beautiful bird that’ll make a fine meal. Leaving the woods with a smile was a success in more ways than one.

June 26th, 2011:

June 26th, 2011:

Lake George
Adirondack Mountains
Lake Trout

Every once in awhile we experience something in life that engulfs our beings and leaves us awestruck. This outing to Lake George was one of those occasions. It is difficult to put into words just how blown away the mind was left.

Like a honey bee, these writings buzz around from experience to experience bringing back little morsels of nectar to put down onto paper. Today the bee is coming back with an entire coating of residue that stuck to its body after taking a bath in a sea of bliss.

Morning began with a two hour drive across the Adirondack Mountain range. A misty hazy fog mingled with the rolling tree tops at first light then dispersed as the day progressed. It correlated almost perfectly to the “cob webs” of the mind structuring themselves into focus.

It was Route 8 that led the way like the yellow brick road to the Wizard of Oz. Acting as a vein of human existence, the roadway supports a few hardy little towns. With a glimpse, one can see that the rugged folks that inhabit those parts know how to get by.

Using only a guesstimate as to how long the trip would take, the arrival to the boat dock / meeting place was mystical in its synchronicity. Just as the truck rolled up alongside the shoreline of Lake George, one could see the fishing boat zipping along the water toward me in the distance. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

Coordinating today’s effort was Steve Kabrehl, a fellow member of the My Hunting Forum website. After seeing pictures of some of the lake trout he has caught on Lake George, an inquiry was made to see if he would mind having some company along on one of his outings. The answer was not at all, and my first fishing trip to “The King” was born.

Greeting me at the dock were Steve and Steve’s uncle Sam. It was obvious right from the get go that these guys meant business. Electric downriggers armed the stern of the big ole’ made-to-troll type boat. Duel fish finders with a GPS topo map of the lake showed our position up front.

Conversation quickly brought me to the realization that fishing Lake George is something Steve’s family has been doing for many, many years. Some of his uncle Sam’s stories on the lake dated back to before I was born!

One could probably write an entire book about Sam’s years on the water. His smiling, laughing personality told many stories from quite a few different bodies of water and species of fish. A veteran angler that most any dedicated fisherman would appreciate listening to.

It didn’t take long after the lines hit the water before we were into fish. Sam pointed out a sharp drop off on the topographical chart of the lake bottom below. He explained how the lake trout use the break as cover to ambush fish and how it was a hot spot for catching fish. Steve concurred, and within moments of working the structure the poles were throbbing with fish on the line.

Steve proceeded to walk me through much of their tricks and tactics as we caught fish after fish. His patience was impeccable and sincere. Before long, I was a working part of the team effort. It wasn’t just, sit back and we’ll tell you when it’s time to grab the pole and reel in a fish. These guys put you on the level and made you feel at home. We caught some beautiful fish today, but the added tools that Steve & Sam put into my tool box were the best catch of all.

For a few moments today, it seemed as though even the gained insight would be topped. We got into a fish that we just could not move up off the bottom! It just sat there shaking its head while our hearts fluttered. Repeated exclamations of how we were into a big one filled the air from everyone in the boat. I honestly thought my trip back home was going to include a stop at the taxidermist. The adrenaline was pumping and the hair was standing up on the back of the neck.

After about 5 minutes of not being able to budge the fish, uncle Sam put two and two together. He had Steve check one of the other riggers to see if the fish we hooked into was hung up on it. Sure enough, he was right. It popped our bubbles a little bit, but at least we got a good chuckle out of it.

There really is something to be said about letting go of control. Many of us like to be the captain, but humbling ourselves and letting others lead the way can expand our horizons immensely. We often close the door and stick to routines that have produced good results in the past. Others can open doors and shine light into knowledge that lies dormant in the dark.

The fishing trip today had two parts to it. The second half of the trip came after a stop back to the campsite where Steve, Sam, & Steve’s girlfriend Heather were staying. Their hospitality was the best. Between meeting such fine people, learning a bunch more about lake trout tactics, and the incredible fishing, today might just be the most enjoyable outing of the year.

Round two was similar in action to round one, but this time we had a fourth member on the team. Steve’s girlfriend Heather jumped right in on the action and it was obvious she had put in her share of time boating lake trout also.

The little section I saw from the huge 32 mile long lake was as breathtaking as most of the views in the Adirondacks. Driving home with a deep smile inside, a song came on the radio that had a line in it about how some things “steal your face right off your head.” It summed up the day.

After the mishap of forgetting the downriggers and slow lake trout fishing earlier in the month, another song line comes to mind after having such a great time today. “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might just find, you get what you need!”

July 4th, 2011

July 4th, 2011:

Kayuta Lake
Alder Creek, NY
Smallmouth Bass

As life progresses relationships can grow further apart. Brothers that once saw each other on a daily basis can get to the point where a handful of memories together is all that surfaces in a year’s time. Careful examination reveals no crime or victim, just people filtering out the “music” that flows through them.

One thing that is cool about having a brother is that no matter how much life changes us on the outside, we always recognize each other’s core. Certain characteristics that make a person who they are on the deepest level are recognized in a very translucent manner. We know the auras of the elements of each other’s awareness; An understanding that is beyond words.

This morning, two brother’s started the day by catching crayfish for bait. Months had gone by without spending much time together yet we took to the misty morning stream in unison. The real phenomena here, was that we did it without needing to have much of a verbal conversation. It had all been said before…

We caught our bait in the exact location where I began fishing over 30 years ago. It is a place that hasn’t been visited in quite a few years. Being there with him was a very mystical thing. Sometimes it seems as though life is just some sort of strange dream that recycles itself in infinite ways.

Proceeding from the Oriskany Creek in Clark Mills, our effort made its way to the dam on Kayuta Lake in Alder Creek. Hard fighting smallmouth bass were the target species. This location has proved to be quite a consistent producer of good quality smallies in the 12-18” range.

The bronze colored fish with its cool looking stripes have earned a special place in many an angler’s heart. Pound for pound they sure put up one heck of a fuss! Spastic bezerkoid fights for freedom and survival are deeply written into the fish’s genetic code. Perhaps the common admiration comes from the ability to relate with the rugged little fish.

Our tactics for enticing the fish to bite were simple. A crayfish is placed on a hook below a bobber and drifted through the pockets of water below the dam. The leader length is adjusted to the depth of the water one is drifting.

The action was fair today. Quite a few fish received free meals at our expense. A lot of good strikes with submerged bobbers came back with only an bare hook. Perhaps it was smaller fish for the most part. Hard to say when you never see them.

A few hook sets did find there mark and we managed to land a handful of bass. The best one being a hard fighting smallmouth that ran about 14 inches long. It came after a few drifts through a deep hole with smaller sized crayfish. It wasn’t a small crab that did the trick though. The fish came on the first drift after switching to a larger sized crayfish. As soon as the mini lobster hit the water, the bobber was sucked down into the depths. Guessing that fish was looking for a meal, not a snack.

Some bigger fish would have really put the icing on the cake, but we really did enjoy our time together today. Making it the best was warm breezes and sunny blue skies.

May 14th, 2011

May 14th, 2011:

Backwoods “Pond”
Western Adirondacks
Brook Trout

Fully awoken at 3am in the morning, Jim and I set the day in motion by rounding up the gear we needed for a backwoods trip into the Adirondacks. We fumbled around in the dark trying not to wake the others sleeping nearby. It was a fairly smooth execution that even included 15min of catching worms with a flashlight.

Jim agreed to drive his car and to use his gas today. Saving the money was great, but dealing with his driving is not! The S.O.B has a terrible lead foot that leaves the passenger griping at anything secure in the vehicle. We were at the trailhead to our destination before the sun even started to show itself on the horizon.

Jim is one of my oldest, closest friends. Our conversation while making the three mile walk into our fishing spot often ran very deep. At times it almost seemed as if I was talking to another version of myself.

There was a light misty rain that accompanied our outing. It wasn’t a cold rain, and it helped to keep the pesky black flies from becoming overwhelming. The greenery was about half way developed; Leaving the scenery looking like a natural “buzz cut.” The long, shaggy, hippie hair will be here soon.

Our technique for catching the brook trout is simple. We simply cast out Lake Clear wabbler spoons that are trailed with a 12 to 24 inch long leader. At the end of the leader a simple hook and worm is attached. We cast them out into the deeper holes, and slowly work them back to shore. The trout are attracted to the flashy spoon and quickly locate the worm.

Jim had an immediate hook up on his first cast, but lost the fish soon after. It quickly became apparent that the fish were going to require a little bit of patience, and a fair amount of effort. The action wasn’t fast and furious, but it was consistent.

Fifteen minutes after Jim lost one on his first cast, I was buzzing with excitement. A beautifully marked, foot long brookie leaped from the water as I thrashed around on the shoreline spewing excitement like a five year old in the toy aisle. Slipping the first gorgeously marked fish into the net, and seeing it up close, was the epic moment of the morning. Those flaming blue halos are a masterpiece of nature. The intricate design and color seem to express the depths of life itself.

The two of us spent a couple hours meshing with the backwoods. Every so often we would dial in on a trout and our excitement would sing the lead vocals. We managed enough trout for a delicious lunch and had a great time in the process.

On the way back to our vehicle we found fresh bear tracks in the mud. It looked as though we may have scared it off just before we got there. Every time we have ventured into this part of the Adirondacks we have seen sign of bear in one form or another, including a very close encounter in the flesh. Plans have been made for a return bear hunting trip in the fall.

April 6th, 2011

April 6th, 2011:

Salmon River / Sandy Creek
Altmar, NY
Steelhead / Brown Trout


Ran into my old friend Chris earlier in the week while taking a break at the gym. We were both headed into Herb Phillipson’s sporting good store to pick up fishing supplies. The result was a fishing partnership today in pursuit of steelhead and brown trout.

If I could somehow go back and make a video recap of the steelhead trips we’ve made over the years, it would be almost hysterical. We could entitled it “The bumbling adventures of a couple bored anglers.” Neither of us have ever had enough drive to master the fish, but we do have fun giving it a shot.

The river was very crowded this morning. Arriving on the Salmon River in Altmar near the Wire Hole, we walked almost to the Ellis Cove area before finding a place to fish. The fish were stacked up in the area at different stages of the spawning process, and a lot of fishermen were there trying to catch them.

We put in a decent effort for a couple hours. Fighting through cold hands and frustrating line tangles trying to trick a hungry fish into biting. We did see a couple fish being landed, but neither of us were able to hook into anything.

Looking to warm up and get something to eat, we made our way back to Chris’ car. I wanted to go try Orwell Brook, so we headed off in that direction. To our dismay, my guidance led us into unknown territory. I had somehow misjudged the road leading to the spot we intended to fish. After quite sometime of driving through unknown country side and passing through little towns we never heard of, we arrived in the small town of Sandy Creek.

It was a fine way to find a familiar place again. Not only did I know how to get back to where we had started out, but there was also a fine little stretch of water there in town for us to fish.

Before venturing down to the creek, we stopped into a little diner to grab a bite to eat. It was a typical small town diner that one can find all across the country. When the waitress came out with our food, we were delighted to see some fine small town cooking. Things then went terribly wrong when I approached the waitress for condiments.

After placing our plates of food in front of us and asking us if we needed anything, she began to walk away from our table. As I went to take the first bite from my omelet, the realization came to me that it was missing hot sauce. I excitedly hollered over to the waitress before she wandered away, letting her know that I would like some hot sauce for my omelet. Problem was, while doing so I made a hand gesture like I had the bottle in my hand, and I was trying to squirt it out onto my food. It was identical to a perverted gesture that mimics male masturbation.

The waitress’ eyes bulged from their sockets, and she exclaimed “what!?” I had no idea, and raised my voice while continuing the gesture, saying: “hot sauce!” “hot sauce!” She turned away with a disgusted look, and I couldn’t figure out for the life of me what I had done.

I turned toward Chris, and his face was turning blue with hysterical laughter. He was literally starting to drool. He looked at me, made the gesture, and said “hot sauce?” My face turned beat red after realizing what I had done.

It got worse because Chris just couldn’t pull it together and remained in a hysterical state of laughter. Next thing you know, I’m unable to breath and caught up in the same uncontrollable state. We were really making a scene in that little diner, and needless to say, our service was less than ideal…

The fishing went a little better. We were able to locate a few fish milling about in a few of Sandy’s deeper pockets of water. Seeing those big fish up close and personal in a small stream like Sandy Creek really gets the heart pumping. Getting them to bite is often a difficult task, because the fish tend to be very skittish.

The first hook-up was very short lived. The big hefty steelhead made a short powerful run, and the game was over before it had a chance to begin. I actually think the letdown from the disconnect outweighed the excitement of the hook-up.

Hook-up number two went a little better. Drifting a small night crawler through a deep hole under a bobber was the ticket. The chunky brown trout danced on the surface of the water for awhile as I fumbled around trying to get the net under it. The hook maintained it’s connection and at last I was holding a fine fish.

Even the success of our fishing took an unexpected path when I failed to maintain a firm grip on my catch. While waiting for Chris to come over and take a picture of the fish, it squirmed loose and swam off. It was a little frustrating, but didn’t really phase us too much.

The frustrating part of our outing developed while heading home. Chris’ newly purchased car had a breakdown, leaving us stranded in a bait store parking lot in Pineville. Making the best of it, we tossed our lines into the river down by the bridge while waiting for a tow truck. Today was just another one of our bumbling adventures through steelhead country.