With great regret I admit hunting season 2010/11 is coming to an end.  February and March are fairly useless months, the only positive is I am able to use the down-time to reacquaint myself with my family!  Since the marsh was an ice rink, late duck season was spent on the Arkansas River.  

After a couple of scouting trips, we found good numbers of birds concentrated in a bend of the river.  We were able to fashion a blind using cedar branches on a sandbar.  The river was mostly frozen (just like my hands), but had a few current channels open and some open slack water near our sandbar which we appropriately named “Miss Island”.  For the most part the weather cooperated with cloudy skies and even light flurries.

 

I hate to admit, but Miss Island earned its name due to the fact it took 3 boxes of shells to get a limit on day two.

Arranged Marriage

In 1923, twelve avid waterfowlers came together and started a hunting club near Oxford, KS.  They each paid $1,000 (2010 equivalent of $12,600) as membership dues and with the proceeds secured a few hundred acres and built a 60 acre marsh complete with hunting cabin.  Today, the property and hunting club still remain intact and is oasis in the middle of nowhere, offering some of the best waterfowl hunting in Kansas.  Although the original members are gone, the club's bylaws have allowed membership to pass by lineage to subsequent generations.  New members (only a handful of memberships have been granted in the past 88 years) may be added by vote of existing members and with payment of dues, which have remained $1,000.

If this cabin could talk, it would tell some amazing stories...there is still a hidden trap door in the floor from the days of Prohibition.    

The marsh was built for duck hunting with an average water depth of 4' and 20 islands. 

I have had the opportunity to be a guest at the club a few times this year and am amazed by the black clouds of ducks and geese at this private marsh.  The marsh itself is surrounded by a band of C.R.P., approximatively 100 yards wide, the C.R.P. is bordered by massive crop fields of winter wheat, milo and soybeans.

One of the current members has a grand-daughter who is about the same age as Ben, I am trying really hard to work out the details for an arranged marriage, so membership may be extended into our family (Sorry son, but we all make sacrifices and you'll thank me when your'e older!).

Our last hunt was prior to a massive cold front and it didn't take long to get a limit.  

   

Bad Luck Bill

The past few weeks have been spent laying in fields honking at geese.  I had a great time last week when my good buddies Bill and Peter came down for a fews days to do some population control and relive the glory days from Fort Hays State U.
 

Despite a great setup in a field which 24 hours prior had hundreds of geese, we struck out and ended the streak~ We did however shoot a limit of corn cobs!

The goose numbers have been unbelievable the last few days, prior to last weekend our last six hunts have yielded limits in less than two hours of hunting.  I blame the end of the streak on Bill.  Every time he comes to town hot fields go cold, not to mention we stay up too late and inevitably end up basking in the glow of neon lights.      

Scuba Buck

If you live in Butler County and were outside yesterday morning about 8 a.m. you probably heard the super loud laugh of Mrs. Janet as she dropped the hammer on her best buck to date.

Guided by the ever patient Pat (Guide / Husband to Mrs. Janet), this is how it all came together:

We walked into the woods on Spring Creek at 6:30 a.m.. prevailing south breeze.

My guide had set my new blind according to him, underneath the biggest mulberry tree in Kansas. We got in but not without a series of marital disputes:  my stool was too short,  the windows in my new blind were too tall and every time my guide crouched or bent over to pick something up, the grunt call in is pocket made noise. Not really a grunt, more of a groan.


When the sun came up, we could see some deer movement on the other side of the creek. I turned about 10 minutes before we saw the deer and told my guide I heard a buck grunt (and not the one in his pocket). He couldn't hear it (cause I was hunting with the deaf guy/guide.)

As I was talking to myself in my head about various things (Should I really be out in the woods with a deaf guide? How am I gonna shoot anything out of a window that is head high, AND DO I really know what a buck grunt sounds like?), my guide got a visual on the buck I wasn't hearing.

Then, two does appeared in front of the blind, they came right up the ridge to the blind within two feet of the window where our sent was streaming over the north part of the pasture.

I had about 3 minutes to decide, so I turned and asked my guide  "Should I shoot?"

He answered in a rather hushed, irritated tone, "I'm not gonna tell you what to shoot."
(Not only is my guide deaf, but a little cranky.)

I decided that it was a better deer than I had ever shot, so I decided to try.

Now...... I Thought. What is that sound I have to make to stop the deer? I don't know if I did it right, but I did it loud.
 
He stopped, perfectly broadside at 20 yards and I shot, destroying the netting on the front of my new blind. I watched carefully but the buck didn't do that high ass end kick.

My guide turned to me and said ,as he does every time I shoot at something, "DID YOU GET HIM?" 
  

Short blood trail (one drop), and the deer only went thirty yards. He landed in 3 feet of water, thinly covered with ice.

Lucky for Mrs. Janet her guide / husband put the scuba gear on and fished her buck out of the frigid creek! 



Ol' No-Show Pudgy Thumb

A true country music legend, George "Opossum" Jones, often made headlines in the 1970's for being a hard-drinkin', fast-livin' spiritual-son of his idol Hank Williams.  The Opossum's wild lifestyle led to him missing many performances, earning him the nickname "No Show Jones."  Which brings me to the story about this weekend...

On Friday, things were shaping-up nicely and all the ingredients were in place for the perfect duck/goose hunt the next morning.  The weather report for Saturday morning called for north winds after midnight, declining temperatures with partly cloudy skies and Friday's above freezing temperatures had preventing icing. This would be the first time since the migratory arrival of our feathered prey all the puzzle pieces were fitting together for a hunt at the marsh, and on a Saturday no-less!

After designing a plan for Saturday AM that General MacArthur himself would be proud of, I finally fell asleep eagerly anticipating the inevitable morning slaughter.  The alarm clock was unnecessary, as I was conscious and loading gear long before it was scheduled to remind me to wake-up and go hunting.  All was going according to plan until something just felt wrong.  I couldn't help but notice we were five minutes past our agreed upon departure time and I was yet to hear the familiar sound of ladders clanging against a ladder rack as my brother's truck announced its arrival on our street.  At first, I was not too troubled, as my plan always has a slight buffer built-in to accommodate "late-comers", but grew concerned as time passed.  I was sure Ol' Pudgy Thumb would show, after all he had sent a text at 11:19 PM which read, " It's going down in the morning.  I'm coming early, let's do it right!".  As we approached the "drop-dead" departure time and I could observe everyone was growing restless, I had to do the unthinkable, press forward and leave a man behind!  During the drive east I was rehearsing what I would say at my brother's funeral service, since the only logical explanation for his absence was his passing.

Arriving at the marsh, one man down, was bitter-sweet.  The chilled dark morning sky was filled with birds flushed from the water, but absent was the "Short One's" display of excitement in the form of his trademark pelvic thrusts.  The set-up was textbook and well choreographed.  Legal shooting light was 6:57 AM, by 7:10 AM there were 9 ducks down and 2 geese.  A full limit of ducks was in the brace by sunrise and a near limit of geese followed shortly thereafter.  Waiting on our last goose, while enjoying a healthy breakfast of biscuits and gravy in the blind, I received a text from my brother.  Relieved I was not going to be speaking at his funeral, I was left shaking my head as he explained the reason for his absence.  Long story short, in true George Jones fashion, Ol' Pudgy Thumb's wild lifestyle had caused him to miss one remarkable hunt and earned him the new nickname of "Ol' No-Show Pudgy Thumb"!                      

Flinging Arrows

This past weekend the Pile Boys hit the trifecta at Coon Bottom.  We were all able to put bone on the ground, for Jeff and Dad, it was their first buck with a bow!  Definitely a neat experience to be hunting with someone when they reach a milestone, especially with family.

Lefty on Nov. 13th

It all started Friday night around 5 PM, my hope was beginning to fade with the sun when I noticed a doe approaching from the east.  As she nervously made her way down the hedgerow, she was obviously being pushed by something, as she would pause every few steps and look back over her shoulder.  When she finally made it beneath my tree, I heard a deep grunt echo out of the timber, which confirmed her nervous behavior.   Within a minute or two, I could hear leaves crunching along with more grunting.  By this time, the doe had passed by and was standing 30 yards in front of me.  The moment of truth arrived in the form of "Lefty", a buck which was number two on my hit list.  He walked down the trail and stopped directly in a shooting lane at 17 yards.  After a couple of deep breaths, I came to full-draw and made the shot.  He bucked and ran 25 yards then dropped right on the trail!  

On Saturday morning, I drove around to pick-up Dad and he was already standing at the road.  I notice he did not have his bow, so I inquire to its whereabouts, thinking he had left it in the tree (he is getting older you know!).   He causally says that he laid it out in the field...on top of his buck!  He then points out in the middle of the green wheat field, where I see his first arrowed buck taking a dirt nap!   

Jeff a.k.a Ol' Pudgy Thumb rolled into camp late on Saturday night.  (Seems the whole marriage thing has put some cold water on his hunting!)  After a late night around the campfire, he headed to the stand vowing to shoot the first thing with antlers that crossed his path.  True to his word, by 8 AM, we got a text declaring he had shot his first buck.

No doubt we had a great weekend, one which will be relived in story for a long time, "Remember when the three of us all stuck bucks in the same weekend..."  

Trail Cam Pictures

Is the rut winding down?  Looks like bucks are returning to their nocturnal ways and does are back in groups with fawns.