The Deer I Killed (?) Got Up and Ran Away After I Shot Him the Second Time!

It was on February 6, 2009 that I wrote an article entitled, GIVING A FALLEN DEER A NAME and placed it on HUNTING HUMOR & TALES. I had shot a nice 10 point buck on a friend’s property near a small town in south Alabama. What I now want to do is to tell ‘the rest of the story’. It was a very cold morning when I arrived at my destination with a strong northwestern wind hitting me without mercy. Since I had not walked to the 14 foot metal ladder stand before, I waited until I could see in the early morning light. I found it without any trouble and settled down and waited for a monster buck to make its appearance. You see, the owner’s son had cameras on trees near the stand and the bucks that enjoyed having their pictures taken were massive in size with large antlers. To my right was a pasture that had grown tall weeds and to my left were planted pine trees. The location was ideal except the freezing, cold weather and a strong wind that was penetrating my clothing and making me feel like an ice cube. I sat there until about nine o’clock and then I got down and begin walking on a small trail in the pines. It was then that I began to ‘jump’ does and not only that; I began to see several scrapes very close together. I knew that there were bucks in the immediate area.

 I soon came near the area where I had entered the pines from an adjacent pasture. I stopped and began looking down to a beautiful hollow where there was a small stream of water. In a very short time I saw a nice size buck walking easily along side the stream. It must have been about 140 yards removed from where I was standing. The buck turned away from me and I immediately decided to take a shot at him. I hit him ‘hard’ because the 150 gram bullet from my 308 caliber Browning rifle knocked him down. The problem was that the buck got up and began to slowly walk away. I waited for several minutes before I began walking down the slope toward where the deer had fallen and there I found a large puddle of blood so I knew he would not live very long. I could hear the deer in the distance but I made the mistake of taking a few steps and that caused the buck to move again. I waited once more and after a few minutes I began walking on the narrow road that I had followed earlier in the morning on my way to the ladder stand which I could now see. Suddenly I looked to my right and several yards away lay a buck deer not far from the ladder stand where I had been sitting for some three hours. I thought, the deer is wounded so I will try a neck shot and not destroy any more meat and that I did. In a moment of time, that buck stood up and I was so surprised because I knew the deer I shot was badly wounded. I was awe stricken when I saw the size of that buck and before I could chamber another round in my rifle that deer ran like it had been shot at by someone trying to kill him.

I stood there amazed and confused. How could a critically wounded deer run so fast? I walked over to where the deer had been laying and found no evidence of blood. I then walked over where he had jumped over a low fence that separated the trees from the pasture. I finally found two small drops of blood on some tall weeds but that was all I found. I called for the land owner to come down and help me look for the deer I shot. Also his neighbor who owned the adjoining property where we were looking came riding up on a John Deere four wheeler and he joined in with us as we searched for the buck I shot. We could find no additional evidence of blood or tracks of this monster of a deer. Undoubtedly, I had missed hitting the deer in a vital area of its neck but I had simply ‘nicked’ him.

We decided to spread out in our search for the wounded deer. My friend’s neighbor finally shouted, “Here he is”, so we walked down to where he and the deer were. As I stared at this buck, I immediately realized that this deer was the one I shot and wounded and was unable to locate. But, what about the very large deer I shot at and simply missed hitting a vital area in its neck? This could not be that buck. I had simply assumed that the second deer was the first deer I had shot and badly wounded it. My mind was whirling with such thoughts like, what if I had shot that second deer where I normally do and that was just behind its front shoulder, I would have had two bucks on the ground. That would not have been good. Furthermore, if I had killed the second deer, would we have continued to look for the first deer I wounded? Though I missed killing a trophy, which the second deer was, I was happy that I did not seriously wound him and hopefully he continued to enjoy life as big bucks do.

Now you may be wondering why I am now writing the ‘rest of the story’ at this time. Well, I finally informed my friend recently that there were two deer involved in my hunt that cold wintry morning. And while I am happy about harvesting a nice 10 point buck, I missed getting a buck that would make this one look like a junior size deer.  Never satisfied, are we. Deer hunters are like that.

This “Son of the South” was Singing “When Irish Eyes are Smiling”

No, this article has nothing to do with football. I have a young friend who lives in the metropolitan area of the city of Fort Deposit, Alabama and who is an avid deer hunter. He comes by it naturally. I remember the first time I visited his family who lived at that time in rural Butler County. His father, Malcolm, took me to the back yard and showed me a collection of antlers of some of the deer he had harvested over a period of time. I was mightily impressed. He had a ‘clothes line’ from one tree to another and it was loaded with some of the finest antlers I have ever seen in one collection. I think he only shot deer with 8 to 10 points on the antlers. His oldest son Benjamin (Ben) inherited his father’s genes because it was evident by his collection of large antlers. The latest set (20 inch spread) was atop the biggest deer he has ever killed.

Ben is from Benjamin and one definition in Hebrew of this name is “Son of the South” and you can’t get much further south than Lowndes County, Alabama. His surname ‘Callen’ is Irish in origin. Now I don’t really know if Ben can carry a tune in a bucket but I can just imagine he was either whistling ‘Dixie’ or singing ‘When Irish Eyes are Smiling’ because of what he was looking at after he found this buck. But here is his story in his own words.

"I've killed several deer over the past few years of this caliber. It comes from long hours in the stand and from passing young bucks. Funny thing is on this deer is I was coming home from working with dad in the woods and decided I'd stop by and check one of the several game cameras I run almost year round. I had several minutes of shooting light left so I decided to park and walk to the first camera spot I was going to check. I usually don't see many deer in this spot but as I rounded the corner in the road to where I could see the field and it was in there I saw several doe and a young basket rack buck. They caught my wind and left the field. I changed the memory card in my pocket and headed to the next camera location. Upon walking up to it I spotted this buck standing under an oak tree in the edge of the field with his head down. Immediately I could tell he was a shooter buck. I propped my Sako .270 on a corner fence post and centered the crosshairs and squeezed off on him. A puff of smoke came out of my barrel and I couldn't tell whether I hit the deer or not but as I looked up out of the scope I caught a glimpse of him running into the thicket so I knew which way he ran. I walked back to my truck and drove into the field. I searched around where he was standing for awhile for blood. Unsuccessful I decided to make a short circle out through the woods. Luckily I stumbled up on him about 50 yards from where I'd shot him. He was a great buck. No ground shrinkage at all and one of the biggest bucks I've ever killed. I actually had this deer on camera last year also and took a shot with my bow at him and missed. It's funny as many hours as you put in the woods hunting hard that it always seems to be when you least expect it when you stumble upon a big buck."

 

Oh, did I mention that this seasoned hunter is only in his mid 20s?!

The Mule That Could

Old timers will remember that way back in the 1950s there were mules in the movies and on television, Francis and Ed who could talk. Now if you believe that, let me tell you about this farmer who had a mule that could point a covey of quail. A gentleman from the city came to see his farmer friend and was informed about the unusual ability of this mule. The friend didn’t believe that any mule could ‘point a covey of quail.’ Well, the story goes that the farmer got the mule out of the barn and the three headed for the cover of weeds and tall grass where quail could be found. All of a sudden the mule stopped and pointed with its long snout. The farmer assured his friend that the mule had located a covey of quail. The friend still did not believe that a mule was able to accomplish such a feat. The mule then stomped with its right hoof and up flew, believe it or not, a covey of quail. The mule continued to point out birds until they came to a creek. The friend suggested they cross the creek and look for birds on the other side. The farmer replied that it was impossible to do so and his friend asked ‘why’? The farmer said that his mule would never make it across the creek and his friend with a big question mark on his face again asked, ‘Why’? The farmer replied in no uncertain terms, ‘because he is a better fisherman than he is a hunter.’

In Memory of a Dear Friend & An Avid Hunter

Thomas Daniel Conway was one of the finest Christian gentlemen I have ever known. He lived in the small town of Fort Deposit, Alabama. He and Marguerite had been married for some 68 years. He was a plumber and an electrician by trade. He was well known and respected by scores of citizens in Lowndes and Butler counties where he lived and worked. He finally succumbed to death on Thursday morning, May 19, 2011, having fought valiantly for some time the awful disease of cancer. I drove from my home in Prattville on Monday, May 3 to Fort Deposit for the express purpose of telling my old friend goodbye, knowing that his days were soon coming to an end on this earth.

In his latter years he suffered greatly with pain that dealt harshly with his shoulders and back. I used to kid him that the ghosts of all those deer he killed with that Remington semi-auto rifle (caliber 30-06) and its recoil were getting their revenge on him. However, I believed his hard labor as a plumber contributed much to his health problems. I will call my dear friend ‘brother Tom’ because of our relationship in Christ in this memorial. Brother Tom told me that he hated to see the state build Interstate 65 near Fort Deposit several years ago because that was some of the best turkey hunting area in the county. He would relate how he would get the most stubborn Toms to come to him when they would not move as he called them on his Lynch box. Sometimes he would remove his cap and beat on some bushes and other times he would run his hands through the leaves or just about any other noise that might fool that ole Tom to get it to come to him.

Brother Tom would tell me that a good friend of his, John Arthur Moorer, who had a farm a few miles west of Fort Deposit, would call him and tell him that there was a Tom turkey down in his pasture ‘gobbling up a storm’ so brother Tom would go out take care of the problem. I don’t know how many gobblers brother Tom killed in his life but it would be in the dozens. I will tell you that he killed 100 deer in his lifetime. And that is not a bad record to have if you are true deer hunter and hunting according to the state’s laws and regulations. He lost the use of his left eye back in the 1970s and his right eye had a cataract on it and thus he eventually became unable to hunt deer and turkey as once he did. And because of the arthritis in his shoulders he was unable to shoot his favorite 30-06. I personally believe that brother Tom would have hunted all of his life had it not been for his health hindering from doing so.

While living in Opp in the 1970’s, I become addicted to hunting deer and wild turkey. To simply state the matter, I was a novice and I had much to learn. Brother Tom called me one spring day and asked me to come up to Fort Deposit and we would go out to John Arthur Moorer’s farm and go turkey hunting. Now, it didn’t matter that it was 70 miles one way to Brother Tom’s house and so I replied immediately that I would be at his home early the next morning. I think I got up about 3:30 a.m. for the trip. I believe that was the only time I knocked on the front door of his house. The following years I always went to the back door where family and friends would enter.

He was awake and ready for me to arrive so we got in his truck and drove out to the Moorer’s farm. Brother Tom instructed me to go ahead of him some distance and sit down and wait until the break of day. I did and I heard gobblers gobbling and hens yelping. I tried my best to get a gobbler to come my way but due to my inexperience in calling, I failed to do so. Later in the morning I heard the blast of shotgun. A few minutes later I walked to where brother Tom was and I immediately saw a dead gobbler at his feet. With a smile on his face he said, “Raymond, I was afraid you might not kill one so I shot this one for you.” I looked him straight in the eyes and said, “Brother Tom, I don’t want a dead turkey.” Well, we drove back to the house and I sat down in the ‘living room’ for a spell. Soon Marguerite told me that breakfast was ready and I moved hurriedly to the dinning table to enjoy a delicious meal prepared by an excellent cook. About that time brother Tom came walking in the room with ‘my turkey’. That gentleman had cleaned that bird for me and it was all ready for my wife to bake it when I returned home. Now, I am going to tell you that was true friendship; because if you have ever cleaned an ole Tom turkey you know why they are called ‘fowls’.

I often told that story of him killing ‘my turkey’ in his presence and he would grin from ear to ear. In fact, my last visit with him, he related that he had gone over to the Grady church of Christ to hear me preach and that I told that story about him killing ‘my turkey’. He always enjoyed hearing me tell it. Well, during the funeral service for brother Tom on Sunday, May 22, when I was mentioning many of my memories of him, I related that story and it brought laughter from those present, especially from his wife and family since they had heard the story before from brother Tom himself. The hunting of deer and turkey was an integrated part of this good man’s life and the many hunting stories he often told delighted all those who heard them. But the 30-06 rifle and the 12 gauge shotgun of his will remain silent now since the owner has departed to the place where the Tree of Life now exists in that beautiful Paradise of God.

A Two Headed Deer??

A TALE (TAIL) OF A TWO HEADED DEER??

(With apologies to the novel “A Tale of Two Cities”)

They say, “seeing is believing” but sometimes even that is hard to believe, at least to fully comprehend. When I was but a lad, I heard the rumor that there was a two headed calf down at the Veterinarian’s office in my hometown so I just had to go and see for myself. Well, I did and as I stood looking at that freak of nature I had a hard time believing what I was seeing. The poor calf died in a very short time after it was born. I can remember that we used to kid about having a dog that chased cars to have it chase a Studebaker because both the front and back of the car looked very much alike, thus, causing the dog to be confused and not knowing which end to chase. But I am about to relate a story concerning two deer hunters from the state of Texas that is known for exaggerating hunting stories about the size of their deer but this story tops them all because of the unusual and rare aspects of this particular deer.

I thought about sayings like ‘if a person had a problem about getting drunk, seeing this deer would sober him up – in a hurry’ ... Or, ‘here is a deer with a split personality’ … Maybe ‘two heads are better than one' ...  'You must be drunk because I see two of you’ … ’you might could have a coin with two tails or two heads but what about a deer with two heads’ … Which end would you believe?’ ... ’You are just ‘two-faced’ about matters … Wait, if you had another face, you would be wearing it’ … ’I really don’t know which end

to believe” (usually said regarding a dog barking at you and wagging its tail at the same time) … The lady on a GPS might say: ‘Turn right, no, turn left, no, turn right … re-calculating’ … If these hunters were preachers you could say that the bullets from the preachers’ rifles went in both ears and came out the other two … Couldn’t you imagine informing your friends that we killed a deer with 19 points and they were located - ‘where did you say?’ … ‘that deer does not know if he is coming or going’ … With apologies to the writer biblical James (1:8): ‘This deer is a double-minded animal, unstable in all his ways.’

Here are several links to this internet-spreading story. I found it in The SeaBreeze News and you can also read about some questions surrounding this deer at Buck Manager.  After reading these fascinating theories, come back and leave me your thoughts. I'd be interested in knowing what you think.

B. Raymond Elliott, Esquire and Exaggerator(?)

Did You Shoot Them in That Sequence?

It was a cold day in January that year when I got dressed to go with a couple of friends to the Butler County Management Area to hunt deer. I had to ride between Timmy and Foy in a small Datsun pickup truck. On the back was a box that contained a few hound dogs. The distance was about 60 miles and most of that was covered during the darkness of that early morning. It was so cold that the red dirt had spewed up with ice and the wind was blowing to boot. It was a dreadful morning to be exposed to such weather for man or beast. At the set time I was placed as a standard in a cut-over area where I stood fully clothed with so many layers that made movement on my part rather difficult and I was still freezing. Foy was to the east of me and over a small hill.

Timmy had turned the dogs loosed and was located to the west of me and over another small hill and near a stream of water. I had deer coming by me but they were does and perhaps button bucks but nothing to shoot at because I might shoot the wrong sex and have to pay a fine and receive a cussing out by the top ranger.

Permit me to interrupt this here story by informing you that the day before this great hunt began, Timmy ‘borrowed’ 10 rounds of 12 gauge, 3 inch magnum, and double O buckshot from me to shoot in his Browning shotgun. His Browning and mine were both manufactured in Belgium with a 30 inch full choke and vented rib barrel, the top of the line for shotguns in my humble opinion. But, let me continue with this tale about three hunters from Opp, Alabama on a very cold day in south Alabama. The dogs were running and a-barking and jumping deer. All of
a sudden I heard Timmy shoot five times and then there was a pause between the next five rounds. As you know, the Browning can be loaded from underneath and that was what he was doing as fast as he could until he shot up all ten of the rounds I had loaned him. Shortly afterwards I heard him yelling, “Hey Raymond, get Foy and ya’ll come over here.” I shouted for Foy and we both went as fast as we could with about 30 pounds of clothing on us. When we got to where Timmy was there lay three bucks. Now remember we were on a management area and you were only allowed on that day to kill one buck per person. But what I saw were a six-point, a seven-point and an eight-point buck lying on the frozen ground. I believe that comes to a total of three bucks!

The first words out of my mouth were “Did you shoot them in that sequence?” I also said to him that he should have allowed one of them come my way. Timmy said he was standing on a stump along side a small stream of water when all of a sudden all that he saw were antlers everywhere. That is when he began to blast away with his 12 gauge shotgun. Now, we have a problem. One hunter could not claim three bucks at the ranger station. Foy said he would claim one and then Timmy looked at me. It was then I simply said, without a ‘holier than thou attitude’ that I could not conscientiously claim one because I would have to sign a paper declaring that I killed the deer. It was then a preacher friend of ours said he would. I think maybe he ‘fell a little from grace’ with that decision.

Well, my friend Timmy mounted all three deer heads and when you visit with him you will see the 6-point, 7-point and 8-point deer hanging on the wall. What did I get out of the hunt on an unbearable cold day near Georgiana, Alabama? Why it was my 10 rounds of buck shots that kill those three deer. I had the ten hulls mounted and I placed them over my fireplace in my den. Now if you believe that you will also believe this story.

A man kept bringing back a sack full of dead squirrels when he returned from hunting. Friends noticed that he did not have a gun with him and someone asked him how he killed the squirrels. The hunter replied that he “uglied” them to death. He also said that he used to carry his wife with him hunting squirrels but she always torn them to pieces. (Oh my!)

Visit to Colorado, Springs

NO KNOT ONE, BUT TWO
Our son Matt who lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado was given a pet dog by the name of Enso, why the name I cannot remember. Anyway this Beagle is a smart watch dog. Beagles by nature make good pets and they need plenty of room to run and roam. I met a gentleman several years ago in central Florida who hunted deer by using a Beagle. He said this particular dog did not run the deer too fast like a hound and he always brought a deer back to him so he could harvest the animal. Every time a dog or a person passes our son’s house Enso will let you know it. He sits on the back of the couch and looks out the window to make sure the area is secure. The backyard is rather large and has a wooden fence around the area. On one side of the yard there are two knot holes that Enso uses to check on the neighbors and their dog. He will run from one knot hole to the other one to peek through it to see what is going on next door. Never in my life have I witnessed any breed of a dog that would stand and stare through a knot hole in a wall and stare for a lengthy period of time to check on matters. But take a look at this smart Beagle in his stance and staring through one of his knot holes.

A VERY LARGE CALIBER PISTOL
My brother-in-law Joseph has a collection of pistols and long guns that would equal many gun stores. He reloads and has a supply of powder, etc in his special room off the garage. I warned his wife Rosemary that if their house caught fire she should run fast and far away because there would be plenty of fireworks that would make a fourth of July celebration seem very small. One pistol he has is something like a .490 caliber. Now I have no desire to shoot such a gun. Since dinosaurs are no longer around I wonder why in the world a person would own such a large caliber pistol. But have you ever met a hunter from the state of Texas? These fellows are always bragging how large their whitetail deer are and the size of their antlers. These braggarts are always exaggerating and it is hard to believe anything they say about the size of their deer; however, when my sweet wife and I stopped in Centerville, Texas I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. When you see the size of this pistol you do wonder how large the deer in Texas really are.
A BEAUTIFUL BIRD
I have lived and hunted in the southeast all my 75 years and I have seen various kinds of birds while in the woods but I had never seen a live Magpie until we visited our son in Colorado Springs. They tell me this bird, while beautiful, is “very mean”. They do seem to ‘fuss’ a lot. I captured this one on my camera the morning we were leaving. He is pretty, isn’t he?
ELK COUNTRY
I truly wanted to see an elk on our journey to eastern Colorado but while I saw a sign denoting where they might cross the highway, I never saw one; however, in NE New Mexico I saw plenty of Pronghorn Antelopes. BEAUTIFUL COUNTRY, WHERE THE ANTELOPE ROAM
SPRING TIME IN THE ROCKIES
We returned from Colorado on Wednesday, May 26, 2010. While there we went back one hour in time and one season. Spring had just come to this beautiful country as you can readily see in the following pictures.

SCENE OF PIKES PEAK
Before I leave I must show you one of the pictures I took of this beautiful and famous mountain that can be seen all of the area of Colorado Springs, even from our son’s bedroom window.

A TRUE WEST VIRGINIAN
I first met Dale and Sheila Jones when they moved to Prattville , Alabama in the1980s. He became employed by the local paper mill as an engineer. We developed a strong friendship over a period of time. Dale was a physical specimen of a man in every way. He had worked in the coal mines in his home state along with various other jobs in his youth. His father owned a car dealership in his home town. He was a person of strong convictions, morally and spiritually. They lived for some time in his father camper, along with a large dog. Then Matthew, their first born son, came to live with them in that very small space. After some time had passed they moved into a house north of Posey’s Crossroads in Autauga County. As you may guess, Dale and I began telling one another stories about our experiences in hunting deer and turkey. Here are a couple of true stories that Dale related to me.

SETTING THAT CURSED ALARM CLOCK
This is one thing I truly hate about hunting deer in the early morning hours. I anticipate that alarm clock going off and I awake a dozen times before it goes off and am happy when it comes time for me to get out of bed. Well, Dale, being a novice in this matter of deer hunting, listened carefully to the experienced hunters and so he set his alarm clock for 4:00 a.m. He awoke and put on all his heavy clothing because in the mountains of West Virginia the weather gets very cold and icy in the winter time. And then he eats a bite of food, gets out of his tent and goes a short distance and sits himself down right there on the top of the steep ridge (we might call it a mountain). I said to Dale, “Wait a minute, are you saying that you were already in the deer woods?” He replied that he had left the evening before and hiked into the mountains to be on the back side of the reservation so he could be ahead of the hunters the next morning. He felt like the hunters walking in the woods toward him would surely move some deer his way. I said, “You mean to tell me that you were already where you wanted to be in the woods for the morning hunt?” He said “yes”. I asked “why then did you set the alarm clock for 4:00 a.m. if you were already where you wanted to be?” He softly replied, “That’s when the other hunters told me to set it.” I couldn’t help but laugh aloud at my good friend.

HOW FAR BACK WERE YOU?
Dale continued this story about his early deer hunting experiences by relating that as he sat there on the side of the mountain waiting for the deer to come running toward him, he said that he caught movement in his peripheral vision and lo and behold he saw a hunter coming from back of him and walking toward the hollow below. It was only a short time before he saw other hunters coming from behind where he sat and moving toward the hollow. What he had not realized when he arrived the evening before was that he pitched his tent near the entrance to the reservation on the other side. And there he sat while dozens of other hunters entered the woods looking for deer. If I remember, it seems that he told me he got up and left for home. I thought I would pass out laughing at my dear friend.

A RIDDLE OF SORTS (With apologies to Samson, Judges 14:14)

“Out of the buck came a gobble,
From the carcass of a deer
Came forth fowl meat.”

My West Virginia mountaineer friend told this true tale of going deer hunting in the mountains of West Virginia with some friends. They made their camp and then separated to stalk a trophy buck that would look great mounted over the mantle and fireplace. Dale said that he had gone a long way from the camp in this new territory and eventually spotted a nice size buck. He shot and killed the buck but the trouble began when the deer rolled down the side of the mountain. He found the buck and saw that it had 10 points which pleased Dale very much. He field dressed the deer and began dragging it up the mountain side. He succeeded and was exerting himself dragging the heavy animal. You might not believe it but he saw a wild turkey gobbler so he shot it also. So, now he has a large deer to drag and a gobbler to carry, along with his rifle. Even this very strong man had a real problem on his hands. What was he to do? To solve this problem he stuffed the turkey inside the cavity of the deer and now he could use both arms to drag the deer; but, there was another problem presenting itself to my friend Dale. Darkness was coming and Dale was not sure where he was in relation to the campsite. He found an indenture in the side of the mountain and placed the deer and the turkey there for safe keeping until he could return later. He eventually found his campsite and friends. He related the story that I have just shared with you but they were not impressed and manifested a real disbelief of their friend’s tale of him killing a buck and a gobbler on the same day. It was not until the next morning that he convinced a hunting buddy to go with him to search for his trophies and finally after a long hike they came upon the turkey that was stuffed in the stomach cavity of the deer. End of story.

But wait, I must pass on to you the kind of entertainment that Dale and his friends enjoyed from time to time. He informed me that on some Saturday nights they would go down to a particular church building and slip around to watch those religious mountaineers handle rattlesnakes. And you thought going to the movies on Saturday nights was exciting.

Hunting Humor & Tales

A GOOD CHRISTIAN FRIEND
While working with the church in Luverne , Alabama my wife and I made many new friends and among that number were Larry and Mary Jo Hoffman. Larry is a man of many talents. He has been an operator of heavy equipment for a number of years. He can build just about anything he desire to build. He and his lovely bride own some land that is located…well; you just can’t get there from here. Seriously this beautiful acreage lies somewhere between Rutledge and Honoraville in Crenshaw County, Alabama on County Road 11. I went down this past week for a visit with him at his farm and I rode with him on his four-wheeler to a shooting house.A HOUSE IN THE WILDWOODS
This is the first sight you see when you drive down the road a piece when you get off the highway. Larry and Mary Jo do not presently in this house which they built years ago but his son and wife live here. A porch goes nearly around the house. Steven told me that one night a deer got on the porch to eat the acorns that had fallen on it and the noise really scared his wife but he said he knew exactly what was making the noise. The deer would have been within range of any bow hunter, except it was at night.AN IDYLLIC SCENE
This beautiful lake is only a short distance from the house. This is a bass fisherman’s dream for a nice afternoon excursion. I got on Larry’s four-wheeler with him and we crossed the dam on the way to the shooting house.A BRIDGE OVER RESTFUL WATERS
You can take a stroll across the lake in the north end where there are several Cypress trees.AN ELEVATED SHOOTING MANSION
My friend informed me that he built this shooting house (10X16) at his house and carried it out to this spot where he then built the roof. He lifted the house the height he desired and placed the supports underneath it. He told me that it was completely insulated. He just does not like to get cold while hunting deer and I believe it.LIL’ ABNER’S HOUSE?
This side of the house did make me think of some of my kinsfolk’s house on Sand Mountain years ago. No chimney but there is the ‘stove pipe’.
I’M TELLING YOU THIS IS A ‘HEATED’ HOUSE
Close by the heater was ‘kindling’ or ‘lighter knot’, along with an ample supply of wood. During the extreme cold weather we had recently I went down to sit with him in this house and he ‘built’ a fire and before long I had to take off my hunting coat and a jersey. And just take a look at the fancy tile or whatever that heater is setting on. I thought he was going to run me out of the house. I should have told him to turn the damper down. And I think of the times that I have sat in a tree stand on many a frigid morning and nearly froze to death.
PINEY PLANKS
No, he did not settle for plywood but he used some nice finished pine wood to stand on (look at the width of some of those planks).
THE VIEW FROM THE ELEVATED MANSION
It is so beautiful and peaceful that my friend said that he was often tempted to place a cot in the shooting house and sleep overnight. Wait a minute; I thought I saw some movement just inside the woods. If I will be patient enough maybe that 10 point buck will come out just before dark.

Hunter's Stand

(This article appeared in The Opp News December 5th 1974.)

Hunter's Stand #2

A. Nimrod (aka R. Elliott)

You know, several years ago before I started this crazy thing of deer hunting, I thought that when a fellow took a stand that he would be placed in a small house where it would be warm and nice until the deer came by. How foolish. Whether you are still hunting, a-sitting on the cold ground or hanging like a monkey some 20 feet up a pine tree, the consequence is the same – you slowly freeze to death. I do believe that this hunting season started out colder than I can recollect a-way down in South Alabama .

That brings me to the first day of hunting. I must confess that it did do as most of the non-hunters and wives would like for it to have done and that is it rained like all get out. Why, men stood around in circles and cried like babies because they couldn’t get out in the woods and load their guns and shoot at some poor half-drowned deer. The dogs were a-barking and a-fighting in the boxes and the men would swear at them and threaten to kill them – at least after the hunt was over. Some men prayed, others cursed and not a few smoked all their cigarettes up and then started on rabbit tobacco. I have never seen a sorrier lot of helpless critters as those men during that rain. Most were so concerned about not hunting for a spell that they did not even know that some people around Opp and other places were about to be blown away by high winds. But, you just don’t notice such things as tornadoes and the like when you have got hunting on your mind, especially the first morning of deer season.

I also made a boast that I was different from the other insane deer hunters in that I was going to kill a deer the first day. Well, would you know, after the rain stopped and we turned that wild bunch of dogs a-loose in the woods that an old ten-point deer was heading my way and some fellow that I was with just couldn’t let me get ahead of him so he killed that old buck with one shot. But, no wonder. That buck was about to step on him and he killed the thing in self-defense. That’s the reason that I didn’t get my buck. Why, that deer had my name - tag stuck on his right ear and the fellow who shot him just did not see it until the creature fell at his feet and died.

My, it is hard to rejoice with them that rejoice, especially when you have to face your starving family with no venison to put on the table. Besides, a man’s pride has to be considered in this matter.

Well, I gave up hunting deer with dogs, at least for two days. I stumbled around in the woods and finally found me a spot at a creek where a 400-pound buck crossed regularly except on days when he is being hunted. Of course, I didn’t know that he knew that I knew that he crossed at the spot. And, that fouled up the whole thing. Now, if I had known that he knew that I would be up a tree a-waiting for him to come by and drink from that creek, I would have saved both of us a great deal of trouble and discomfort by staying in the bed. But, crazy me, I set the alarm clock at an ungodly hour and went to bag me that deer and clean him by the streams of water. However, I picked one of the coldest mornings we have had in years to go walking for miles through the woods carrying a heavy tree stand and pulling the thing through the underbrush. Not only that, I got turned around in the woods and without the aid of my little compass which I keep in my pocket, I came back out about the same place in the soybean field where I had entered the woods. Now, that type of maneuver really takes skill. Not everybody can do that little ole trick, only the ones who have not been blessed with a great deal of mentality. Well, by the time I went back through the woods and crossed the creek (getting my feet wet) and climbing a tree, I was sweating like it was summertime. And, for about thirty minutes I felt warm. But, from then on, I froze. I mean all that sweat under all the ten layers of clothing that I wore turned to ice. I was sitting next to a holly tree and by the time I shook for two hours, there was not a red berry left on the tree. It looked like the ground underneath had the measles. Of course, the deer didn’t come by. You know what I did. I dried my boots out that evening and the next morning you could have found me in the same tree a-freezing to death. Why, I will never know. But, one of these mornings, that 400-pound buck will make a mistake and I will be there a-waiting – frozen, stiff as a board – unable to bend a finger around the trigger.

But, there is hope yet. A story that should make the want ad section of The Field and Stream magazine is the one about the ever falling, stumbling, yarn-spinning editor of the local newspaper who finally shot a deer. Of all the thousands of deer that the man has seen, has shot at with his little bow and arrow set and never hit, he did indeed luck up the other day and bagged himself a deer. You remember what kind of day it was last Saturday. Only ducks and insane deer hunters would be brave enough to weather such a miserable day. Well, as the story goes, between flashing lightning, 80 mile an hour wind gust and torrential rain, this fellow happened to come up on a deer stuck in the mud. The poor creature could not move since all four legs were bogged down in the Blue Springs quicksand. What else could the meandering editor do but put the poor deer out of his misery. He took careful aim with the cannon he was carrying and after shooting 20 times (more or less) the animal gave up the ghost. But, I will say that if a fellow is anxious enough to get out in the kind of weather we had on that day, he deserves to shoot a deer, even if the creature was blind and stuck in the mud.

Thus, there is hope that among the 500,000 deer in our fair state, surely just one will happen to run into the path of a bullet fired from my trusty 30-30.

The Opp News, December 5 1974

Trees, Tornadoes & Ticks

It was a warm and humid morning in the month of December when I arose at 2:30 a.m. and dressed for my hunting excursion at the T.R. Miller Management Area near Brewton, Alabama. When I went outside the weather felt like it was April instead of December. There was an eating establishment in downtown Opp that stayed opened 24/7 called Joe’s Steakhouse and there it was that I sat down for a full breakfast. When I started driving west on U.S. Highway 84 I could see lightening and because of the rain I had to turn on the windshield wipers. I said to myself that no sane deer hunter would be out on such a day. I learned later that about 800 hunters from all over the state hunted on the management area that stormy day, and I was one of them. When you leave Andalusia headed west on the Brooklyn highway it becomes dark and lonely. I drove within about 6 miles east of Castleberry and turned south into the management area and arrived about 5 a.m. to check in and then I headed to my chosen spot to hunt. I walked 10 or 15 minutes from where I parked through some large pines to a bottom where there were hardwood trees near a small stream of water. Growing beside one another were a pine tree and an oak tree. Being younger back in the 1970s I was much stronger and I was able to place my back against the pine tree and my feet against the oak tree and work my way up to the first big limb where I was going to sit for a spell. At this time I did not even have a tree seat that I could use. Well, I started up the tree but I had not counted on the trees being wet. I tried to climb but each time I would slide down to the ground. I took a rope out of my game bag and tossed it over a limb and tried that method but I failed each time because my feet kept slipping on the wet tree. Finally I gave up and found a fallen tree nearby that its limbs had prevented it from falling flat on the ground but kept the tree elevated so I climbed up as far as I could and sat down. It was then that the bottom fell out. It was the hardest rain I had ever been in while hunting without heading for a shelter. I took my Marlin 30-30 and placed as much of it under my rain suit as possible and endured the storm. What I didn’t realize was that a cold front was racing through the south and was causing severe weather when it would collide with the hot and humid atmosphere. In fact a tornado hit just south of the Alabama line in the panhandle of Florida and one man was killed and friends that was not far from where I was sitting. The rain finally stopped and I could feel the cold weather coming on. The only noise I heard was water dripping off the leaves. I caught movement near the stream of water and it was then that I saw the deer but for a moment I could not tell if it was a buck or a doe and only bucks were legal on the hunt. I started to pull the hammer back on my rifle but I learned quickly that I did not have any strength in my thumb. The reason being I had nearly sprained it when I tried several times to pull my way up the tree using my rope. So I placed the hammer between my thumb and my finger and pulled it back and when I did there was a click and that deer raised its head and looked my way. I saw then it was a six point buck and I shot and the 170 grain bullet knocked that deer down where it stood. I drugged the deer a short distance to the stream of water and I began to field dress it and from time to time I was able to wash the blood off my hands. Now a real problem presented itself to me. I failed to mention that my hunting vehicle was a 1964 Ford Falcon. Just how does one person get a buck deer that is as limber as a dish rag on the back of the trunk is one for a mathematician to figure out. I finally tied off the antlers to the back door handle and lifted his hind legs up and over the trunk and tied his legs to the door handle on the other side of the car and here I went to the Ranger station to be checked out. By the way, did you know the blood from a deer will eat the paint right off of your vehicle? I took the deer to a friend place of business and we began skinning it and cutting up the meat. By early afternoon the temperature must have fallen 30 degrees. I eventually arrived at home sleepy, tired but a happy hunter. I got in the shower and began washing my body and as I did I felt some strange lumps on my back. I called for my wife and she quickly identified the two lumps as being TICKS. Those outfits had gotten off the cold deer carcass and had found their way to my warm body. How repulsive but such is not uncommon for outdoorsmen. We were successful in removing the ticks and I never suffered from those blood sucking creatures. To my surprise I was healed from pneumonia, arthritis, lupus, congestive heart failure and yellow jaundice by the letting of blood as was practiced a few centuries ago. (-: Seriously, the Vet said that the ticks died of blood poisoning.

MY ENCOUNTERS WITH COUGARS
The recent news about a woman who hit and killed a 265 pound black bear in Covington County, Alabama with her vehicle has prompted me to write about some wild animals/reptiles that inhabit L.A., that is, lower Alabama where I have done my hunting during the past 30 years. It is not surprising to find black bear in south Alabama. The state of Florida has hunting seasons for these creatures. The bears in the panhandle of Florida probably cannot read the signs that read “You are now entering Alabama ”. That could also be said about alligators. I have seen where those creatures have come out of Pea River in Coffee County and crawled onto the land. Our son Joel and his friend Ronnie used to fish in a pond southeast of Opp and they would always see alligators but to my knowledge they never tried to hook one of them.

But on to my ‘cat tale’, that is my encounters with cougars that roam the swamps and woods of south Alabama. I was speaking in a gospel meeting at the church in Samson and we had an evening meal with a family that lived on the highway that led to Florala. When we left the house our oldest sons wanted to see the community of Hacoda. I told them that it was very small but they wanted to see where it was so I drove to the crossroads. While driving back we saw an animal crossing the road and I thought first of all that it was a bobcat but I noticed that it had a long tail. When we got to where the animal had crossed the road I stopped the car and the boys and I got out of the car and looked in the pasture and sure enough there stood that cat looking at us. It was then that I realized we were looking at a cougar. Needless to say, we got into the car and in a hurry. That ole boy whished its tail and turned and slowly walked away. I learned later that several residents of that rural area had heard the creature scream, especially in late afternoon and evening.

I was hunting in Crenshaw County years later west of the small town of Brantley and along side Double Branch. I arrived mid-afternoon and with rifle in hand I entered some pines on my way to an area where I had seen deer signs. I had not gone far before I saw an animal sitting at the base of a tree. I raised my rifle to look at it through my scope and I as did the cat got up and ran away. It was a cougar that resided in a swamp alongside Double Creek. The Brownlee family members informed me that they often heard the cougar screaming during the evening of the day and at night.

I received permission to hunt on some private land that was much closer to the town of Brantley and even closer to highway 331. My neighbor who lived behind us in Opp told me that a cougar stayed down in a bottom near a beautiful stream of water and that his father had heard the cat scream many times. After I had hunted down the ridge for the greater part of that afternoon I walked up to a small corn field and sat down near it hoping that a buck would come looking for his evening meal. While I sat there and wishing, that cat let out a scream that almost made my hair (at that time the word was plural) stand on end. There I was, a grown man with a Browning BAR 308 caliber rifle in my hands but I truly felt uncomfortable. Although I knew factually that the animal had no interest in me it was soon that I forgot about deer and got up and went home.
HUNTERS READ THIS SIGN: You may walk across my pasture free but the bull charges!

A FAILURE TO PROPERLY COMMUNICATE – AND TO UNDERSTAND
Two hunters are out in the woods when one of them collapses. He doesn’t seem to be breathing and his eyes are glazed.

The other guy takes out his phone and calls the emergency services.

He gasps: “My friend is dead! What can I do?”

The operator says: “Calm down, sir, I can help. First, let’s make sure that he’s dead.”

There is a silence, and then a gunshot is heard.

Back on the phone, the guy says: “Okay, now what?”

EATING ‘HIGH ON THE HAY’
It was my good fortune to be able to hunt on some 450 acres of prime hunting ground owned by my good friend Warren Burt. His land lays on a ridge several miles north of Prattville and just off U.S. Highway 82. When you turn west off of 82 you go up on a ridge and his property was right on top of one of the highest points in Autauga County , Alabama . Most of the land in the middle of his property is used for pasture for his livestock. Near the south end of his property you can look as far as your eyes can see across the Alabama River and into Lowndes County . On either side of the pastures are hardwood hollows that are ideal for hunting turkey and deer. Often during those years I was the only one hunting his land on certain mornings in the early part of the week. There came a time when he began to lease his land for hunting and I chose not to be involved for financial reasons, however, that did not affect our relationship to any degree. During the off season I will go out just to walk around and enjoy the quietness and serenity of this beautiful acreage and to visit with my good friend. On occasions I will carry my camera to take pictures of the trees and wild life.

Well, one day I was driving in my truck through the pasture where Warren had hauled hay in his trailer for his cows to eat. Much to my surprise I saw one cow that was really eager to get ahead of the herd. I thought she was ‘making a hog’ of herself when she decided to get up in the trailer to feast on that delicious hay. I considered her to be rather ‘uppity’ about the whole matter. Those beef cattle reminded me of dairy cows and that reminds me of the morning when I was milking a cow and a tornado came along and blew that cow away and left me ‘holding the bag.’ On another occasion when I was milking a cow a fly flew into its ear and not long after, the fly wound up in the milk bucket. But you have heard that old saying, ‘In one ear and out the udder.’ I am reminded also of a good friend who told me after listening to one of my corny jokes that he was going to do me a favor and not repeat it. That sounds like good advice.A SECOND CHANCE
In the fall of 2000 my friend, Warren, informed me that he had extended his fence down in one hollow and that one morning when he was riding his four wheeler to work he jumped a big buck that came out of a kudzu patch. I asked him to show me where the buck had been bedded down and in which direction he ran. Well you can rest assured that I began to hunt in that hollow. I found where this old boy had worked over a rather large tree with its antlers and I could tell that this fellow was something worth hunting. I found an old ladder stand that had been attached to a tree for several years and I sat in it and I had a panoramic view of the beautiful hollow below me. One afternoon as I was walking toward the stand I jumped the big buck and though I did not see him I will guarantee you that I heard him running. He sounded more like a horse than a deer. For several days I sat in the old stand until late afternoon and then I would move up the ridge and down a dirt road that led to an open field and then I would sit myself in a ladder stand some 14 feet up the side an oak tree. I thought to myself if that deer follows his trail he will come out about seventy yards from where I was sitting. There was a small road where I thought he might exit the woods and that would give me a clear shot at him. Well I sat there waiting and from time to time I would look through my scope to make sure that I could see the crosshairs. I kept hearing some sounds to my right and up the rise in the field so I would watch in that direction for possibly a deer coming my way. As the sun was setting and darkness was slowly but surely falling, I heard that big boy walking. I looked and could faintly see his antlers so then I raised my rifle and looked through the scope and, would you believe it, I couldn’t see the crosshairs. That big buck had been spared another day to live.

In the month of May of the following year 2001, my Cardiologist found a major artery across my heart that was 95 percent blocked so he inserted a stent which I still have with me today. I had some other health problems plus the fact that I lost about 30 pounds too rapidly. The following deer season I was not anxious to be in the woods alone so I did not go hunting during the rest of 2001; however, by January 15, 2002, I was crawling up the walls and just had to get out in the woods with my rifle. I called Warren and he said the fellows had just about quit hunting that late in January so he said for me to come on up that day. I asked Warren if any deer had been killed in the area where the big buck had been traveling and he replied in the negative. That afternoon I went to the same old ladder stand and sat there until late afternoon and then moved slowly back up the ridge and walked down to the ladder stand by the old oak tree and sat there hoping that I would soon see some action. Would you believe that at 5:25 p.m., that big buck walked straight out of the woods some 70 yards from me? He stared my way for the longest and I would not move a muscle until he moved and turned sideways to me. It was then that I fired my Browning 308 caliber rifle and sent a 150 grain bullet a-headed his way. It knocked him down but he ‘crawled’ into the woods so I could no longer see him but I knew he was dead, he just did not know it. I asked myself, what were the chances of my seeing that buck the first and only day I had gone hunting that season? Darkness came and I took my flashlight out, crossed the field and entered the woods and found him very soon because he had not gone far. I called Warren and told him I had killed a deer and here he came on his four wheeler and I showed him the deer and he said immediately, “You’ve killed their big deer” (talking about the men who paid money to hunt on his land). I replied, “Warren, this is my deer. I hunted this boy last year and did not get him.” I honestly believe this was the same deer I failed to kill the year before and now I had shot him within about 10 yards of where I saw him briefly last hunting season. This was a very big bodied deer but I was disappointed in the size of his antlers. It was only a 7-pointer with the end of one tine broken off on the right side. Besides that, it was a weird looking set of antlers. I told my friend that he should feed his deer with the right minerals so the bucks would grow antlers with 10 or 15 points with a 20 inch spread. But I am very happy that this big buck gave me a second chance to shoot at him.

Hunter's Stand #1

PERSONAL NOTE: The following article is one that I wrote while living in Opp , Alabama during the 1970s. Our oldest son, Tim, who was a senior in high school, was asked by the editor of the Opp News to be the editor of the sports section of the weekly paper. I thought I would help him to fill his section by writing hunting stories under an anonymous name. In south Alabama most deer hunters used dogs during those years but there were a few die hard still hunters who enjoyed the sport.

~ ~ ~ ~

Hunter's Stand #1

Deer Hunting ~ The First Day

By A. Nimrod

You know that the time is drawing near. There are definite signs. Some men become very impatient. Daily they stare at the calendar and count off the days, wishing for time to fly by just bit swifter. They take endless walks in the woods looking for a rub, a scrape, tracks or some kind of evidence that the deer are still around and waiting to be shot at come November. Many a man will spend his money, his wife’s money and what he can borrow from the bank to purchase a truck. No, not an old dull-looking thing but a brand new pick-up with a bright two-tone paint job, fancy hubcaps, am and fm radio and even air-conditioned (after all it does get hot riding those dusty roads a-looking for your dogs.). Of course, the wife will drive the worn out family car to carry the children to school and to drive to work. But, you know, first things must come first. The wife understands that the husband’s ego is more important than her having a nice new car. Now you just think about it. If the deer hunting husband can drive a brand new truck, with a CB radio antenna a-bending in the breeze as he goes driving through town, you know that she will be mighty proud of her husband. Why, he has the envy of all those other fellows – especially the bow hunter and the lonely still hunter. Because, you see, they will stay up night wondering how that lucky fellow can drive a new truck and at the same time not work during the long deer season that runs from November till January. And, you stop and ponder over that thing, and it is a wonder.

Then, there is the introvert deer-slayer who had rather be off by himself, up a tree with his rifle, a-freezing to death than to enjoy the deer tales and lies of dozens of shotgun wielding deer hunters, along with the yelping of hundreds of hounds a-hankering to go jump up a fawn or two. This unusual nut will spend endless hours a-gazing at tracks and all the other signs and planning his maneuvers. He is most confident that he will kill a 20-point deer the very first morning. He will even boast to his buddies of the findings that he has made. Now, you just try to get him to explain where he saw such signs and he will come back with a smart-alec answer like, “between here and the Florida line.”

But this type of hunter will spend his money, his wife’s money and all that he can get from other sources to purchase a precious 30-06 caliber rifle (he thinks that a moose might come walking around). He has out-grown his lowly 30-30. Anyway, it’s not automatic. You need a least 7 shots that can be fired in less than 2 seconds because you never know how big and how fast that crazy buck will be. He will even carry extra rounds of ammunition in his pocket just in case he sees more deer than he can handle in one morning. Not only is a rifle important but also in order to be modern and scientific, he has either purchased or made him a tree stand. Just ask him about this jewel. I really don’t see how the Indians ever killed a deer without one of the mechanical devices. Why he can go up to 100 feet in the air and see into the next county if the Pine tree is tall enough. (Wives, just a note here.) If you are planning to divorce your deer hunting, no account husband, don’t do it. Just buy him a tree stand and he will eventually fall out of a lonesome Pine, break his neck and then you can collect the insurance, which will be more respectable.

But, here it is the night before the morning. If you think that the kids have problems on December 24th a-waiting for Santa, you should live the life of a deer hunter. He’s still got a lot of kid in him. He can’t sleep. He knows that he has got to get up early the next morning but he can’t sleep. Instead of counting sheep, as a normal and sane person would do, he can’t see anything but a herd of deer – all bucks. He goes through his ritualistic, planned program of activities. His gun has been cleaned (he stares at it, loves it and sort of worships it). He has bought 40 rounds of ammunition. Before he retires for the night, he will make sure that he has enough Vienna sausages to last for a couple of months, sardines (that should kill the human scent), pork an’ beans, drinks, etc. He never knows whether or not he might get lost and the food would come in handy for at least a month (which is consumed the first morning). He carefully piles his hunting garments in a stack near the back door. According to the unreliable weather reports, he will choose the clothing that he thinks he will need. After all, a fellow could freeze to death in Covington County (by mid-morning, he has pulled off everything except one pair of pants and his tee shirt).

Then, the ordeal begins. He knows that he must get to bed. Any other night, that would be just fine but not tonight. He knows, his wife knows, his children know that he won’t be able to sleep. He sets the alarm clock for some ungodly hour like 4:00 o’clock and the battle begins. He thinks of deer, he dreams of deer, he curses deer because he can’t sleep. He rolls and tumbles. He sweats. He listens for that crazy alarm clock. He thinks that it is time to get up. He turns the light on and looks at the clock – it is only 11:30. What a slow night of all nights. Every hour on the hour, he wakes up and looks hopefully at the clock but it is not time to get out of bed. But, finally, just before the clock sounds, he wakes up and pushes the stem in and rejoices that it is time to get out of bed.

With great hopes, he sets out today what he has prepared to do for a long time. But, this day he probably will not kill a deer nor will he the next day or the next. But, you can’t tell him that he won’t ever because he believes that eventually his time is coming. And, that is exactly what keeps him going and what drives his wife batty. Explain it, I can’t. You know why? Because I am a victim of this horrible disease. But, the difference between me and the rest of those insane deer hunters is the fact that I am going to kill a buck the first morning.

From the Opp News, October 1974

VERY UNUSUAL TURKEY CALLERS?
Now, my brother Willard could take a leaf and blow on it and make it sound like a turkey hen yelping! He could also take the tubing from aerosol cans and put them together and suck on it and it surely would sound like a hen a-yelping. But I want to relate a true story about a fellow who fooled a gentleman on how to make a sound like a turkey yelping.

It happened in downtown Opp , Alabama way back in the '70's. A local UPS truck driver stopped at the Auto Parts Store and made a delivery. While there he took two STP cans, rubbed them together, and at the same time he yelped with his mouth. The proprietor of the Western Auto Store next door happened to be listening and was greatly impressed. Later a worker in this gentleman’s store looked and saw the owner rubbing two STP cans together to see if he could make the same sound that would imitate a turkey hen yelping. It didn’t. Shortly thereafter this incident made its round among friends and everyone enjoyed a good laugh at Mr. H’s expense.

I DIDN’T MEAN TO, BUT I FOOLED HIM TWICE
I was directing a session at the Wiregrass Christian Camp in Chancellor, Alabama many years ago. During the morning chapel service I was making announcements and mentioned that after the evening hike we would enjoy eating watermelons that friends had brought. I mentioned that these watermelons were peculiar in that they had seeds only on one side. I continued talking and soon I saw one of my counselors raise his hand. Now I had hoped that one of the campers would fall for my joke but no, this preacher ~ who was in graduate school at a major university located in the eastern section of the state of Alabama ~ asked, “Brother Elliott, what about those watermelons with seeds on just one side?” Of course I had no recourse but to answer that the seed were only to be found on the inside of the melons.


Later, when the sun had set and we all gathered under the lights near the pavilion, the melons were cut and everyone was enjoying cold watermelons. I had eaten my slice down to the rind and had broken the slice into two pieces and, to have some fun, I began rubbing the outside of the rinds together and in the shadows, where no one could see very well, I began to yelp while rubbing the rinds together. The kids began to laugh and thought I was pretty good at making the sound of a hen yelping. Everyone was enjoying the melons and having fun. About 10 minutes later, this preacher friend and graduate student appeared with two pieces of watermelon rinds in his hands and said to me, “Brother Elliott, show me how you made that sound.” I said to myself, "You are in trouble". (You see this fellow was much bigger than me and a dear friend but I could just see him choking me for fooling him once more.) Well, anyway, I said, "Jimmy, be sure to place the rinds together with some of the lines touching one another and then begin rubbing". He did and I yelped. It was then with lightning speed I wrapped my arms around his waist and arms and quickly said, “Jimmy, I hope you love me.”
SOME MISUNDERSTOOD SOUND ADVICE
These two football players from the Pleasant Home University (I am going to be very careful here and be politically correct so my life will not be in danger ~ you may choose the names of the universities of your choice in telling this joke) went deer hunting and got into their tree stands early one morning. It wasn’t long until along came a couple of football players from Hacoda College. They quietly spoke to one another and the HC football players went deeper into the forest. About 30 minutes later the PHU football players heard a shot back in the woods. Soon they saw the HC ball players dragging a 10 point buck that weighed nearly 200 pounds! The players from the PHU bragged on their kill and made a suggestion to the HC players that it would be easier on them if they would drag the deer by the antlers instead of its hind legs. The HC players thought they would follow that advice. Some 30 minutes later one of the HC players said to the other one, “You know it is easier to drag this deer by the antlers!” The other player replied, “It sure is, but we are getting further from the truck!”

'nuff said.

Fire at Will

In 1970 my family and I were living in the city of Greenville , Alabama and I was working with the Walnut Street congregation. I became good friends with Max Autrey and asked if I could hunt squirrels on the family plantation that was located in the Butler-Lowndes County area, and that contained some 3,500 acres. The area consisted of beautiful ridges and fertile valleys with a couple of streams of water. It reminded me so much of where I grew up in northwest Georgia except the ridges were not as tall. When I began hunting squirrels I noticed that there were turkey and deer tracks everywhere and I had never hunted either one. So I laid down my father’s old Excel single shot 16 gauge shotgun and bought me a Winchester 12 gauge shotgun. To say that I was a novice would be an understatement of the fact. But I did see the wild game. Some turkeys were black and others were bronze. I saw two varieties of quail and even small herds of deer. I finally killed a wild turkey one morning during the fall season and that lit a flame in my heart. The area at that time was a virtual game preserve. I was in ‘hog heaven’. I would leave before daylight and spend the entire day hunting. The only noise I heard besides the sounds of nature was an airplane that would occasionally pass over the area. I remember that one morning while I sitting at the base of a tree that a squirrel came down and barked at me like it was going to attack me. There were squirrels everywhere with hardwood trees in abundance.

My two oldest sons, Tim and Joel, really wanted me to take them hunting and so one Saturday morning I took them. It was a very cold frosty morning. We parked on a ridge, walked across the valley and crossed a stream of water and it was there on the side of a ridge, where I saw so many squirrels, that I instructed them to sit very still and listen very carefully for these pesky rodents. In the distance and across a beautiful green field that was now white with frost I heard loud noises being made by turkeys. I told the boys that I was going to walk around the bottom of the ridge and try to find out what all the noise was about. I also told them if they had a shot at a squirrel to go ahead and shoot. While I wanted them to have a successful hunt I did not know at that time the full consequences of my instructions to them and how it would affect my hunting. So I left them and began walking slowing around the beautiful frost covered field when in my peripheral vision I caught movement and I thought it was perhaps large birds flying across that field. It was then that I looked and what I saw startled me. It was a large herd of deer running and what a beautiful sight that was to behold. I could not begin to tell how many antlers I saw. It was like a dream come true. I had never seen such a sight before in my life. My heart was racing and the adrenalin was flowing freely. Will they come near enough for me to get a shot? Which one will I shoot? These thoughts flooded my mind. But in an instant, the answer came. It was then that my oldest son shot twice and my dream came to an abrupt end. That herd of deer turned on the afterburners and I saw them no more. Soon after, the boys came and in their hands were two dead squirrels. They said, “Look what we killed.” What could I do but brag on their accomplishment. I did say to them, “you should have seen what I saw”. Of course I had to take a picture of the boys with their very dead squirrels to give credence to their story telling about how on a frosty morn they became great hunters.

Hunting Humor & Tales

A BASS THAT GOT AWAY, AND ONE THAT DIDN’T
I do have a couple of fish stories that I need to write about in this series. When the boys were at home I used to go fishing with them and enjoyed it very much. However, I haven’t been fishing in years. But there is one fishing trip I now mention because I have never forgotten the experience. The family and I had gone up to visit my parents in Summerville, Georgia. It was before my father died in 1970. We were living in Greenville, Alabama at the time. My brother Willard was the game warden in the northwest corner of Georgia. He loved to fish. So Dad, Willard and I drove down to Cedar Bluff, Alabama which was only about 25 miles from Summerville. We were near Lake Weis but were fishing in back waters off the Coosa River. It was getting late in the afternoon and I had cast a long way from the boat. I was using a reel and rod that my brother had loaned me. Eventually I began to reel in my plug but not very far because I felt the tightness on the line. My brother quietly said, “You’ve hung up on a log.” I kept on trying to reel it in when all of a sudden this large Bass came flying out of the water and I shouted “I’ve caught a fish!” That Bass was pulling like a grown man. I got him closer when here he came again a’flying out of the water. I could readily see he was one big fish. I finally got him up to the boat when all of a sudden he swam around the other side of the boat and 'pop' went the line. This time my brother quietly said, “That line was rotten.” First of all I didn’t have the experience to reel in a fish that big but what really hurt was learning that the line was “rotten”. I could have died. You talk about feeling low, discouraged and down in the dumps, I experienced all those feelings. I couldn’t sleep that night for seeing that big Bass that got away. But there is one that didn’t get away.
Our second son, Joel, is what you call a ‘natural’. The first Christmas that we gave him a Zebco reel and rod he went fishing with his buddy and he catches a nice bass. When he was 14 he was visiting with his grandmother and aunt near Wildwood, Florida. My wife’s uncle Gilbert had mining done on his land for lime rock when the workers hit springs of water. The gaping hole filled up with water and was stocked with bream and bass. The boys and I would go fishing in the pond (that was no telling how deep) and we would usually catch blue gill, bass and bream, and have enough for a nice meal for the family. But this time he was fishing with a great aunt and he had to walk down into the gravel pit to get to edge of the pond. He says that he had a purple worm on the line and had cast it way out and let it sink down deep. All of a sudden something hit that worm and the work began. The ‘old’ pro knew how to deal with that big boy and he got him to the bank, grabbed that large mouth bass and hightailed to the car. He wrapped it in his army jacket and sat in the back seat and closed the door. He didn’t want that trophy to get back into the water. When they got back to the house his grandmother Slaughter asked, “Joel, did you catch any fish?” and it was then that he laid that jacket down on the coffee table and opened it up for her to see. The bass weighed between 10 and 11 pounds. His aunts had that fish mounted for him and it has hung in our home since 1972. That experience nearly ruined the boy because he had hit the top rung of the ladder and he expected to catch a big one every time he went fishing. He quit fishing for several years but in recent time he has become addicted to this hobby once again. But now he releases his catch regardless of the size.
He has a kayak now and goes fishing all over the state of North Carolina where he lives. He is always sending pictures home so all of us can see that he still is a professional in the art of catching fish. (Say, did I ever tell you about the two Eskimos who were fishing in their kayak when the winter storm turned horribly cold and the water froze causing them to be stranded a long way from land. One of them lit a match and set the kayak a fire in order to keep from freezing. However things got worse than ever because the wooden kayak burnt up. The moral of this story is, ‘You can’t heat your kayak and have it too.’)

WHO DID YOU SAY KILLED THE DEER?
During the deer hunting season of 2006-07 I harvested four bucks and one doe. That was not a bad season for an old preacher. I hunted mainly on land belonging to my good friend Bubba Taylor down in the Sardis Community just south of Highland Home in Crenshaw County , Alabama . This here is a tale I like to share with everyone who knows that I am rather addicted to this sport of looking for the elusive Whitetail deer. Well, it goes like this. Me and Bubba were walking across an open field when a buck jumped up from where he was bedded down about 50 yards from us. Since we both had our rifles in our hands we both aimed at the creature and fired about the same time. I want you to know that buck fell dead in its tracks. We walked up to where the deer was laying and we saw that it was a ten point buck and it looked like it would easily weigh at least 180 to 200 pounds. I just knew that I had hit the deer and I really wanted this trophy but I couldn’t say much because I was hunting on Bubba’s property. Well about that time a game warden came walking up and wanted to check our licenses. I informed him quickly that I did not have a license but he could tell by my appearance that I was so old that I didn’t need one and since I was hunting with the land owner I did not even have to have a written permission. (You see, there are some advantages about being ancient.) He said he also heard us shooting and wondered if we had killed anything. It was then that we told him our situation about our shooting at the buck at the same time and that we did not know who killed the deer since we both claimed to have hit the buck. Well he walked over to that poor dead deer and stared at it for a long time, even examining it. He then walked over to us and said “one of you is a preacher.” I asked, “How did you know?” He said, “The bullet from a preacher’s rifle killed the deer.” Now that startled me and I inquired, “Sir, how in the world do you know that?” To my surprise he answered, “Because the bullet from a preacher’s rifle that killed that buck WENT IN ONE EAR AND OUT THE OTHER!!”
VENISON VEAL
My good friend RD from Carbon Hill and I went down to hunt deer on some property owned by a nice gentleman who had land just east of the small community of Grady, Alabama. The man informed us in no uncertain terms that he wanted us to kill only does unless it was a large antlered buck. I had sat in this nice shooting house previously and I had harvested a very nice doe so I thought I would permit my friend to have this location from whence he would see some deer eating over the green field. I went in the opposite direction and sat in a tree stand in a wooded area where most likely I would not see any wildlife except for squirrels ~ but eating a bushy tail rodent is not my idea of a delicious meal. Well, anyway it was getting late and the sun was beginning to sink low in the western skies when all of a sudden I heard the blast from my friend’s 270 caliber rifle and I knew old RD had bagged him a nice doe or a record sized buck. I got down from my tree stand and began walking toward the farm house and the green field where my friend was undoubtedly rejoicing with his marksmanship and kill. It was then that I heard a tractor heading my way. Our generous farmer friend thought that I had shot a deer and he was coming to drag my kill with his tractor. I got to thinking about that and I suppose he thought I had killed a buck that perhaps weighed around 200 to 300 pounds. I informed him quickly that it was not I who shot but my friend in the shooting house.

About that time we heard him shoot a second time. I suggested that we wait at the gate instead of going toward the green field. It was then that we heard a third shot. I thought to myself that old RD had wounded a deer and had to track him down to finish the trophy size deer down and finish him off. My, I thought it must be a humongous size buck to take three rounds from his 270 caliber to finish the monster off. It was then that I saw my friend come over the rise of a small hill dragging the deer behind him so the farmer and I started toward him to assist him because we did not want my friend to suffer a strained back or a pulled muscle. I got to him first and I saw what he had killed. It was a very small doe. RD looked at me and with a sad countenance on his face he told me that the deer looked larger at 100 yards and that he shot it and then had to find it and shoot at it again and finally finished the job with another round from his rifle. When the owner saw how small the deer was he said with a loud voice, “Why you have killed Bambi.” Well at least it was a doe. Now do you suppose that I have let my good friend RD forget those words spoken by the owner of the property. No way! Oh, we didn’t have to use the tractor to drag the poor thing out of the green field. It would have almost fit into a game bag.