Stay calm when turkey hunting

When everything comes together, and the bird cooperates, this is the result.

Watch some television hunting shows about chasing gobblers, and many of those good old boys can control their nerves although some hyperventilate a bit as a nice gobbler gets closer. They may get excited but they almost always appear cool and rock-steady.

They shoot gobblers with what appears to be calmness. I know some hunters who hunt a dozen states every spring, and they have plenty of time and experience to hone their skills to avoid moving at the wrong time or to make some of the other costly mistakes made when gobblers close the gap between out-of-range and time-to-shoot.

I've had gobblers almost trip over my feet, brush against my elbow as I sit with my back to a tree, and stand within three feet of my shotgun barrel and gobble in my face.

Be prepared for a gobbler and don't flinch when it comes.

Are my nerves better than yours? I can't answer that question, but when I hear a bird approach, stop to spit and drum, I know any movement or noise on my part would end this hunt fast. Once a bird came very close to me along a fence, and was near enough for me to grab had I been dumb enough to try.

Most people who grab supposely dead long-spur gobblers off the ground by the legs when the bird is still flopping usually only make that mistake one time. A bird with good spurs will rake deep cuts in your hand, and most require a visit to the hospital.

I was ready for that sneaky bird, and once he put a couple of trees between us, and stopped to fan out and display, I knew this hunt would end with a big and dead gobbler over my shoulder.

He gobbled once near the decoy, and when the deke didn't respond, he lifted his head to look around, and I shot him. Is this coolness under fire or just a matter of experience?

Look sharp for circling strutters but don't move your head.

To my humble way of thinking, it is more experience than ice water in my veins. There has been some times when I haven't had a chance to test my mettle against a wise or gobbler because my season started with high winds and snowy weather, and birds didn't work well.

There have been many times when a bird may circle. Your eyes can only track a bird just so far to the right or left and you lose sight of him. Just because you can't see the bird doesn't mean he or one of his chums can't see you. Grit your teeth and hang tight.

These are times when so-called "nerves of steel" come in mighty handy. My hearing helps make up for my poor vision, and I can hear turkeys walking behind me and that helps me know their exact location. The trick then is to remain absolutely motionless, and wait for the bird to circle around in front of the shotgun. Sometimes they do and other times they don't. It's a part of the hunt we can't control.

Think of yourself as a statue: immobile, rigid and incapable of making a movement or sound. Trust me, it's tough to do when a gobbler gets right behind you and rocks your head and hat with a tremendous gobble. Expect that to happen, and be prepared for it. If a gobble doesn't come, that's great, but it's smart to be ready to avoid jumping.

Talk yourself into a state of immobility until the shot.

Imagine the bird is searching for a hen. Your shotgun should be to your shoulder and balanced across your knees long before the gobbler gets close enough for a shot. The stock should be against your cheek, you eye lined up over the front bead, red-dot sight or scope. Once the bird is in the right spot, pinch off the safety between a thumb and forefinger, ease the finger up to the trigger, aim and shoot.

It's sometimes amazing how motionless and quiet you can make yourself if you concentrate on it. Just take the occasional deep breath, ease it out softy, try not to hyperventilate, and enjoy the experience for what it is, an exceptional opportunity to experience absolute calmness before the shot.

Then, if you shoot straight and a big longbeard lays on the ground 30 yards away, feel free to let loose with a silent scream of wonder and joy. An audible scream will probably spook other nearby birds out of the county and ruin any chance for someone else to score.

Turkeys often will stand and look when a shot goes off or they may run 20 yards, stop and turn around to look at their fallen friend.

Occasionally they will take off and fly far out of sight before landing.

A loud scream will send birds wildly on their way. So learn to conquer your nerves, and it's surprising how easy turkey hunting can be ...at least once in a while.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Study a deer’s body language

Most people know this buck's body language. He's scent-trailing a doe.

Many years ago a book hit the market. It dealt with human body language. Some said that reading it would allow a man or woman to study the opposite sex's body language, and if everything clicked, good things could happen.

The study of body language is of benefit to certain people, and police are good at reading what a person is thinking when stopped for a traffic violation. Employers study the body language of a person being considered for a position with that firm.

Are they nervous, and is it caused by the interview or does it mean something else? People who refuse to look another in the eye seldom get the job because it's thought they are trying to hide something. A person who chatters often is very insecure.

Knowing how to read a deer's body language can mean increased success.

Body language plays another big role with people. Interviewers often stand while the person being interviewed sits, and this position provides greater leverage and an increased sense of superiority in the interviewer. However, the person being interviewed can figure this out pretty easily, and stand up to gain an equal or better leverage.

Sometimes knowing what the interviewer is trying to do, and beating them to the punch, can be an asset. It also can be detrimental in certain cases.

All of this having been said, it's been my practice for many years to study a deer's body language. Reading a deer can help hunters determine when to draw and shoot, and when to wait for a better chance. The clues are there in how the animall behaves.

A calmly feeding deer is at ease and is not suspicious. A deer that constantly looks around senses danger. A doe that stands with her head up, ears swiveling in all directions while sniffing the air, is on red alert. Young bucks follow the lead of a mature doe, and larger bucks often stay far enough behind the does to stay out of trouble.

Body language is easy to read. A doe moves slowly down a trail, and if she has been shot at or has detected human movement in a ground blind or tree stand, she will stop abruptly. Her and her fawns will lower their head, and snap it up to spot movement. if it is late October, and the rut is about to start, and she stops and checks out her back trail, it usually means a buck is trailing behind.

Little things can mean a lot when watching deer react to different stimuli.

Her body language tells you to sit still, don't move or make a sound. This assumes the hunter is downwind of the deer. If the deer can't smell you, and no noise or movement is heard or seen, it's likely the doe will get over her jitters and continue walking. Any buck will follow behind her. It means remaining silent and motionless.

A look from a buck toward another, a hesitation in a step, ears laid back, neck hairs that stand on end, a lowered head and antlers and a certain swaggering and threatening posture can tell hunters which animal is the boss buck of this crew.

Once the head goes down or turns with a hard gaze, smaller and subordinate bucks duck and move away. I've watched slow-thinking smaller bucks get antler tines stuck in their butt, and I've seen them still cowed, wary and limping 60 days later. Slow, dull-witted bucks often are physically injured by larger bucks, and some yearlings die. They learn quick from dominant bucks if they don't pay attention.

So, you ask, how can knowing a whitetail's body language help put venison in your freezer? It's relatively simple. Let's use the above examples.

A few examples of body language and what it means. There are others.

Once a doe decides there is no danger, and quits doing her head fakes, she moves on because she has detected no danger. The unseen buck that has been trailing her saw no movement, heard no sounds and couldn't smell any danger, so he walks down the deer trail past your stand and a quartering-away shot drops him.

A highly agitated deer will flick its tail back and forth while staring intently at a real or imagined threat. Often this tail movement precedes a sudden departure.

A quartet of whitetail bucks move along, and somewhat like young kids, they bump and jostle each other, act like their big brothers and get into mock antler-pushing contests. Hunters may not be interested in the year-and-a-half-old 4-pointers and 6-pointers, but has his eye on a big 8-point with a rack that extends past his ears.

Big bucks usually take casual interest in small bucks. They are more alert than naive basket racks, but if they pass close enough for a shot, and the buck stops, unless the hunter has made a big mistake, the buck may see another animal of comparable size. In every buck of any size, there exists the need to display their dominance. It is what leads to epic battles than can cause the death of another buck during the rut.

Watch that big buck's ears. If they are up and twisting right and left, he is listening to some distant and unheard sound. However, if his ears go back and the neck hairs rise, it usually means another big buck is nearby.

It now becomes a serious decision time. Shoot the buck within range or wait to see if an even larger buck is in the area. If it is the latter, the larger buck may approach for a closer shot or may turn and head the other way as he shags a doe.

The study of deer behavior is a continuous work in progress. It begins when fawns are little, and a doe never seems to lose their innate fear of everything. Studying that fear, and the cautiousness of a big buck or the easy-going attitude of young bucks, can help hunters find a chink in the armor of whitetail deer.

Know what the body language tells you, and use those weaknesses to your advantage. Sometimes killing a buck is nothing more than reading their body language, which in many cases, will tell hunters what they can expect next from the deer.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

The buck’s revenge

This buck later gored me in the head as I hung the mount.

My taxidermist had just delivered mounts of both whitetail bucks I shot a few years ago. One was a beautiful typical 8-point that was taken on Oct. 2 at 10 paces with an arrow through the heart and lungs.

The other buck was a 9-point taken late in the firearm season. He had two antler tines broken halfway off during a rutting fight, and one beam had the beginning of what would have made him a 10-point if it hadn't quit growing.

I was particularly proud of the 8-point. It is a lovely rack, and we determined it would look best if hung low (about head-high) on the wall. But, we reached that conclusion only after we tried hanging him high on the wall.

It was one of those times when I should have known better … but didn’t.

A wobbly short stepladder was used, and I had to reach up over my head and hang the mount on a sturdy nail pounded into a stud. After it was hung, we both decided the buck had to be hung lower to show off his rack to its best effect.

There was no cure for it but to scale the wobbly ladder again, stretch way up on my tippy-toes, lift the head off the nail. All good plans, but my balance is bad from my one-eye vision, and just as the mount came off the nail, I began losing my balance.

One hand held the mount by one antler, and as I wobbled around in an effort to keep from falling, the rack spun in my hand. This deer had it in for me for shooting him while he sparred with a 10-point buck.

The buck took some revenge on me while off-balance,

The rack pivoted around, and the G-2 on the opposite side swung and dug a small divot out of my scalp. I muttered, struggled for balance, and Kay was there to grab the mount before I fell and impaled myself on his tines.

I climbed down off the ladder, rubbing my head, and we proceeded to find another location where the deer could be hung lower, show off his spread and tine length to better advantage. He was hung up there, and we stepped back to admire him. Perfect!

The 9-pointer was mounted with his ears back and in an aggressive looking mood. He could go up higher on the wall, but first I was going out to the garage and get a taller ladder so I'd have better control over the mount.

Up I went like an arthritic old squirrel. Kay handed up the mount, and I messed around for five minutes before I could get the nail in the mounting hole. Then, Kay stood across the room offering instructions.

"Move the bottom of the mount to your left," she advised. "No, another two inches to the left. Uh, another inch. Nope, one more inch. That's it."

Me, ladders and mounted critters have always had an odd relationship.

I climbed down off the stepladder, and my head hurt a bit. I rubbed it, and my fingers came away bloody. The antler tine had scraped my scalp and broke the skin.

My head was rubbed a few times, and slowly the bleeding had stopped. The two shoulder mounts had been hung in place, jiggled around until they offered the best view, and we straightened up the furniture.

We stood back, studying both racks, and it was a done deal. Both animals remind me of when each one was taken. The 9-pointer had come out of some tag alders, and was walking across the field at 5 p.m., and his ears were laid back and his neck hairs were sticking up.

He was spoiling for a fight, and the two antler tines that were half broken off, may have felt like a toothache. One shot from Kay's .243 Thompson/Center rifle had anchored him on the spot.

That season had been a good one. It was just about a year to the day though when we started to hang both mounts.

A slip of my grip, and a moment of being off-balance, was enough for the 8-pointer to peel my scalp. That deer ultimately got his revenge.

Somehow the whole experience seems fitting and a bit funny. I thought perhaps you might enjoy hearing about how a buck knocked me around.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Remember how to arm-wrestle?

The late George Yontz with a steelhead. Look at those upper arms & shoulders.

A reader mentioned the Sturgeon River near Wolverine and Indian River in an recent email roday, and it set me to remember things from 55-60 years ago. We traded a pair of comments, but his mention of the river brought back a great flood of pleasant memories.

One was of a former Pennsylvania Dutchman by the name of George Yontz. He owned the old Hillside Camp cabins and tackle shop three miles north of Wolverine on old M-27. He taught me a good bit about steelhead fishing, catching walleyes on Burt Lake, and about being willing to gamble when the situation demanded such actions.

Yontz was a plumber and pipe-fitter by trade, and was long-waisted and short-legged. He wasn't tall but had biceps as big as my thighs, and was as hard as granite. He had developed a far-flung reputation as an arm wrestler of merit who had never been beaten, and people came from near and far to test him. They would arrive by car, swagger into the tackle-shop building, looked at my friend, dismissed him and asked for the legendary George Yontz.

The poor guy didn’t realize what he was walking into.

"You found him," Yontz would say in an ugly tone. "You want something?"

"Understand you arm-wrestle some. Want to give it a try with me? I've never been beaten."

A glimmer of a smile always crossed Yontz's face as he answered: "Got any money? I don't arm-wrestle for fun. I always like to take money from people who have never been beaten. Everyone but me has been beaten at least a time or two."

"I got money. How about $50?"

"Let's go for a hundred. Which arm-wrestling method do you prefer: lit candles or razor blades?"

"Say what?" The gent with the big fancy car suddenly found himself out of his league and sputtering. "What's this about lit candles and razor blades? Never heard of that before."

"Give your Ben Franklin to my man here," Yontz said, pointing at me. "He will hold your cash and mine, and he will give all of it to the winner. You have a choice: my man can light two candles. We will assume the position and he’ll measure where my hand will hit the table if you whip me and he'll measure where your hand will hit the table if I win. One candle will go under your hand at my end and one under my hand at your end. Any serious problems with that?

"Or ... I have two special devices here that will hold a single-edge razor blade with the sharp edge pointing up. You can get your hand cut or burned. It's your choice, bud. Time's a-wastin', and I ain't much on talking about it. Let's arm-wrestle!"

The muscle-bound gent had that look deer get when caught in the headlights of a speeding car. It was so quiet you could hear yourself sweat. He looked at Yontz with apprehension as he rolled up his sleeves over forearms that looked like Popeye's, and stood grinning at the dude.

The man wasn't grinning back as sweat began beading on his forehead.

I began a behind-the-counter search for somethinng that didn’t exist.

He didn't know whether to cut and run or try to finish what he started. One look told me and Yontz this guy was wired and wondering what he'd walked into.

"C'mon, make your choice," Yontz hissed, baring his teeth slightly in a frightening grimace.

"Make up your mind: Lit candles or razor blades. What will it be? Dave, go fetch the candles, razor blades and the things to hold the blades while our gentleman friend here gets himself ready to get whupped real bad."

I turned and started looking under the counter. I knew there were no candles, razor blades or special devices to hold the razor blades. It was part of Yontz's dog-and-pony show, and it was beginning to show on the stranger’s face.

"Hey, hey," the guy sputtered. "Let's keep this a friendly test of strength. Let's just arm-wrestle for the Bennies. No need for any rough stuff, is there?"

"It makes no difference to me but I never arm-wrestle friendly," Yontz said. "I want your money and you want mine. How can that be friendly? I just thought a guy that drove clear up here would want to make this a bit more interesting. You've never been beat, I've never been beat, so why not add a touch of danger and pain to it as well?"

"Let's just arm-wrestle for $100," the man said, eyeballing the size of Yontz's forearms as he took off his flannel shirt, and stripped to a lightweight T-shirt from the waist up. There were muscles visible now that few people had ever seen, and only those people who were willing to arm-wrestle for $100 would ever see. Well, that’s not quite true. His “man” had a front-row seat and could see the muscles bulging in his arms, shoulders and wrists. It was an impressive sight.

It soon became apparent to everyone that the stranger was out of his league.

Yontz flexed his arm muscles, and for a man in his 50s at the time, he was a remarkable specimen. His arm and shoulder muscles rippled like waves washing a beach. The other man was well built from lifting weights, but so far he just didn't have a clue how much trouble he was really in. They locked hands, and Yontz needed a thick book under his elbow to match up.

"Your challenge, you start," Yontz said as they locked hands again. Yontz stared hard into the challenger's eyes, and nodded for him to start.

The man tried to do it hard and fast, and it barely rocked Yontz as he held his hand straight up with the stranger's hand in his. The old pro felt a challenging taunt was in order.

"Get it going," Yontz said, "I don't want to sit here all day holding hands with another man. Show me what you're made of. Bring it to me. Arm-wrestle or I'll break your wrist!"

The contest was already won but the visitor just didn't know it yet. He gathered his strength, took a deep breath, let it out and gave it everything he had. He couldn't budge Yontz's hand. He nearly lifted himself off the chair with the effort but his try was ill conceived and a case of too little, too late.

"Done messin' ‘round yet," Yontz snarled. "If you can't bring more than that to the arm-wrestling table, it's time to finish it right now."

He slammed the stranger's knuckles against the hardwood table with great force. Had he wanted to, he could have broken the other man's hand. He did it hard enough to make the knuckles swell up and turn an angry red color.

Adding insult to injury.

"I'll give you a chance to get your money back," Yontz said. "Want to go again, left-handed? I'm pretty weak in my left arm. Hurt it a bit when I was young. You might take me left-handed. You game for double or nothing?"

The man looked Yontz in the eye, and saw something there he didn't like. He also saw that a man twice his age was well equipped and more than ready to whip him left-handed.

"Nope, I've had enough," the man said. "Boy, give him my one hundred dollars."

"Hold on there," Yontz hollered, standing up fast, tipping over the table and flexing his muscles. "I told you that my man would hold the money. Don't be calling him no boy. Treat him right. He did his job, I did mine and you didn't do yours. Apologize!"

"I'm sorry," the guy said to me as he headed out the door. "Young man, please give Mr. Yontz my money. It's disappointing to lose, but I was beaten by a better man."

Yontz later told me that it was true he had never been beaten arm-wrestling. He also said he had learned early in his arm-wrestling career to get into the other guy's head fast and make him sweat. Break his confidence before you sit down at the table, he said, and you've won the battle.

I served as Yontz's "man" for almost 10 years, and after each win, he would slip me ten bucks. Ten dollars back in 1952 through 1961 was a pile of money to a kid, but most of all, I learned an important lesson from him other than how to catch trout: don't back down, don't give up, and make the other person question your abilities. Do that, and half the battle is won before it starts.

His advice has served me well for many years in other ways. But I never could arm-wrestle, but then, I never had to. I usually could talk my way out of trouble.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors