Follow Your Gut Instincts

A lifetime spent fishing and hunting across North America and as far away as New Zealand has put me in some rather dicey situations. Some have been caused by my own actions, and some were caused by events well beyond my control.

That said, it follows that a few circumstances have been somewhat dangerous. Over all these years, my gut instincts have served me well in avoiding most of them.

It was opening day of the firearm deer season 35 years ago, and I was hunting in Kalkaska County. I hunted a clear-cut with an elevated knob in the middle, and fallen tree tops lay in all directions.

Walking a narrow ledge for Tennesee boar (left).

I sensed that 150-yards in all directions was good enough to cover the entire clear-cut with my pre-1964 .264 Winchester Magnum. I had a little seat on the ground, my back to a tree stump at the top of the knob, and by turning slowly to right or left, I could see 360 degrees. A deer would have a tough time spotting me. It was the perfect blind.

It was late morning, and the first deer seen was an 8-point buck. I had a solid rest, and the buck came out of the brush and started following the clear-cut edge. It stopped, I aimed, shot and the buck fell but got up and stumbled off  into the surrounding brush.

Several minutes were needed to crawl over all the brush and find where the deer was hit, and I began tracking the blood trail. I found the deer with a guy bent over as he began field dressing my buck.

I began having a funny feeling about this as a thought niggled at the back of my brain telling me this could be some serious trouble. "Hey, partner, I appreciate you field dressing my buck for me."

I asked about the deer and received a potential dangerous message.

"What are you talking about," he said. "I shot it 10 minutes ago."

"Sorry, friend, but only one shot has been fired in this area all morning, and it was fired by me 10 minutes ago when I shot this buck at the edge of the clear-cut and he ran in here."

One of his buddies stepped out of the brush, casually pointed his rifle midway between my knees and belly button, and muttered: "You got a problem here?"

"I shot that deer, and your friend is gutting it out, and you are pointing a rifle at a tender part of my anatomy. What's up?"

"What's up is you come around here, trying to cause trouble, and you'll find it. My buddy shot that buck, and you're not going to take it away from him. Git out of here or you'll have more trouble than you can handle."

A buck isn't worth getting shot over.

So I lost my buck. Fighting or getting shot over a buck is not something I'm interested in doing. I do hope they choked on a splintered bone. It also points out that little gut instincts told me this would be a bad deal and it turned out that way.

Once, years ago, some friends and I were hunting those big European hares in southern Ontario. The beagles were on a hot track but the wind was blowing up a gale as I leaned against a dead elm.

I kept listening, and occasionally would hear a bawl from a hound, but the jackrabbit detoured around me. The wind continued to howl, and I was considering a location change when a gut instinct told me to move ... fast. It was as if God put his hand on my shoulder and urged me from that dead tree.

Widow-maker elms can kill people.

I found another spot about 20 yards away where I could see, and with a loud crack, the crown and 20 feet of tree trunk gave way and crashed down exactly where I'd been standing. Divine intervention? I'd love to think so, but it could have been my gut instincts kicking in. Whichever, it had been a dangerous and scary situation.

Another time, while bow hunting elk in Colorado, we were crossing the spine of the Rockies late at nigh in strong moonlight. There were sheer drop-offs on either side but the game trail seemed well worn and safe.

We reached a spot where we had to cross a shale outcropping that pitched off with a 2,000-foot free-fall to the base of a rocky cliff. We had to cross 20 yards of shale to reach the "shortcut" my guide said came out near his truck. My neck hairs were standing on end. This didn't look or sound like any fun.

"Stay upright, keep your balance and keep moving," he said. "I'll go first, and once I'm across, you come directly toward me. Got it?

I had it but didn't like it. He crossed easily enough and it was my turn. One slip, and a 2,000-foot plunge would ruin my day. I started across, and halfway to the guide, the shale slipped under one foot. I lurched a bit to get straightened up, and managed to keep my feet moving.

The trip across that shale was scary but I made it to the other side, and the guide was reaching out for me when I got close. It was a shortcut, and saved us another two or three miles of mountain hiking in the dark.

Shale slides are no place to be at night.

I've learned to trust my instincts in outdoor situations, and they have done well by me. Getting tuned in to nature, and knowing your personal capabilities, has kept me going. However, if my instincts scream at me "Don't do i!", I turn around and find another longer but safer route.

Some years ago my buddy Jon Ashley and I hunted wild boars in Tennessee with a bow. Our guide lead us a sheer cliff with a six-inch-wide trail, and if that wasn't bad enough, he jump into the crown of an old oak tree, got it sway and then leaped onto a trail on the other side. It was another dumb move that I tollowed, as did Jon, and it cut our hike in half. But that tree was 80 feet tall, and I had to leap while carrying my bow and all my camera gear. We both got out boards.

The author (right) with a twp-shortcut wild boar.

Two rules have always governed my wilderness travels: Don't mess with Mother Nature, and never second-guess your gut instincts. If you don't know whether you can make it don't try. I knew I could do both thing, and I did, but wouldn't do them again.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors