I get excited by severe weather

I thumped this bruin with two well-placed rocks. He left us alone.

There's something about storms that light my fire. I'm not certain just why I find them so intriguing, but I suspect it began near Flint when brother George and I were 10 years old.

We were outside playing catch. Even though I had (still have) small hands, I could throw a knuckle-ball. George was the person who could catch it.

He had a little nickel curve ball and I had my wobbling knuckler. It's what we did in the early 1950s. Occasionally one of us would uncork a wild pitch, and one of us would go chasing the ball down the street.

Head for cover when the big winds come blowing in.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, up came a big wind. Mind you: we were skinny little kids, and I doubt either of us weighed over 60 pounds. The wind was so strong we had to push hard against it to get indoors.

What we had felt was the outside winds of a massive tornado that followed an east-west road about seven miles south of our home and in the north end of Flint, and it covered two or three miles before lifting back up into the turbulent clouds and disappeared. It left nothing but death and destruction behind.

Several people were killed, and the big wind would destroy three or four houses in a row, lift up to dodge a house or two, and drop down again for more devastation.

It made a big impact on me, and several years later, Max Donovan of Clio and I were traveling back-roads. He had me drive, and we were in Tuscola County when I saw a twister coming across a field at us.

"Out-run it," Max hollered. He had an old gutless station wagon, and it was no contest. The tornado hit us, lifted the car two or three feet into the air, and then slammed us back down. My foot was still standing on the accelerator, and away we went, no worse for wear.

In 1970, my father and I joined another father-son team from Ontario, for a northern Ontario fly-in trip. We were crossing a large shallow lake that was filled with big pike when a storm popped up. We fought to keep from capsizing for two hours, and finally wallowed ashore on a deserted island. We waited until the storm passed, bailed out our boats, and went fishing, again none the worse for wear.

The Indian guides blamed me for pointing at the unnamed island.

That storm was the edge of a tornado that hammered its way through Sudbury, Ontario, causing massive destruction. We weren't in the actual tornado but caught some of the heavier winds generated by it.

This Arctic grayling was caught on the Northwest Territories Great Bear Lake.

Some years ago, the sky turned that dark greenish-purple color as clouds rolled and tumbled in the southwestern sky with an ominous sound. The direction was a good clue for possible severe weather, and I watched the tops of nearby maple trees bend almost flat as my wife screamed for me to come inside.

No twister for us, but a neighbor a mile away watched a tornado demolish his brand-new garage. Again. no injuries and the neighbor had insurance on his garage. It was a big inconvenience, that's all.

Kay and I got caught in a hellish big storm on Great Bear Lake in Canada's Northwest Territories in the late 1970s. This lake is just slightly smaller than Lake Michigan. The lodge owner came by in a much larger boat, and took Kay with him. My guide and I followed the larger boat for miles, rising 12 feet into the air on the crest of a wave, and then we'd plunge into the trough with water all around us.

Up we'd go, and there would be the larger boat with Kay aboard, and it was pulling slowly away from us. We traveled into the waves within 10 feet of a sheer rock wall six feet away, and one mistake would find the waves pounding us and our boat into bloody tin foil against the rocks.

We made it into a safe haven called Gunbarrel Inlet, and there were several boats milling about with smoke rising from a small wood fire on shore. I asked someone why they were not up near the fire.

A bear had reportedly "chased" them from shore and out into their boats.

"A bear chased us away," came a reply. I told my guide to head for shore. I put more wood on the fire, shucked out of my rain-soaked rain gear, and stood steaming near the roaring blaze. The first head we'd had in hours..

Someone hollered "Bear!" from a boat, and pointed down the shore. Here come a 200-pound black bear, and I picked up a rock and hollered at him. The bruin stopped momentarily, and I took several steps closer, and my old pitching days came through. No knuckle-ball ball this time but a high hard one that thumped his rump. The second rock was a bean-ball, and he ran off. We returned to the warming fire. We were chilled to the bone.

So the snowstorm and it's eight inches of snow a few nights ago really didn't seem to be anything special. We may see lots of snow, some strong winds and moaning sounds from the eaves, but as far as storms go, this one didn't have the making of anything worth writing about.
But what am I writing about. I've already mention tonight's storm, so in some way, it does influence my thoughts. Personally, I'd just as soon seen it get cold and freeze up the slop for two or three days and then go away.

The most recent storm can't even compare with a few of them during the winter when we'd see 15-20 inches of snow. Storms are interesting, but these little guys are nothing but a little bump in the highway of life. Storms that can kill a guy are those worthy of great respect.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Not all wounded deer die

The obvious answer to the title is "no." Some deer will die if injured and others will not, and this often depends on the type of injury, where it is located, whether vital organs are involved, and other things.

I've encountered numerous injured deer over the years. Some are the result of a doe kicking one of her fawns, others have been gored in a buck fight, and a few have been wounded by a hunter.

A leg injury may put a deer on the mend for a few days, and recovery is possible if the animal can lick the wound and keep it clean.  Deer wounded or injured by another animal may not make it if the injury is in a location where it can't be licked.

These replaceable-blade broadheads were found in a previously wounded buck.

Two decades ago we had a few hunters on our lease who couldn't shoot straight. Me, my wife Kay and close friends, would hunt those wounded animals. If they looked like it would lead to a fatality, we would shoot the deer to end its suffering.

Some years ago Minnesota conducted tests to prove the fatality of wounded deer, and they found it wasn't nearly as high as some people thought. Three years ago we had a very nice buck that had been hit high in the shoulder, and several of us saw the buck, but the animal was always too far away. One hunter saw the wound was filled with pus, and the order went out that anyone who saw that buck within easy shooting range, must shoot it.

This animal looked like a hunchback. Every time the right front leg would go forward, the hump high on the shoulder would raise six or eight inches when it took a step. The wound was where the buck couldn't lick it.

Two days after I suggested killing that buck, one of my friends tagged it. The deer had been hit high in the shoulder, and the animal  lived long enough to grow the hump. It was never seen eating but was always on the move.

A deer hit in a front leg usually survives. They lick the leg, and keep an infection from forming, and soon the deer is up and moving around without a problem.

Some bucks have been shot, and the arrow zipped through the chest cavity without hitting the heart or lungs, and such bucks often survive. It may lay the deer up for a week or two, but death doesn't always follow a pass-through shot.

An arrow can pass between the lobes of the lung, missing lungs and heart, and live.

Several years ago I passed up a buck that walked down a trail near my stand, and it appeared to have a slight limp but was moving fine. I let him pass, and noticed some hair was missing from the off-side front shoulder.

The next day found me in the same tree, and here comes the same buck on the same trail. When the buck presented a high quality shot, I drew and shot, killing it.

The reason for the limping buck was obvious. Another hunter had shot from a tree stand, and the replaceable-blade broadhead had hit high. It missed the spine, and caught the buck high in the shoulder but near the spine, and the buck couldn't get to it.

I skinned out around the earlier wound, and it was filled with pus and the shoulder was green with gangrene. It would have eventually died from the wound, but was still moving well when I shot it. Interestingly enough, two of the three replaceable blades broke off and littered the wound area.

A thin blood trail with bright red blood usually means a minor muscle wound that will eventually clot and stop bleeding. Most shots hit the brisket or the inside or outside of a front leg. The chance of recovering such a deer is  very slim.

Knowing where an arrow hits can tell hunters whether to wait two or three hours or take the trail immediately. An obvious wound in the paunch, far back from the lungs, can mean a long trailing job unless a vital organ such as the liver is hit.

Know where you hit the deer. Many people really don’t know where an arrow hits.

Leave gut-shot deer alone for several hours and hope the coyotes don't pick up its blood trail. After a lengthy wait, a deer will travel only 100 yards or less, lay down and stiffen up or die. Push gut-shot deer, and it can travel long distances and may never be found.

This points to one reason why a hunter should  know how his bow shoots, where the animal was hit, and with some experience, most wounded deer can be found. Those with a minor nick on the leg or brisket will live to become a much wiser buck in the future.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors