The Deer Hunter (The Tales Of Wooffers Woods Book 7)
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To get the free app, enter your mobile phone number. Would you like to tell us about a lower price? Every year his master and three other men went into the woods to hunt for deer. He was supposed to track down the deer and point them out to the hunters, but he could not help himself. Every time he saw a deer he would yell out, "Hunters in the Woods. Read more Read less. Our favorite toys for everyone on your list Top Kid Picks. Kindle Cloud Reader Read instantly in your browser. Product details File Size: Betty Fasig December 19, Publication Date: December 19, Sold by: Share your thoughts with other customers.
Write a customer review. Showing of 1 reviews. Top Reviews Most recent Top Reviews. There was a problem filtering reviews right now. I shrugged out of my pack, plucked the rifle from the snowdrift and waded uphill to see where the elk had gone. To my great relief, he lay in his bed with a broken neck. Then it really started to snow and I knew our work had just begun. Ed had regained traction and was shim-shamming his way back up to see what the fuss was about.
I was too tired to bother putting tire chains on; I thought if I was careful with the four-wheel drive I could ease us out of there. One of the rear wheels slid over the edge and we were stuck at an angle. We spent the night huddled in the cab, leaning over, trying to sleep. Next morning we got the truck back onto the road using a handyman jack as a winch. I put the chains on and we headed to town, a motel and some hot food. Ed quit speaking to me after the third day but we made it home without mishap. He never showed any interest in hunting again. Or backpacking either for that matter.
But that was one tasty elk. N Photo by Deena Schmalz, taken 8. We were not acquainted with the hunting areas. But, thanks to a new-found friend, we were directed to an area he believed would be good. It will be a far better way than you took him in. Long before daybreak, I headed up the mountain. The terrain was rough and there were no trails.
After three or four miles, I had my bull by I returned to camp, tying ribbons on the trees as I went. I got old So-Jo and followed my ribbons back to the elk. I packed the elk on So-Jo. Did I dare believe those two Texans? Did I dare trust that old mule would take me back to camp? I turned him loose. Not even once did I see any of the ribbons. My faith was really being tested. Just how well did that old mule know that mountain?
Did he really know where he was going? You guessed it, or perhaps you knew? We ended up at camp in about half the time. Get a mule that hopefully knows a mountain? Better yet - put your faith in the Creator of all the mountains. Happy hunting — and follow Him. No wonder our horses were agitated! We waved our arms and swatted a few but our efforts were obviously too little, too late. The horsefly generals had already called in the troops. The sky was swarming with these goggle-eyed aircraft whose bites were not prejudiced to just sucking on a little horse blood.
They loved human targets, too. My father reached into his fishing bag which was attached somehow to Chico, the horse. Dad pulled out a can of insect repellant called, OFF! And he began to push the top of the can to release the formula inside. The horses, especially Chico, went into sort of an epileptic fit.
He began rearing on his hind legs and pawing the air with his front feet. At first we thought the horseflies had finally gotten to him and he was at his tipping point, deciding mentally whether to visit insanity or stay on this side. He decided on insanity, eventually ripping his reins from the willows and galloping off down the meadow. The other two horses, supposedly more mature, took their cue from Chico and mimicked his exit in perfect form.
Hi-Ho and Frisco reared and bucked and thrashed until they were also free and followed Chico at a high gallop down the meadow toward the Overland Reservoir. At this point, Dad and I just stayed the heck out of the way. Taylor, exclaimed as we watched our horses gallop off toward the horizon. Or maybe it was just something like that.
Before the afternoon was over, I was fairly sure that God Himself would appear in the sky and send a couple of lightning bolts down to eliminate the language coming from our part of the planet. We picked up the remnants of our lunch. Hope it still works. As my father, Marvin K. I told Dad to stay back and that I would try to approach the horses. It took quite a while to get close to a horse. I was focusing on Hi-Ho as he was familiar with me for most of the trip and supposedly the most mature.
All of the horses were a bit skittish as I approached slowly and said my swear words in a low, calm voice. Eventually, I was able to put my hand on Hi-Ho and pick up his reins, which were dragging in the dirt. I also discovered why the horses had stopped. They had probably become anemic!
High Country Hunting Tales & Guide 2012
The horseflies had not given up just because these horses were running away! In fact the flies were worse! Hi-Ho, the once white horse, had become a red horse. Blood oozing from the horsefly bites had turned his coat red. A slap of my hand would kill a dozen flies and release a torrent of thin red blood. We gathered up our piles along the trail on our way back and actually mosied on the end part. And we learned something else: We went fishing a number of times after that in the thirteen years before he died in Yes, we left the horses at home, but we still came prepared. In each of our bags was a can of Deep Woods Off and some dynamite.
A young couple was discussing the hunting season and the young wife asked to go along with her husband. They arrived at a clearing, early in the morning, and hid behind a large boulder. Soon, a doe showed up. The hunter aimed his gun carefully, and once he had the doe sighted in, he prepared to shoot. My name is Kimberly and I am one of five kids raised by my mom, Tammy, and my dad, Rod.
We are simple country people who have lived in Delta County for many generations and we have hunted the area just as long. The next year I turned 13 and drew my very first buck tag. I was excited, of course, to go but, on a bad note, my season was during school. So I only went during the weekend. I had an opportunity to shoot a buck but my dad said that it was too close to a property line to try.
Disheartened, I went home empty handed that season. Next year rolled around and my dad asked if I wanted to try again but by then I was into school sports just as much and hunting became not so important for me. Not only that, my little brother had just gotten his license so I left it up to him and dad. Years went by and so did hunting seasons.
During that time my brother shot his first buck and my dad shot some and missed some. For me, I went from school straight into work, no longer trying to even put in for a tag. I mean, who has time to go hunting for a whole week? That just was not working out for me. That was until I had a job that actually gave me a paid vacation that I had to take or just get paid extra later.
I could get paid to go out for a week and hunt? I was all over it! We went to my dad and sat down to plan a hunting trip together. My dad and I put in for buck tags while my husband decided to go get an over-the-counter bull tag when they came out. The next couple of months flew by and when it was time, we jumped on the internet to see what we drew. The internet page read, Rodney H. Ok, his down and mine to go.
The weeks leading up to October 22nd were busy and eventful. First things first, we needed to go and sight our firearms in. Heaven knew it had been many years since I had even fired a rife bigger than a. Needless to say, I was a bit nervous to fire the Savage my dad had loaned me to use for that trip.
It was my husband and me just sighting our rifles in because my dad had said that he had fired his so many times he didn t need to get as much "practice. Again, stepped up, aimed, gently squeezed the trigger, fired and nothing. I knew I was no longer nervous about shooting my rifle, so I stepped back to see how my husband, Dustin, shot his.
Aimed, fired and repeated. Then, we looked at his target. Just an inch away from the bulls eye with both shots. My turn again and, once more, nothing. Well, that went on for a few more shots and each time my husband had me scoot up a little bit closer to the target. Then "POW," I got within an inch high of the center and the next shot just a little right of that. As I reached for another bullet to put into my rifle Dustin said, "Looks like we are all out of your bullets. We will have to try again in a few days. I had gone through a whole box of bullets in that short time and only hit the target two times.
Wow, I needed some help. A week away from opening day, we decided to go back out and see if I could get a better shot accuracy on a target. So there went nothing. First shell in and out of the lever action Savage and hit. Ok, I guessed I could do that. Second one in and out again, hit again just below the first. Alright, one more time. In and hit, but that time when I went to lever out the empty, it came out in two pieces. Shocked, and a bit scared, I didn t practice anymore but went home to show my dad.
He laughed and looked at both pieces and said, "Yup, looks like that one had been reloaded quite a few times. The last few days went by quickly and the next thing I knew we were preparing to head out. AAHHH, yes, it was very exciting for me again, almost like the first time. That time it was going to be better, more exhilarating. I didn t care. I was going to shoot a buck, no matter how big or small he was.
Up the road to the Grand Mesa we went, two buck tags and a cow elk tag in hand. When we reached the load out area, the sun had just started to warm up the crisp air and we knew it would be a nice morning. He said it was no big deal. If we saw anything, he wouldn t be but a few feet ahead of us and we would stop and hand it off to me. My dad was always willing to help his kids out. Not only that, but because it was the first day, we didn t need to be in a big hurry. We would just be seeing what was out here and that was the first time Dustin had been to this part of the mesa and my dad wanted to show him alot of things he had never seen.
Up the rocky road we went, following behind my dad. We pulled off a few times to stretch, shed some layers of clothing, get a drink and see if we could spot anything moving in the scrub oaks. It was still early and we hadn t passed too many camps or seen that many hunters out on the hillside but had heard two or three long distance shots fired and decided to keep moving up the road. Then, as we came around a corner, my dad was stopped in the road looking into the oak trees and his hand pointed to a little two point buck. Earlier, I had told my dad I didn t care how big a deer we saw, I just wanted meat in the freezer.
Dad told me that he would let me shoot at a buck first if we saw one. Four-wheelers still running, he motioned me to the gun case where he had already pulled out my gun and handed me some bullets. By then the deer was watching me, only a couple feet away. Rifle raised to my shoulder, my nerves shot up higher.
I clicked the safety off and aimed.
High Country Hunting Tales & Guide 2011
I shot and watched the buck jump. For sure we thought I hit him. We waited a few minutes and then went in after him to see if we could pick up a blood trail. We walked around where we had last seen him. Nothing turned up, not even a little spot of crimson red on the brown oak leaves that lay all around.
My heart slowly sunk as my dad said that, after searching more than 30 minutes, I must have missed him by shooting under him or just over him. I didn t even come close to hitting the area I was aiming for. Back to the ATVs we went. Don t worry, we still have plenty of time. On we went and higher we climbed up the mountain side.
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A ways up the road, and finally out of my little pouting moment, I told my dad that I was getting hungry and wondered if we could find a spot to eat and, in our family tradition, find a rock to nap on. Dad had told us he knew of a good spot just up the road a ways that looked off onto a couple of little bench areas that would be a good spot to stop for lunch for awhile and we could wait to see what came out into the openings from the trees and get a good nap in.
A few more miles up the road we finally got to our mini destination and pulled off the side of the road to get into our boxes containing sandwiches, chips, drinks and other snacks we brought along with us on the road trip. Dustin had eaten his fill while we were standing around looking at stuff and was waiting on me and dad to be finished with ours.
Off he went, walking up the hillside behind us on the opposite side of the road without his gun so my dad and I figured he had to go to the bathroom and continued snacking away on granola bars. The next thing, I looked up and saw Dustin at the top of the hill waving his arms back and forth. I turned to my dad and said, "Oh look, my honey is waving at us. We put down our snacks and grabbed our rifles.
I headed up the hillside slowly, figuring by the time I got to the top of the hill whatever my husband had seen would smell us and be gone. My dad said he would go down the road just in case we spooked something that way. By the time I got to the top, my husband was happily pointing to a willow patch area and said, "There is a nice buck right there, do you see him? He stepped behind me and pointed, letting me use his finger as a guide to the buck.
Wow, he was a nice buck, at that, when I finally spotted him. Nice body, good spread, and there he was raking his antlers and playing in the willows. Unfortunately, almost every year hunters accidentally shoot moose. During the big game seasons, more than a dozen moose were killed by elk hunters who thought they were shooting at cow elk. Elk hunters need to be sure to know the difference between these two ungulates.
Moose are the largest members of the deer family and have adapted to a variety of habitats. They favor willows along streams and ponds. But be aware, some moose also inhabit lodgepole pine, oak brush, aspen, spruce, fir and even sagebrush - in other words, the same areas where elk live. Moose can be found in almost any high-country habitat area of Colorado. There s no excuse for mistaking these animals. They are vastly different in size, color, antler shape and habits. A mature Shiras bull moose weighs 1, pounds--about twice as much as the average bull elk. Moose are dark brown and appear almost black.
Elk are light brown--a bull elk can be almost golden--with a pale yellow rump. A moose has a very large, long and bulbous nose and a "bell" under the throat. An elk s snout is much narrower and it has no "bell". A mature bull moose has broad, flat antlers, unlike the pointed antlers of an elk. But the antlers on some young bull moose have not flattened out yet, so hunters need to look over the entire animal before pulling the trigger. Moose act very differently than elk, however, when approached by humans. Typically, moose will not flee like elk at the sight of a hunter, which makes them easier to kill.
So if it sees you and doesn t run, it s probably a moose. Despite these readily apparent differences, every hunting season brings a number of illegal moose kills. Circumstances vary from mistaken identity by hunters to blatant poaching. The common denominator in most accidental kills is that the hunter is not using other optical aids besides the rifle scope. Always carry binoculars or a spotting scope to help you properly identify the species you are hunting. The first moose to reach Colorado from Utah--were transplanted by wildlife biologists in the North Park region near Walden in The next year, another dozen were released in the Illinois River drainage, also in North Park.
Some of these moose moved into the Laramie River Valley and, in , an additional 12 animals were brought in from Wyoming.
By , the North Park population was doing so well that some of those moose were moved to the upper Rio Grande drainage near Creede. In and moose from Utah were transplanted on the Grand Mesa. Continued from page 20 The section of the road requiring a 4X4 was a drainage ditch, eroded and deepened by years and years of rushing water carrying away bits of dirt with each summer shower. I carefully eased my truck into it and winced as the bed connected loudly with the dirt. I then had to gun it to propel the truck out of the wash and onto level ground.
As I once again resumed my journey, a new rattling added to the usual orchestra of loose, rusty parts. I put on my gloves and got out to check the new noise. I focused my search on the rear end, as that was what had hit the ground. After tapping, pushing and pulling on different parts I discovered my exhaust pipe hung a foot lower than it should have.
Lying flat on my back in the fresh snow, I wrapped baling twine around my exhaust pipe. Was this hunt really worth it? I approached the worst part of the whole road. The road snaked through the bottom of a small tributary canyon and there were three sections of the road that made it a nightmare. In those three sections, the road followed along the side of the sloping canyon wall, placing the truck in a precarious slant. As I drove on the new snow, the tires had trouble gripping the slick surface. The truck inched forward and slid slowly sideways off the steep hill.
After successfully navigating the first of these sections, I forgot about the cold for I was drenched in a hot, fear-induced sweat. After I passed through the second and third sections, I no longer needed a heater and welcomed the once dreaded cold. Fortunately, that was the end of the line. I parked the truck and gradually convinced my fingers to release the steering wheel and shut off the engine.
I climbed out of the truck and the fierce cold once again pounded my face. Why did I put myself through that? The sun had just topped the rim of the canyon and its orange hue flashed on my mallard decoys bobbing with the current. As I glanced at Cowboy, his eyes suddenly focused intently on the sky and I heard the sharp whistling of wings. I gripped the cold stock of my twelve gauge and eased my duck call to my mouth. The two mallards set their wings and glided toward the water.
When they were ten feet off the water, I lifted my shotgun and drew a bead on the drake.
New Nation, 15 August 1979
The roar of my shot broke the stillness of the morning and I watched as he tucked his wings and slammed, unchecked, into the river. Cowboy took a graceful leap into the cold water, eyes intent upon the drifting corpse. Cowboy dropped the mallard at my feet.
Instantly, he resumed his rigid stance and steady surveillance. I glanced at the beautiful greenhead in my hand and realized there was no road too long or too rough to keep me from that place. N The Greenhorn Continued from page 21 I looked at him, looked at my partner. What on earth were you going to do with a whole bag of shaving stuff on a hunting trip anyway?
If I remember correctly, he never shaved once the whole time. I was under the assumption my partner had talked to the greenhorn. I was getting a little tired of the whole thing at that point and wanted to get things staged so we could be ready to leave first thing in the morning. The whole thing was dragging on a lot longer that it needed to. Next morning we packed the mules and our horses; all the greenhorn had to do was get himself and his horse ready.
I was told he grew up riding horses. Well, who would have known? Perhaps he just forgot everything he knew.
But we were finally ready to go and on the trail. Surprisingly, things went pretty well once we got started, but then, all the greenhorn had to do was follow. Maybe he finally remembered some of his riding skills he had learned as a child, but whatever the reason, I was very glad. We arrived at our destination and set up camp. I thought we would never get the mules unpacked of all the stuff the greenhorn had brought. I would rather be poked in the eye with a sharp stick than sleep between two men who snore.
Can you imagine stereo snoring? That is something no one would want to miss. Then, each one of them told me that the other one snores so much it keeps them awake all night long. Amazing, neither one was sleeping, but someone was doing all the snoring.
Hunting is pretty much hunting, you know you have to get out there and look for the elk. Well, we had this discussion about hunting in bear country with the greenhorn. Not just hunting, but being in bear country. We were not the only hunters on the mountain, there were many others. He spotted another hunter walking down the road coming towards him and yet another hunter was coming up the draw out of the trees. It was a bear in the road in front of him and the bear was getting afraid and feeling pretty pressured, running back and forth.
Finally the bear had all he could take and stood on his hind legs and started growling. The bear found an opening and ran off. Just let it go. I thought about all the times in the past few days I had listened to him tell me just how much he knew about elk hunting and hunting in general. What a great outdoorsman he was, not to mention what a great man in general he was!
Oh, how the list of greats just went on and on. Then my thoughts were interrupted by something. The greenhorn was coming out of the tent. Feeling moisture on the back of my neck had me looking up for the source. I told my hunting partner to gear up as it became grey and wet. We buddied up on the ATV and headed up the mountain. I really second guessed myself as the snow was six inches deep by the first gate.
We trudged on to our spot. I guessed it was our spot because I couldn t see. It had to be a foot deep by the time we got there. Nothing with any sense was moving so we needed an edge. I pulled a bottle of elk urine out of my backpack and carefully dropped a few drops on my hat brim. That should do the trick!
Soaking wet, we decided to call it a day! To save time, I left my wife at the laundromat and I fueled the truck and water jugs. Pulling into the parking lot, I saw my wife running towards the truck with a large tote of clothes in hand. She was mouthing something. She was on the move. She wrote it off as maybe a hunting call or a knife or something that was left in the pocket. Next thing she knew, the laundromat patrons were talking and pointing at her. Man, that stuff can make your eyes water sometimes!
I m not sure that glass is the best container for something that potent! Boy, did we laugh and smell like a herd of bulls. After a fragrant lunch, my favorite hunting buddy and I were off again on another hunting adventure! Charlie said that it was probably good enough, but asked if I wanted to shoot. The story started coming out then about Charlie working for Lockheed, helping build fuel pumps for the space shuttle. He said out in the wilderness not to sweat the little things and the big things would take care of themselves. In spite of the ringing in my ears and the sore shoulder, I slept well that night and woke the next morning and started filling the truck with supplies.
Quickly loaded, we hitched up the two-horse trailer and loaded our companions, Lurch and Snowflake, for the trip. We bid our goodbyes, pointed the truck west and we were soon threading our way up a dusty road, first past oak brush, then golden aspens, with the green pine forest not far away. The two horses were only for us to ride while hunting and I told Charlie that we would get in touch with the packer when he got his elk, because we would be able to get a phone signal from a high spot and call her.
I went on to explain that the packer was a woman, with flame red hair, a great smile and more horse sense than most horses had. All that was behind her now and if you wanted an elk out of the woods before it cooled off, she was your man. At last we arrived at the campsite I had set up a few days before and soon we had unloaded our gear and I split wood while Charlie grazed and talked to the horses. We picketed the horses, made a hot meal over a small fire, then took a short scouting hike to the edge of an open park.
We sat there and watched for a couple of hours and finally saw a doe. Charlie told me he really loved the evenings in the mountains, the cool wind rustling through the aspens, the sudden appearance of the animals, the quiet stillness of the mountains. Snuggling into my sleeping bag, I hoped Charlie was having a good time, I knew I was.
I awoke to the smell of sizzling bacon and camp coffee while it was still dark. Charlie was up and had breakfast on the fire. Ashamed of myself, I told him it was my job to take care of him. Jolted awake by the strong brew, I did the dishes, then started brushing and saddling the horses while Charlie made sure he had everything he would need for the day.
A couple of sandwiches, some trail mix, energy bars and lots of water in the saddlebags, and a final check to make sure we had licenses, rifle, bullets, knives, spotting scopes and such. The trail was easy to follow in the moonlight, and shortly we were at that same opening we had sat at the night before. We found a tight, steep little trail on the far side of the park and gently nudged our ponies up the rock strewn path. It was a fair little climb and we stopped on top to let the horses catch their breath. By now the darkness was starting to lift and the sky to the east was a vast array of reds, oranges and pinks.
After a few low tree branches and bulling our way past some stubborn serviceberry bushes, we came to the edge of another, much larger clearing in the aspens. And there, several hundred yards away, feeding their way toward the trees and steepness of the mountain beyond, were four elk. The rest appeared to be cow elk. Charlie was already off his horse, had his rifle out and was taking a rest against the nearest quaking aspen tree. I dismounted, tied our horses, set up my spotting scope and through the higher magnification could see that the bull was a small six point with some sort of deformed antler on the offside.
I checked my chart, then my watch and told Charlie it was still about ten minutes. Unfazed, Charlie deftly worked the action of his rifle, and quickly touched off another round. That time the bull did go down and stayed down. Charlie kept his eye on the animal while I packed the scope away and untied our horses.
We remounted and rode to the elk, then dismounted and Charlie checked to make sure it was dead, which indeed it was. After the back slapping, laughter and picture taking was over I got out my knife to dress the animal. I needed to call the packer and Charlie said he would start skinning the elk. Again, I told him it was my job, but he insisted, he enjoyed the whole experience of the hunt.
So I left him, mounted my horse and climbed the ridge until I got a phone signal. Bracing myself, I dialed the number of the flame, red-haired packer who I knew was still in bed sleeping, it being just after six on Saturday morning. While some of those tickets are for flagrant violations of wildlife regulations and hunting laws, many more are for minor violations that could have been avoided. Hunters are reminded that not only can they be fined for violations, they can also lose their hunting privileges in Colorado and the 34 other states that cooperatively participate in a wildlife compact agreement.
Rick Basagoitia, area wildlife manager for the San Luis Valley, explained that hunters need to set aside some time to review the Colorado Big Game Brochure. The brochure explains many of the common violations and how to avoid them. You must wear at least inches of daylight fluorescent orange, plus a head covering of the same color. Camouflage orange or mesh orange do not qualify.
Rifles must not have ammunition in the chamber while in or on any motor vehicles. For those riding ATVs, weapons rifles and bows must also be in a closed case and fully unloaded chamber and magazine. Most accidents involving firearms occur in or near vehicles. Before firing a shot, you must be at least 50 feet off of a designated state or county road, and just off forest service or BLM roads. So inspired, he picked a medium-fast beat and personified. Asian prizes or awards along similar lines to Nobel prizes for distinguished persons dedicating their services to world peace and human welfare have been proposed by a Hong Kong millionaire who pledges an initial contribution of up to.
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