Squirrel hunting - Patuxent River State Park

Sometimes squirrel hunting can be more about staying awake than stalking.  Yesterday, I brought Debbie along with me to hunt squirrels at the Patuxent River State Park.  I carried my Ruger Mark III pistol and she used my Winchester '94; both are .22s.  We didn't see anything, perhaps because it was so chilly and windy but we enjoyed sitting out in the woods talking and joking.  We shot a few cans we found laying around and called it a day after only a couple of hours.  At one point, I was so comfortable, I nearly fell asleep.  This wouldn't be the first time this has happened.  I've fallen asleep in the woods quite a few times.  I think its because the forest is the most soothing and peaceful place I can imagine.  The constant rustle of leaves, warm sunshine and contemplation just put me right out.

Picture of the day

T Parker Double Barrel Shotgun

Friday, I stopped in to a local antique shop.  I pass this shop almost every day and decided I might as well have a look around; you never know what might be in there.  Sure enough, there was something there.  This old shotgun is nothing special.  The owner asked $75 for it, but I ended up talking him down to $50.  It is Belgian made and it's an oldie (Imported by the boatload between 1890 - 1910) but its nothing more than an old hunting gun.  Stamped on the top of the barrels is BELGIAN LAMINATED STEEL and stamped into the sides of the receiver plates is T PAKRER.  The barrels are made of Damascus (twisted, laminated) steel which makes it unusable.  The way these barrels were made back in the day, was by twisting strips of iron and steel together, heating those strips red hot and welding the pieces together. The strips were then heated again, wrapped around an iron bar called a mandrel and welded by heating and hammering. The resulting tube was finished into a barrel. Never as strong as a barrel bored from solid steel, those barrels were quite attractive. But the welds were never absolutely solid. Over the years, corrosion from the old primers, and from black powder residue was forced by the pressure of firing into the tiny cracks and crevices between the strips that make up the barrel.  Essentially eating away at the metal from the inside out. A Damascus barrel can look good on the outside, and the bore can appear shiny and like new, yet the metal inside can look like orange lace from the years of rusting away, unseen.

But, it is a pretty gun, its a simple old hammer gun with a nice shape.  Perhaps it was a gun that regularly put food on the table or perhaps someone's absolute favorite gun.  For me, it will be a wall hanger and a neat piece of history.

Farm house revisited

Nature using synthesized nature as a habitatual asset?

As I mentioned yesterday, I am working nights this week. Yesterday I got a little stir crazy and decided to grab my camera and head over to the old farmhouse I had walked through, back in July of last summer. I didn't stay long but I was challenged with a particular scene for quite a while. On the second story of this house, at the staircase landing, is a window that illuminates the 2nd story hallway. Its window pane has been broken out, but the curtain still hangs neatly, with no idea that its intended job is no longer needed. Quietly; mute, it sails with each intruding breeze and mimes congenially, in eerie oblivion. I like how the stationary red curtain top contrasts boldly against the dingy interior of the house. This scene just begs to be photographed but I grew frustrated trying to best capture it. If you were to shoot this window, straight on, the extreme difference in exposure (bright outside & dark inside) would produce what I call an "exorcist style" image where the window is completely overexposed and white, and the interior would be underexposed and dark. The technical way around this issue is to create an HDR image (a combination of multiple exposures taken at extreme EV stops). Not a huge one for HDR, I opted not to shoot it head on. I played around with different wide angle perspectives up close, from the floor and from the ceiling, as well as some long shots of the window, set up at the other end of the hallway. I walked away feeling like there was something I was missing; not in terms of the exposure, but in the composition. I'll just have to go back and give it another shot sometime!

You might be a redneck if you...

I'm working nights this week. So, I'm fixing little odds and ends that go untouched during the regular work week. Yesterday I patched the hole in the deck of our push mower before wheeling it out to the shed for its winter slumber. (Rest well my little mower. ... I'm, most likely, taking you to the dump in the spring!) We bought this push mower, used, for $50 this spring. It's really on it's last legs. I thought pop-riveting a Natty Boh can patch to its side, was the least I could do, as a sign of respect, for this "keep on truckin'" mower.

Thank a veteran

I woke up at 7:00am this morning and stepped out side into the cool morning air.  It's a beautiful Monday morning in Westminster, Maryland.  The sun poked through the row of pine trees in my back yard and long narrow swaths of sunlight stretched out across the dew soaked lawn.  A stiff breeze lifted and rolled our flag perched on the side of the carport and I suddenly realized how fortunate I am to live in this country.  I'll probably never fully agree with the way the country operates, or who's really in charge, but I will always be grateful to have been born an American.  Moreover; grateful to those who have fought and who still fight to protect our freedoms (however fast those with power try to remove them from us).

So, this Veterans Day, I'd like to thank my brothers, my father, my grandfather, my uncles, my cousins, my coworkers and friends that have served our country, putting it all on the line, so that I can walk outside and be at peace and enjoy the life of a free American.

Muzzleloading - Frederick Watershed

I like to carry this simple compass I picked up in Japan.

Yesterday marked the last day of muzzleloader season here in Maryland. I was in the woods from 7:00am to 11:00am, at the Frederick Watershed.  I took advantage of muzzleloading this year because it got me an extra couple of weeks of hunting. In those two weeks, I got out three times; better than nothing I suppose. Still; no deer! Why is it that I nearly tater deer on the way to and from work, but when I go out early in the morning and hunt in their true habitat, they essential vaporize? Its not like I’m doing anything incredibly wrong. I’m not sitting at the base of a tree playing the harmonica and smoking stogies, hoping something happens by. I’m as quiet as a mouse and careful of my scent. Oh well, what can I say? I have fun out there, attempting to best the cunning and elusive white tail.   We'll see how the regular rifle season goes.   I really do enjoy myself out there and the scenery was beautiful as usual. Temps were in the mid 30’s, but I was quite warm. I picked up a pair of insulated coveralls which are really comfortable and warm. It’s nice not having to wear long johns under my pants with these. Instead, I just wear my pants and when I get to where I’m hunting, I slip on these coveralls. I also snagged a pair of three-finger, military surplus mittens. They’re warm as hell and keep my trigger finger free to move.

Video Friday

A friend sent this video to me on Facebook and I found it to be, both funny and pretty much spot on.

Deer Hunting - Eastern Shore

Thursday afternoon, I left work and drove out to Maryland's Eastern Shore. It was the opening day of deer season, for muzzleloader, and my friend Phil had invited me down to his camp, which he fondly refers to as "The dump". This is my first season hunting deer with a muzzleloader. With the regular deer season in Maryland being only two weeks long, opting to hunt with a muzzleloader gives you about three more weeks’ worth of deer hunting. You may recall that Phil is the one who picked my muzzleloader up for me a few weeks back; a simple but nice .50 caliber, inline rifle made by CVA. He’s been a strong supporter of my movement into the realm of black powder hunting. Needless to say, I was glad when he invited me down to his camp where more than a few big buck have been taken from his 70-acre plot of woods. 

I reached the camp around 5:00pm. The camp has character; a dingy old trailer sat proudly at the end of the double-track driveway. A handmade (welded) wood stove made from an old piling, stood next to an old picnic table. Yellow well pump wiring made its way from the trailer, out to a nice gas generator tucked off to the side. A spreader hung from a yardarm that showed signs of years of use. I’d learn later, the number of deer, and the stories of their demise, that have hung from it in the past. Phil’s good friend Tommy was milling about the camp, gearing up to head out into the woods for the evening hunt. He greeted me with a warm smile and a firm handshake. I learned quickly that Tommy was “good people”. I hadn’t had a chance to get to the range to sight in my rifle but Tommy helped me laser-bore site it the quick and dirty way; turns out it was pretty much “on” already. So, I geared up, and followed Tommy’s directions back into a nice tree stand overlooking some hardwoods on the edge of a field. When the sun had set low enough that I couldn’t see my sights, I climbed down from my stand and made my way back to the trailer.

When I got back, the generator was humming and the camp was nicely lit. Christmas lights on the trailer added a certain savoir faire to the whole redneck ambiance. We all cracked open beers and sat around the fire sharing stories, jokes and having a good time. Debbie had baked one of her classic treats; a chicken pot pie, and given it to me to bring to camp, so I cut three slices, wrapped them in foil and heated them up on the wood stove. It was delicious; really hit the spot! By 10:30pm I was pretty well pickled and ready for bed. We all turned in. I opted for the couch which looked really comfortable, but lacked any type of cushioning and felt much like I’d imagine sleeping on a ladder would feel. Hard rungs pressed into my shoulders, hips and feet; still I drifted off to sleep with ease. 

The next morning we were all out in our stands before dawn. Squirrels were everywhere, yet I did not see any deer. I quickly became used to the scurrying sound of squirrels in the leaves, yet perked up every time they would pounce slowly from one spot to another; a sound similar to the gate of a deer. After a few hour of watching the squirrels I pulled my .22 pistol from my game bag and loaded a round into the chamber. They were getting closer and closer to my stand and I figured and easy shot at one of them was worth taking. I ended up shooting two of them; one through the head, the other through the shoulder at about 20 yards. When I got back to camp, I cleaned them, put them in a zip-lock bag and threw them in the cooler.

After running in to town for lunch at a diner, Phil and Tommy wanted to get a little maintenance out of the way while we were at the camp. The plot of land they own is quite dense. Thicket and brush make it tough-going, but the land was logged in 2007 and the old logging roads serve as a means to hunt the whole place. Several trees had fallen and need to be cleared in order to keep the roads mowed and manageable. So, we took the chainsaw and the tractor back in to the woods and took care of business. All was going well, until a hydraulic line on the tractor blew, covering Tommy with oil. It was the supply line used to raise the bucket on the front of the tractor. A little redneck ingenuity, a rubber glove, zip-ties and some duct tape had the line patched up good enough for Tommy to high-tail it back to the camp before the bucket lowered all the way to the ground!

The rest of the day was spent cutting firewood, firing a new .308 I had just bought and generally relaxing until the evening hunt. That hunt, went much like the one in the morning; lots of squirrels but no deer. No deer that I could see, that is. I would not be surprised if deer walked past me in the dense brush. But it was still great, just to be out there. I always seem to find something neat walking through the woods, be it deer antlers, a bird nest etc. This time, I found a small wood turtle shell. Things like this just make the whole experience great for me. Though my rifle held a charge and a bullet I hadn't fired it over the last two days. Before leaving Saturday morning, I fired my muzzleloader at a target 60 yards away. It hit 1" high of the bulls-eye; good enough for me! I really enjoyed myself and the company of Phil and Tommy at the camp. Phil summed it up best when he said “We don’t always get deer down here, but we have a hell of a good time!”

Hunting with Dad

Myself (left) and my father (right).

This past weekend I drove to my hometown of Sherrill, New York and got to hunt with my father. On Saturday morning we went out for partridge in Deerfield, just north of Utica. This is a spot that my father hunted as a boy, and where he took my brothers and I when we were growing up. In the past, Deerfield was always good for a bird or two and the occasional rabbit. Its landscape is comprised of old apple orchards, fields and patches of pine and hardwoods. Small cricks meander through the valleys between the fields. I flushed out one partridge but couldn’t put my eyes on him in time to get a shot off. I also kicked out a woodcock and a couple of deer; one of which was a buck. We came across a Garter snake who was stretched out on the bank of a small creek, sunning himself. We thought for a minute that he was hurt or dead until my father reached down to touch him. Shortly thereafter, we became very certain that the snake was indeed alive and did not care to be touched! I was really surprised that we didn’t see more birds here; the old apple orchards we hunt are completely loaded with apples. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful breezy day with temperatures in the 70’s. I rolled my shirt sleeves and took off my hat several times to cool down. Leaves fell constantly and the wind produced a steady “woosh” through the trees. We sat at the top of a hill, overlooking a meadow and shared an apple, while we talked about guns, previous hunts, how my father’s uncles were upset that he had scheduled his wedding on the opening day of deer season back in 1964 and other random things. It was great.   (Click here for a gallery of photos from this hunt!)

Mr. Porcupine.

The next day; Sunday, in the afternoon, I went up north, past Utica to Forestport, New York. I wanted to do some hunting in the Adirondacks while I was home. Something I hadn’t done since high school. My father stayed behind, this time, to spend some time with my oldest sister, Kate, who was visiting. Although I was alone, I was so glad that I still went up north. Hunting is one of my favorite things to do, but hunting in the Adirondacks is completely amazing and brings the trill of the hunt to a higher plane. There is nothing like it. Fifty feet in to the woods I came across a porcupine who scurried up a tree and waited for me to pass by. I have only seen a porcupine once before. They’re darker than I remembered; almost all black except for the ends of their quills. He stood out like a sore thumb, against the yellow leaves of the birch tree, he so fearfully clung to. Numerous little red squirrels scurried about as I made my way through the forest; constantly startling me into shooting position (Those little squirrels must have a death wish). About a mile later, I came across the Black River and a fantastic little fishing hole. It was a warm day, probably around 80 degrees, and I was tempted to jump in for a swim, but thought I’d better just keep moving; there was lots to see. A while later, I found myself looking down into a deer meadow, with wavy tall grass flowing with the breeze. After scanning it for deer, and the surrounding ridges for foxes, I walked down into the meadow and made my way slowly across its center. In doing so, I saw something white, and moved towards it to investigate. Kneeling down, I realized I had found a deer skull with a tiny rack. This is the second one of these I’ve found in the last two years. I tossed it in my game sack and decided to head back to the truck; the sun was starting to set. It was another great day in the woods, with beautiful sights, sounds and smells. I met my older brother Jim at the Wigwam for a couple of beers before heading back home. The Wigwam is an old tavern; a land mark really, known for the tail end of a piper cub stuck in its roof. The inside of its log structure is decorated with saw blades, propellers, skis and topographic maps of the surrounding mountains. It was the perfect watering hole after a few hours out hunting in the Adirondacks. Classic!  (Click here for a gallery of images from this hunt!)