Adam and I made our way down the shoreline, enjoying the beautiful day and warm summer water. It was the middle of July and the ocean was about as nice as it ever gets. The visibility was also around 10 feet, a perfect day to shoot some long range tog with my AB Biller 48 special. Since Adam was diving for his first time and was very positively buoyant because he didn’t have a weight belt, I decided to stay in the shallow end (4-12ft deep).
We jumped in the water and Adam got cold almost immediately, so he hopped back on the boat and just drove around behind me as I dove. I hadn’t been in the water for 3 minutes when I saw my first tautog. The big ones are extremely spooky in clear, shallow water and this one shot off into the depths. Disappointed but not discouraged, I swam on.
Another minute or two passed and I was continuously seeing 13-15 inch tog, just under the legal limit of 16 inches. I dove down to the bottom to peek under a beautiful barnacle encrusted rock that was coated with seaweed swaying in the tide like leaves in the wind. Coming around the corner I spied a beautiful white chinned tautog munching muscles off of the rock. I flipped off the safety, aimed and squeezed the trigger. Thunk! The sound shot through the water as the tog slowly drifted to the bottom, spinning along the shaft of my spear. Hurriedly I swam over and put one hand on each side of the tog to insure that it wouldn’t slide off during my short assent. Within a minute, Adam had brought the boat along side me, took the tog off the shaft and I was once again on the hunt.
I shot two more tautog in rapid succession. My limit reached, I hopped in the boat and we made our way back down the shoreline to the harbor. Ten minutes into the trip I begin to see white dots on the horizon with a gorgeous backdrop of sandy dunes and eel grass. Soon, I could make out the splashes of birds and fish entering the water simultaneously. As Adam picked up a rod and began to cast, I couldn’t help myself and grabbed my Gatku 6ft pole spear and jumped in. As soon as I hit the water I was engulfed in terns, gulls, cormorants and to my dismay, striped bass. Since it is illegal to shoot stripers in MA, I casually swam around admiring the natural beauty. The terns diving around me left bubble trails as they fought their ways back to the surface with beaks full of sand eels. The black backs and bellies of cormorants shooting around alongside me like torpedoes left me in awe. I dove to the bottom (only 6 feet of water!) and lay there as schools of bass parted around me whilst stuffing themselves with sand eels, busting on the surface only a few feet from me.
Before long it was over and the birds, bass and I went our separate ways, leaving Adam and I the only ones hungry. We hightailed it in to a boat-cooked meal of steak and broccoli before heading to the lights to catch some squid for mahi fishing.
(Mahi fishing story coming soon!)
moosehunting
In a Rut
bluefish, Bow hunting, deer hunting, Fishing, Grouse hunting, Hunting, mahi mahi, marlin, moosehunting, Outdoors, redfish, sailfish, snook, Striped bass, tuna, upland game hunting, wahoo 
After weeks of no bucks showing themselves, yesterday they lit up. Around 4, I saw one in a field and immediately knew where it was headed. The deer would make a trip around the property across the street and come out the other side, where I have permission. I got settled in my stand and within an hour and a half that deer came walking along, head to the ground, following a doe track. Drawing silently, I gave a quick blatt and he stopped broadside at a mere ten feet. I let the arrow fly and it hit it’s mark with a thud. The buck ran like the wind before falling 30 yards away, but not before blowing right through a metal gate into a pasture. I guess I owe the farmer a few hours labor to repair the gate, but man was it worth it. What a hunt! I feel very fortunate to have been able to have harvested this animal and look forward to sharing this meat with family and friends.
Turkeys and Electric Fences
bluefish, deer hunting, Fishing, Hunting, mahi mahi, marlin, moosehunting, Outdoors, redfish, sail fish, sailfish, snook, Striped bass, tuna, upland game hunting, wahoo(NOTE: Please excuse the bad photo quality. It was taken with a flip phone.)
The sound of a turkey gobbling isn’t easily forgotten. It’s a sound unlike any other that can get even the most seasoned hunter’s blood rushing. My first solo trip turkey hunting with a bow was about as exciting as it can get. Everything went as planned, until it didn’t. Keep reading to find out why I love turkey season and hate electric fences.
One May morning my alarm went off and I jumped out of bed the way I always do before a hunting or fishing trip. I walked out of my room dressed in camo from head to toe holding my bow. I had shot my first turkey with a bow the weekend before, and I knew I wanted to harvest another the same way. Deciding I wasn’t hungry, I headed out the door, immediately greeted by the wonderful spring air, the smell of daffodils, the sound of the bell-buoy down at the harbor entrance, and the chirping of crickets. Junebugs whizzed by me, rushing towards the porch lights and bats glided over in the gray light of dawn. I had ten minutes before it was legal to shoot, so I began calling in my prey. The first call out of my bag that morning (and nearly every morning) was my owl call. Turkeys often respond to those calls and loud noises, which is called shock gobbling. No response, only wind moving through the tree branches. I began to walk down the old clay-dirt path that I know so well, pausing every now and then to do a loud yelp call. The turkeys either weren’t around, or weren’t in the mood to respond, so I continued on my way.
Around an hour later, I entered an open field half a mile away from where I began. I took the back path, crossed a leaf-stained stream on a narrow log, nearly missing the far bank. Silently I crept through the briars and brush to the semi-open edge of the field, carefully placing my feet as to not snap any twigs or branches. Looking up, I realized there were twelve turkeys standing thirty yards in front of me in the field, unaware of my presence. I tried to stay calm, but I felt “turkey fever” coming on strong. With a few small trees between the turkeys and I, there was no chance of me sneaking up on them, or making a shot. I chose to stay put and wait for them to move first. I’d then sneak up to the edge, get behind some brush and call them back towards me.
It turned out that these turkeys would take their sweet time in moving, and after an hour and a half of sitting there, my patience wearing thin, they began to walk away. Another half hour later, they were 50 yards from me, and I decided it was time to move. I set up behind the largest oak tree in the area. It was covered in grape vines and made for a perfect hiding spot. I pulled out my trusty Kryptonite Custom Call, a beautiful slate call made by Kip DeLisio (check his calls out, http://www.ebay.com/usr/coonanfox01?_trksid=p2047675.l2559) and began to cluck, immediately getting four eager responses. The show had begun.
We kept up a call and response, and they gingerly worked their way back towards me. At last they were only ten yards away, but blocked by my tree so I couldn’t see them. I drew my bow. First, a hen stepped into view, then another, then six more. The only part missing was the gobbler. My arm was beginning to shake from holding my bow at full draw for so long when the gobbler stepped into view. Unfortunately it was only a small jake, but I decided to take the shot anyway. I slowly moved the pin to the vital area of the bird, feeling confident about my shot. After all, I had nothing between us but one strand of electric fencing at ten yards, how could I not be sure of this shot? I squeezed my release trigger slowly…. PING! The arrow hit the wire, and the turkeys flew off in every direction. I sat there in disbelief. I had made an accurate shot, only to be rejected by a tiny strand of wire. Gathering up my call and bow, I began the long walk home with a new idea in mind.
I jumped up onto my porch, set my bow down and ran inside to grab my Remington 1100 12 gauge and a couple shells and raced right back out the door. Breathing hard, I made it back to the field once again. I saw one big red head poking out of the grass, and we made eye contact before it disappeared. I got down on my belly and army crawled thirty yards to a fallen log where he had recently stood. Two deep breaths later, I popped up over the log to the sight of twelve turkeys sitting in the dust. I flicked off the safety, and squeezed the trigger. This time there was no wire to save the turkey, and a load of #4 shot took him off his feet. Another shell flew into the chamber, and I made a second shot at another now flying jake. POW! He tumbled to the ground with a thud.
I checked my watch, it read 11:59. In the final minute of the day (you are only allowed to turkey hunt until 12 PM in MA) I had bagged two turkeys. They certainly weren’t huge birds, but they would make a delicious dinner. Slinging them over my shoulder, I began the long walk home, but this time with birds in hand.
Cast and Blast with Tucker 