A Bow Turkey

Wow, what a morning! We got to one of our favorite spots early as false dawn was barely visible and sat on a stump awaiting the first gobble. The sun began to warm the earth, illuminating the fog coming off of the cool morning dew. Robins chirping and filling their empty stomachs after a long, cool night ran near us, rustling leaves. The woods were coming alive. Sounds of my dad and I breathing quietly were interrupted suddenly by one of my favorite sounds, a gobble. It was close by as well. We glanced at each other and formulated a plan quietly.

Sneaking around the edge of the once-used cow pasture, a gobble once again shattered the peaceful morning – this time even closer. We dropped low and crawled the the nearest cover, setting our DSD standing hen decoy out as we went. Carefully adjusting my arm as not to crush it underneath me, I hopped behind a tree and pulled out the most realistic sounding call I have ever encountered, a WoodHaven Wasp mouth call. One yelp, some putting and a purr. Movement. There was a turkey there I am sure, but all I could see was a giant beard swaying through the mist. 20 yards. 10 yards. He mounted the decoy, my dad drew his bow, or rather tried to. In the short time we had to get set up, he didn’t take his chance to get into a good shooting position. Now on his butt, he couldn’t draw!

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a lot of movement. 1, no, 3, wait, 8 jakes running in! I glanced back at the long beard and he had turned tail and fled. The jakes, breasts swaying as they ran, chased him away at full speed. I cringed, nearly shed a tear and knew there was no chance of getting that monster back in. The boss, my mom, had given us strict orders to bring a bird back today. I knew that this was the case and watched as my dad got into a better position to shoot. The jakes slowly meandered back in slowly, taking their time with small feuds and displaying occasionally. The tom was sneaking back in until the jakes noticed and chased him off once again, hot on his scaly heels.

With four hens in front of us now, challenging my call to a duel, my dad knew he would have to shoot soon. The biggest jake sprinted back to the decoy, pulling up five feet short to displaying his gorgeous feathers that shone golden black in the sunlit opening. For the second time that morning the DSD was mounted. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my dad draw and carefully take aim. The twang of the bowstring was muted by my face mask but the unmistakable thwack of the arrow making solid contact was impossible to miss.

Nervous puts came from the mouths of the hens and the gobblers came out of their strut. The beating of wings on the ground surprised me. My dad had made a perfect neck shot and it had dropped right there. The jakes wanted to linger in the worst way but as the hens ran off, they followed. Soon, it was just my dad and I sitting quietly in the small clear cut. He stood, smiling, with his first bow turkey of the season on the ground 15 yards away. He raised his bow up and smiled. Success! It was a nice change to be able to call in a bird for him for a change. There is nothing better than sharing a successful outing with my favorite hunting partner. I’ll never forget how hectic it was in the moment! We both knew deep down that that tom didn’t get away that easily, though.

To be continued…

 

 

 

 

What a Great Weekend!

From spawning smallmouth bass to largemouths and pickerel crushing topwater frogs and poppers, it was a good weekend. As always, my Quantum gear putting the big ones in the boat/on the shore!

 

Bass loved this mini frog on Saturday, 4/23!

Camera shy pickerel

Rebel minnow. This lure simply works.

20 inch smallie (on the tape!) caught like all my other fish, on Quantum gear!

Funny Fish

Warning! Symptoms of Albie Fever are lack of sleep, loss of money to tackle stores and many missed days of work in the August to October calendar.

You never know what you’re going to come across late season fishing. This past October I spent a couple days in Martha’s Vineyard fishing for false albacore and bonita. It was a more than epic week.
I arrived solo on the island and made my way to my family’s house. I made some beans, an omelette and toast for dinner before crashing around ten, knowing I had a sleepless night in store. I woke up every hour praying it was 5 o’clock already and I could get on the water. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it was.
I threw on my warmest clothes and made my way down to the Menemsha jetty by headlamp. I arrived in the dark, headlamp now dead, to the rock pile that I know like the back of my hand. One misstep and I could have been chin deep in a crevasse, but thankfully I got to the tip without incident. While I was the only one there, I took a moment to breath in the salty air and smells of lobster gear. This, I knew, was the smell of home. False dawn came slowly as small schools of bluefish popped up and down on peanut bunker and silversides off in the distance. Slowly other fisherman trickled onto the jetty and finally the sun showed itself. The crest of it threw magnificent light all over Menemsha.

The bluefish were now backed by a sunrise so beautiful I almost forgot to cast when a group of false albacore began slamming silversides against the rocks at my feet! I snapped out of the daze I was in and flipped my epoxy jig a mere ten feet out. Wham! Fish on!! My drag screamed as the albie tore off at breakneck speed when suddenly all was quiet. My epoxy jig and tippet gone, I put on a new leader, 15lb Seaguar flourocarbon. I began blind casting with the pink epoxy jig, skipping it along the surface. A green torpedo erupted behind my jig and inhaled it, taking off on a screaming run. Back to back casts! Without warning, 3/4 of the line was gone from my Penn 460 Slammer. This was a big one! Drag locked all the way down, I settled in for what would be a long fight. He swam into the channel side of the jetty and swam hard with the current, but I managed to turn him out of it. I regained close to half my spool only to have it dumped once again when he sped back to the channel side. This time he went against the current and took me all the way into the harbor as I followed hopping along the rocks like a mad man. This was a smart fish. Close to seven minutes later I got him jetty side. He was massive and must have truly been a 15lb albie. As I reached down to grab his tail he took one more run to the Lure Graveyard, a rock pile 20 feet below the surface in front of the jetty. POP! The sound seemed to echo in my head. I watched the monster green streak slowly swim out of the rocks and back to the open water. Stunned by what had just happened, I sat back on the jetty and held my head, heartbroken.
The rest of the morning was fruitless. Close to noontime my buddy Quinn and his dad were unloading fish from their boat and I decided to go say hi. As we were talking a small group of green streaks tore across the surface throwing water and baitfish every which way. Quinn and I both grabbed rods and casted into the fish. I hooked up immediately on the green Hogy epoxy jig. Quinn kept casting. My fish made a short initial run compared to those of the last two fish I had hooked that morning. I realized my braid was rubbing against a piling but in order to get it off of it I would have to lift my rod over the outriggers and antennae of a boat. Standing on my tip toes, I lifted the rod as high as I could, not high enough. Pop! The fish and half my line were gone.
At this point I should have taken the hint and walked home, but that’s not the type of fisherman I am. I decided to be patient and keep losing epoxy jigs instead of going to grab a sandwich, and that’s just what I would do. I managed to lose 4 fish that day until I finally landed one, a decent 8lb albie. To top it off, my phone was dead. I asked the guy next to me to take a photo of me with the fish so that he could send it to me later. I still haven’t received that photo.
To this day I haven’t had as much frustration and fun while on the water as I did on this one day. Days like this are what keep me coming back. The power and speed of these “funny fish” seems to be the only cure my my addiction. The sight of that monster rock side still haunts me when I close my eyes at night and I am sure will continue to do so until I catch an albie even bigger.

A Morning in the Bow Stand

A story I forgot to post from November! With the deer season over in MA I found this story in my Google Drive almost two and a half months later and reflected fondly upon my time in the woods this year. It was a very successful trip according to what I define as successful!

 

So far, Thanksgiving break is off to a great start. I woke up before dawn this frigid November morning in order to be in the stand by 5:45 AM. An hour or so sped by as I was able to pass the time doing my favorite form of meditation, bow hunting.  Without warning, a gray line streaked across my vision and stopped abruptly. A Cooper’s hawk had swooped by me only feet from my face, then alighted on the tree directly in front of me. The hawk appeared orange and yellow in the morning light. It’s black barred tail and speckled breast hit directly by the sun’s rays made me hold my breath in awe of the scene’s beauty. As soon as I let my breath out, the hawk immediately spotted the steam coming from my face mask covered mouth. It’s beady eyes seemed to penetrate my soul in a way only a bird of prey can do. With a few powerful strokes of it’s wings, the hawk left its perch and returned to the frightfully cold air.

Minutes later a doe came by behaving like I’ve never seen a deer behave. She was smelling some sort of scent trail, and would constantly flee ten yards or so and then return to investigate as though she was a child who knew she was doing the wrong thing, yet gave into her temptation. After a couple minutes she continued on her daily trek to the her next destination, wherever that may be.

Wanting to incite the bucks, I decided to rattle with a pair of sheds I found. With the rut in full swing I thought I may have a chance of bringing one in. My sheds seemed brighter than ever in this low morning light as I bashed them together, simulating the sound of two bucks fighting. A minute later, two spike horns trotted into view, eager to get in on the action. I watched as they got within ten yards of me, the whites of their eyes and breaths clearly visible. One made a scrape right there in front of me, much to my delight. While rubbing the scent glands on his head all across a spruce tree’s branch, he pulled the leaves and dirt beneath his back and urinated in the exposed earth, marking his territory. They trotted along soon after, but not before I snapped a few awful quality iPhone photos. By then it was around 8 o’clock and I decided to call it quits. I slowly waddled back to the car with a numb body and a smile on my face. What a great start to break!

Take Care: A Reminder

Recently a friend of mine was hunting geese when he had a shell missfire. As there were other guys in the blind shooting, he didn’t realize it and jacked another shell into the chamber and fired again. On that next shot this is what happened.  

We are all very thankful that neither my friend nor anyone in the blind was hurt. Remember, life can change in an instant it is crucial to always be alert and careful while using firearms. 
 

Duckworth: The Best Way to Stay Warm This Hunting Season

 

 

 

Looking for a way to keep warm this winter? It’s as simple as wearing some of Duckworth’s cold weather gear. Whether I am in the field or on the water, it keeps me warm and comfortable like no other brand. Check it out and buy some for yourself at http://www.duckworthco.com/!

Around the Rock: Spearfishing and More

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!)

In a Rut

  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. 

Stripers in the Lights

The night started off like every other night in June and July. A call from my friend Lincoln asking if I wanted to go night fishing, a hurried dinner and biking down the hill as fast as possible to catch the sunset squid bite. We met at the Menemsha Fish Market, a store known for the giant lobsters they sell, and headed on down to the Menemsha Texaco. We both filled our buckets with squid (about 20lbs total that we would later sell) and made our way over to my favorite spot. Everyone fishes there, but nearly nobody knows how to do it correctly. 
 

I put a single small squid on my 6/0 circle hook by hooking it through the tip of the squid opposite the eyes. I always drop the squid in the crack between one dock and another, where the bass always hang out. Putting my Calcutta 251 into free spool, I let the squid float slowly toward the bottom. A jet black shadow darted out and slowly circled the squid, eating it and spitting it out over and over as if tasting its quality. Finally it ate it and slowly swam back to where it came from. I let it swim for four seconds before taking it out of free spool and letting the circle hook do it’s job. Fish on! A largemouth rod, very little drag, light line and lots of pilings and boats don’t go well together. The fish took off and after a blistering run (for a bass) it slowed down enough for me to get a little bit of line back. It had gone directly under the dock I was standing on, and my rod was halfway in the water so that the line didn’t fray and break on the barnacle encrusted pier. I yelled for Lincoln and he rushed over to help land the fish, which we both could see wouldn’t be happening for quite some time. He changed directions and went in between two pilings about 20 yards from us. We ran down the pier passing the rod to each other under the dock lines before hopping onto a friends boat. Passing the rod around the piling was easy enough. We made the same trip back down the dock, threading the rod through the web of lines. Upon reaching the end of the pier, the fish made a short run underneath the dock and I dove into an inflatable dingy and put the rod tip in the water once again. Pulling a big bass up from twenty feet isn’t easy with fifteen pound test, but after some struggling and a lot more drag being pulled, we had the fish at the surface. Lincoln reached out and grabbed the fish by the lip and hauled it over the side of the dingy.

 

Both amazed with what had just happened, we high fived before removing the hook and slowly revived the fish. With a whip of the tail it splashed my face and swam back into the depth. 

 

A week later that rod snapped in three places and there is no question in my mind as to why.

  

   

Monster 3X Slimshad Review

I have come to believe that the Monster 3X Slimshad is the most versatile lure in my tackle box. So far I have caught striped bass, scup, smallmouth and largemouth bass, flounder, pickerel, sea bass, false albacore/bonito (depending on what part of the country you are from), houndfish, jacks, grouper, pargo, snapper and bluefish. Almost all of those fish were caught on the same Slimshad. The only fish that truly did damage to the Slimshad were the bluefish and houndfish. I have come to believe that there is not a predatory fish that won’t eat the Slimshad. I really came to appreciate the durability of this soft plastic when fishing for smallmouth bass in Skaneateles Lake in New York. While bouncing the lure I felt a good hit and set the hook. When I got the smallmouth within view I noticed something strange. The tail of the Slimshad had gotten caught on the rear spine of the fish’s dorsal fin. When I got the fish next to me, I reached for him and ended up with only the tail of the Slimshad in my hand. I swung the approximately 2-2.5lb bass onto the dock by the soft plastic. Keep in mind since this wasn’t that small a smallie, the plastic had been stretched around 8 inches. I have been told they can hold much, much more, such as a large tarpon while the hook was being removed. These lures can be reeled straight, twitched on the retrieve, used as a trailer on a jig,  “bounced” up and down and much more that I have yet to try. They have a better action when fished on a heavier jig head. In freshwater I use 1/4 or 3/8 ounce jig heads and in saltwater 1/2-1 ounce depending on the depth I’m fishing and current. I also like to use the weighted belly hooks from http://www.treasurecoasttackle.com/.The 4/0 hooks they use are very strong and have gotten the job done for me over and over, however in the future I would use their bullhead collarless jig head. I recommend fishing these lures on a collarless jig head initially because they are very challenging to slide over a collar. If they get ripped, (fat chance of that happening) you can switch them over to a collared jig head. I stored my white Slimshads with some other dark green soft plastics in 90+ degree heat and was amazed to learn that their coloring doesn’t “bleed”. In that heat they do stick together, but can be pulled apart with no damage done to them. To purchase Monster 3X products go to http://www.treasurecoasttackle.com/ or http://www.monster3xusa.com/.