Dablemont column: In the woods with Daniel

The afternoon was chilly, cloudy and dark, one of those bleak December days when it looked like it might snow a little. The woodland floor was wet from a rain the day before, and I could move slowly into a slight breeze without much of a sound at all. My muzzle-loading .50- caliber Hawken rifle lay heavy across the crook of my arm, ready to be brought to my shoulder at the blink of an eyelash. Well, actually, with me it never happens that quickly, my imagination makes me faster than I really am. Alone and deep in the woods, I feel a little like Daniel Boone must have felt, hunting the Kentucky backwoods.

It brought memories of the time years ago when I walked through these very same woods and came upon a nice buck lying in a brushpile, watching me intently, thinking he was hidden completely. He would have been had I not seen his antlers. Then another time there was the buck which came running right at me and nearly ran over me; fleeing something... who knows what.

It was this same Hawken rifle, on its very first hunt about 20 years ago, that I fired at a doe leading a group of deer. She dropped in her tracks, and so did another doe behind her. The slug went through the hearts of both animals, and I found it on a hillside just past the two of them. I still have it on my office shelf, the .50 caliber maxi ball that killed two deer. There are those who never believed the story, but it really happened. My daughter was with me that day, and saw it all.

I love to hunt deer during the special December season with my muzzle-loader. There was a time when only the best of the outdoorsmen did so, when it truly was a primitive weapons season. Today it is much less so because of the modern in-line weapons which make a mockery of it all, permitted because so many hunters want an easier way to do things. Always, the easy way appeals to a modern group of hunters. But still, by and large, the woods during the middle of the week is empty of the red-clad crowd who descends upon us from the suburbs during the regular deer season, for most their only venture into the woods during the course of the year. It was still and damp and bleak that day recently, when I came across a log that made a perfect seat. It was a little too comfortable, I suppose.

I should have moved 30 yards farther. From my left and behind me, I heard the slightest rustling, and caught a movement. There were four young does, all born last spring, coming out of heavy cover and moving across the woodland swale, crossing the creek before me. Too far, 85 yards at least, maybe more. And they were moving at a good gait. A muzzle-loader will kill at 90 to 100 yards, but it is too far for me. I take shots under 75 yards, because I have too little faith in my marksmanship at greater distances.  Daniel was a better shot than me I am sure.

Slower afoot, five more does followed in only a few minutes, and two of them were mature deer, maybe two or three years old. A little half grown young-of-the-year doe came to within 60 yards, her nose up, somehow catching a glimpse or a scent which made her curious, careful. The others ignored her, and she could have been venison on the table that night, but she was so small I don't believe she would have made more than a couple of pots of chili. If only the older deer would follow. They calmly fed before me eating a few remaining red oak acorns, moving down toward the small creek, a good 90 yards away and never closer.

The yearling looked hard at me, cautiously lifting her small hooves to ease a little closer, trembling with apprehension as she did so, her big ears extended with curiosity. In a while, she gave in to the fear of the unknown, and trotted away to join the others, with her tail lifted about halfway to a full flag. It took 20 minutes or so for them to all move away, but they did.

I moved on, to a little wooded knoll where trails crossed, and sat against a big oak tree. It was about 4 p.m. and I had only been there a few minutes when a wild turkey gobbled about 150 yards before me, down in the low ground where the creek trickled away. It was a poor gobble, but it was a gobble, loud and clear, likely a young jake. I called to him by mouth, imitating a hen in the fall assembling a brood before roost time, and he gobbled again. I waited a while, called again and he gobbled a third time... followed by the yelps and purring and cackling of several other turkeys with him. I waited, expecting them to perhaps come my way.

About 4:15, I heard a loud clear gobble much closer, followed by two others in quick succession. Quite a group of them, obviously.

I called again a few times and all was quiet, so I stood and walked the opposite direction, wanting to check another deer crossing before dark. From there, about a quarter 'til five, I heard a strong hard gobble from the little knoll where I had been calling before, and the turkeys began to fly up to roost.  Oh well, it was too dark for good photos anyway.

As I headed for home, a couple of miles away, I caught a glimpse of a white flag bouncing through the woods in the very last faint light of day. A big buck, I'd bet.  Or maybe a little one. I thought to myself how much easier it must have been for old Daniel Boone. His rifle surely was more accurate than mine. 

Lots more big bucks back then, much less skittish. Down right tame I'll bet, in old Kentucky 200 years ago.  Off in the distance I could see the glimmer of a candle shining through the window of my old cabin, and heard geese passing overhead.  "It has been a good day Daniel," I said.  Behind me, I could sense him nodding his head.

Norten update
Many of Uncle Norten's old friends have asked about him recently, and I am sorry to report he is not doing very well, though when I talk to him, he longs to be outdoors as he has always been. The old World War II veteran and fishing guide turned 88 last year, and has been victimized by his very family members, and a social services system which failed to protect him and now seems incapable and unwilling to help.

You can read more about him on my website, www.larrydablemontoutdoors.blogspot.net. Maybe someone out there can offer advice on how to help him.

I have also been asked about places I will be speaking this month, and there are two wild game dinners where I will be in late January. One is in Steelville, Mo. on Jan. 27 and the other is Jan. 28 in Garden City. I will also put details of those events on my website.

E-mail me at lightninridge@windstream.net or write to me at Box 22, Bolivar, MO. 65613.