What's Your Dream Hunt

            As a hunter I am often asked by fellow hunters and non hunters a question. It’s the one I have heard hundreds of times and if you are like me, you have heard it too. If you have ever sat around a campfire, or stared into the sparking night sky, the question has been asked. If you have ever been drawn into conversation about hunting with non-hunters you have been asked directly. What is your dream hunt?

            The question lunges into our mind as we spit our verses of animals on far away continents that we want to chase. Stanzas of species and locations roll from our tongues as we recite a chorus of adventures we long for. There are species whose heads we would like to grace our trophy rooms, or whose hides we want covering our floors. We discuss length of horn, size of skull, beards, spurs, and leg bands. I have heard them all, or at least close to them all. Leopards in Namibia, elephants in Botswana, doves in Argentina, Red Stag in New Zealand, Grizzly bear in Alaska you name it and there are some who want to hunt these marvelous animals. As long as there have been hunters there have been dreams of hunts to come.

            Perhaps you too have been asked this question and you conjure dreams of the Dark Continent or 180” whitetail bucks. Flashes of skies filled with waterfowl of every species. There are thoughts of bugling bulls, gobbling turkeys, and thundering herds. Shots that are true and adventures achieved. If you are like me, you have spent hours perusing the internet looking for opportunities. Back country elk in Montana, pronghorn in Wyoming, Impala in South Africa, the list is never ending and is as diverse as hunters themselves.

            Recently I had this question asked of me again, and it occurred to me, that while I would love to go to Africa and hunt plains game or New Zealand for Red stag, I dream of chasing big grizzly bears in the Alaskan tundra. The reality is that my dream hunt is – the next one.

            Whether it’s chasing squirrels through oak ridge’s, or bow hunting whitetails in a hardwood bottom. The thrill of the hunt isn’t defined by the quarry rather by the experience. Memories made, moments cherished. I have hunted many different species in several states and one thing is constant, whether it’s after moose in Alaska or feral pigs in my native South Carolina, the thrill of being there is equal. Hunters know that while taking game is part of what we do, it is only a part. The real thrill comes with the experience. So the next time I am in a conversation about hunts, places and species, and I am asked what my dream hunts is, I will look simply and honestly and say,  “The next one.” What’s yours?

Sunrises are Best

            As an outdoorsman there are many things within the world of the out of doors that fill my soul like few other things can. Flickering flames casting across the faces of your companions. The flocks of waterfowl announcing their arrival to a statue still lake; or the thunder of a gobbler through southern hardwoods. These moments and many others bring me closer to my creator than just about anything.

            But of all the things in the outdoors, I love sunrises the best. The sunrise offers a new beginning. It brings a hint of a future of all things possible. It promises that yesterday is gone – with its joys and sorrows, and today is new. Sunrises are best when shared, but can be glorious when alone. A man who can enjoy being alone, is a man who knows who he is and where he is going. Admiring a sunrise alone is a glorious thing to be savored.

            Recently I stood alone along a large farm pond as the sun cast its first light onto the new day. Thin layers of ice cascaded across the pond; interrupted by stumps from long forgotten trees and the occasional lily pad that had yet succumbed to the cold of the winter. The ice caught the rays and glistened with grander as they hung on for a few last minutes. The mist from the pond was as thick as smoke as it drifted into the brightening day.

            I stood in awe at this marvelous new sunrise and gave thanks for the beautiful moment I was thrilled to witness.   

            Yes, it is in the moments of sunrise that I feel closest to my creator. As Christmas draws near and the hustle and bustle of the season seems to drown all meaning from this holy day. I am taken back to the sunrise and I remember why this season is so meaningful to me and my loved ones.

            We pause to reflect at this time of year. We reflect on the year that was, and give thanks for all of the big moments that brought smiles to our faces, accomplishments that were made and we remember with solace the moments that broke our hearts. Few years pass by anymore without some heartache for which there is no explanation, save the reality of it all. Through all of this, I am brought back to the sunrise. It offers hope; the sunrise offers a sense of peace.  It offers a new beginning, a freshness of all things possible; of all things we are and can be. So my reflections are not of what was but of things to come.

 As the sunrise ushers in a new day – the Christmas season ushers in a new year. Just as Joseph and Mary looked at their child and gave praise for their new beginning. I too offer praise for my new beginning, my new year as I celebrate with them, the “son” rise – God becoming man so I could have peace, hope and a future to enjoy and embrace.

            Yes, I embrace the sunrise. I embrace the hope, the fresh start if offers and the grace I am given to have the opportunity to witness again the creation of a new day and a new life that all began with the son of God coming to cast his glory on all of creation.

I am a Hunter

     I Am a Hunter

          In a world where trophies are celebrated by measuring tapes and adventures, where testosterone trumps skill and experience is entrusted to paid guides. I choose to measure my time afield differently. I know I am not alone, I along with a few others, measure our time afield by the process. It’s about the being there, the pursuit, the challenge of hunting and hunting well. Antlers, beards, horns, skulls and skins are a bonus to the experience of quest. 

          I like it all – I love to hunt whitetail and mule deer, moose, turkey, squirrel, rabbit, quail, pheasant, ducks, geese, pigs, exotics, you name it and I love it all. I like shooting bows and arrows, compounds and traditional. I like shooting rifles, shotguns and pistols; muzzleloaders, antiques and brand-new – right out of the box guns that the sheer sight of them makes me drool. I love soft plinking rimfires and big bores that should never be shot against ones shoulder. I love the smoke cloud of an old flintlock and the recoil from a big pistol.

          I love the feel of an old smoothbore as it rises effortlessly to my cheek and the distinct bang it makes when the trigger is eased. I like big gauges and small bores from big powerful 10 gauges to light 20’s and the small 28 gauge and 420 bore. I love the sight picture of good optics, nestled atop a fine centerfire bolt action. I love the smooth draw of a longbow loaded with cedar arrows. And the lightning fast speed with which modern compounds fling carbon arrows through my quarry.

          I love relaxing in comfortable ladder stands, and nestling on the ground against a giant oak. I love still hunting to within feet of an unsuspecting buck, and wandering through ridges, breech open across my arm in hopes an old grouse would rise against a morning sky. I love wading through black water swamps whose swollen cypress mark time in centuries instead of minutes. And I enjoy sitting in a well-constructed blind, complete with stove and heaters.

          I enjoy plodding through briar thick coverts, and across vast prairies behind well trained dogs whose ability to sniff out birds allows me to become entranced with their dance and often forget why I am there in the first place. I love the sounds of hounds hot on the trail of ‘coon, deer, or rabbit, and the sight of a flush from a hillside grouse, CRP pheasant, or the rare wild bobwhite. I love the close working of a fine setter or a long roaming pointer and their statue still points that show me where the birds are.

          I love the solitude of the wilderness, and the camaraderie of the camp. I love the trappings and the conversations. I yearn for the silence of big country and woods that stretch for miles in any direction. The quiet that can only be found in big country, the echo of one’s own mind rattles and lingers against distant memories as new ones are burned into the bank of eternal instants; those brief moments that flashes through our lives and then lingers and forever transforms us.

          I long for the honking of a flock of geese committed to a well-placed spread of decoys and the twiddle of a woodcock that flushes between my legs. I crave the whistle of wood ducks and the screaming of a murder of crows.

          Nothing fills my soul like sitting around a camp fire and comparing calibers draw weights, optics, and styles. Discussing the dress of grouse men, in their tweed jackets and duck hunters in rubber pants. I love listening to men who own Brittany’s argue with those who prefer pointers. I adore the night sound of a lonesome coyote calling to a potential mate. Along with the owl who announces his presence with grander but whose best work is done in silence.

          

          It’s all there, the things that draw us to the forest and fields, from the flooded timber, to the high country; from prairies to mountain tops, and from deserts to the arctic.

          As a southerner by birth, my style of hunting is different than many from other parts of the country. Our woods are thicker, our deer smaller and our variety sparse. Yet this doesn't slow the passion.

          I've known many who are more successful. Many who have killed far more deer and whose string of turkey beards stretch for yards not feet. I've seen men who get a limit of doves at every shoot and those of us who never seem to do so. I marvel at those who can turn a flock of mallards at will and those who seem to be able to call a coyote at every stand. I've had the pleasure of sharing a camp with men whose experiences span the globe and whose trophy room lists hundreds of animals. I've known those whose guns cost more than my truck, and whose dogs were more valuable than my wife’s engagement ring. But I have only known a few, very few who hunt well.   

          The reason a person hunts is a particularly personal and deep rooted thing. Alas, though in these times of trophy collecting, and game farming, the reason to hunt is diluted among the inches of antler. I am not a ‘collector of bone’ or ‘species’ chaser, I am a hunter. I do not specialize in a single species, or with a single weapon. I am not a ‘bow hunter’ but I love to hunt with archery equipment. I am not a ‘rifle hunter’ but few things exhilarate me more than the gentle squeeze of a trigger and the result it provides. I am not a shotgunner, but when chasing flying quarry, it’s hard to beat.

          I am a hunter. I am not a deer hunter, or bird hunter. I am not a duck hunter or predator hunter. I am not a big game hunter or small game hunter. I am a hunter, I hunt because I am. I do not choose to hunt, I have to hunt. Hunting isn't a hobby that I engage in when I have time; hunting is a way of life that I was born to do. No, indeed I must hunt. It really doesn't matter if its deer or squirrel, coyote or rabbit. I don’t care if its feral pigs in a mosquito infested swamp or a savanna full of bobwhite. If I can be there, then there I will be. Hunting is about participating in the outdoors to its fullest. To seek, chase, and pursue a game animal for the sheer challenge of it all. It’s about getting so close you can see the eyelashes on a mature buck, or calling a turkey into your lap. It’s about watching waterfowl, glide –twisting and turning through flooded timber and marvel at the beauty of it all. It’s about sunrises on frosty mornings, and the subtle breeze that caresses your face on a cold clear day. It’s watching your breath loft through barren trees, and breaking ice to set decoys. Hunting is about friendships made and cherished, it’s shared moments and solitude. It’s challenging and surprisingly easy. It’s frustrating and exhilarating, and very humbling.

          As a hunter, I cherish my privilege to hunt. I cherish all moments afield. The opportunity to be out-of-doors are all moments when for this brief time, I can be certain; that there is no other place I would rather be than right here, right now. I know for certain, that of all the things I do, that when I am hunting, there are no better times well spent.   

Lonestar Outdoors Radio

This past week, I was interviewed by Cable Smith, host of Cabela's Lonestar Outdoors Radio show. http://texasoutdoorsmedia.com/
The Interview involved a recent story I wrote for Game and Fish magazines. Its title, Topographically Speaking - using topographic maps to identify the travel patterns of big bucks. The show aired Saturday November 10, 2012 at stations all across Texas. 

You can listen to the pod cast by clicking the link below:

http://texasoutdoorsmedia.com/this-weeks-show-47/

South Carolina Alligator

After three years of applying and getting the denial notice in the mail. I finally drew my alligator tag for South Carolina's limited draw alligator season. I couldn't sleep as I anxiously awaited opening day which was held the first Saturday in September for the month long season. 

Pete Rogers with his
South Carolina Alligator

In South Carolina the alligator must be restrained prior to dispatch. This can be accomplished by many legal methods. Harpoon, bow and arrow, crossbow and snatch hook are the most popular. I was prepared with three of the option mentioned above minus the crossbow. 

As fate held it, the alligator of the South Santee were elusive to some degree. We did see a lot of alligators, but looking for my self imposed 9 footer was proving to be a bit of a challenge. Opening weekend we spent almost twenty hours looking for a suitable 'gator. It would take an extra trip to get my gator. 

Hunting with Marshall French, head guide at Duck Bottom plantation out of Horatio, SC proved to be the perfect set up. Few outdoorsmen are as accomplished as Marshall. I believe he could catch fish in a parking lot if needed. And kill ducks or deer in the desert. If it can be had, he is the man to get it done. 

After almost twelve hours of hunting, we spotted a candidate, as we approached, I launched a snatch hook over his back and the fight was on. I have been fortunate enough to catch a lot of fish in my life, and many have been pretty big, but nothing compares to hooking into an alligator. After a thirty-five minute fight the 'gator surfaced for air and I placed a ,38 caliber bullet into his brain to end the battle. 

My 'gator measured eight feet, just shy of my self imposed minimum, but it was a fine specimen. And one I am truly proud of. I got the call today from the taxidermist - my skull mount is ready, I cannot wait to  get it and place it prominently in my home. 

If you have the chance to hunt 'gators, I highly recommend it. Its different from any other outdoor adventure I've done, and one I definitely want to do again.