Why do I hunt and why do you hunt?

     As I get to be 40 something and approach the end of another year and hunting season, I give myself this question.  Why do I  hunt and why do I spend my time doing what I do?
      Some people are all about the score.   Don't get me wrong- I love BIG BONE" (Big antlers for you non-hunting folk) as much if not more than the next man.  I know how to score bucks and have scored a couple of my bigger bucks.  I do not however profess to be the guy after the biggest buck.  If I was the guy after the biggest buck, I believe I would have to travel to the Midwest every year and probably being doing things differently than I am.  I do however love big bucks and yes I enjoy hunts out to the Midwest.  I take them rarely as I own property in VA now and have family obligations that keep me here at home.
     Some guys hunt for the camaraderie.  They love to hunt with others and love the feeling of the camp and the fun of being with others.   This is not why I hunt.   Yes I love to talk, eat, sleep. blog, text, email, chat, and just think about hunting.  But I do most of my hunting alone.  If I could see my wife and boy every evening, I would be fine to be in a situation where I was hunting alone for days upon end and not ever see another hunter.  Mind you,  its is not wrong for a guy to like hunting and enjoy time with his or her friends.  That is cool and yes I enjoy that aspect on occasion.
       Some people hunt for tradition and the romance of the event.   This person was raised hunting and goes the first few days of season but lets it go after that.  That isn't me.  My brother-in-law introduced me to hunting.  Hunting is not a romance.   Its more of a love-hate at times.  Some days are good but others are long, hard, cold weeks of not seeing a deer.  My dad wasn't a big hunter so again I picked hunting for a different reason.
      So why do I hunt?   I love to be in the woods.   I love to sit in a tree, on the ground, in a blind, in a shooting house, under a power line, or where ever and just sit.  I bow hunt, muzzle loader hunt, rifle hunt and have even pistol hunted.  But I hunt because its the way I enjoy the outdoors.  Yes, I get excited about big bucks on trail cams and then sit in the rain looking for a chance to shoot him.  But over-all I love the outdoors.    I became a gunsmith as an extension of my hunting.  Yes I love guns and love to shoot them.  But I will still bow hunt and think its way cool to get that close and have to draw back on a deer.  I am trying to say that hunting is more to me at times than the kill or anything else I get.   Over the years, I have grown to enjoy planting, feeding and raising deer.  Deer hunting has become a all year event.  But really its a way to stay in the woods ALL YEAR LONG.  Again, I just love the outdoors.
     That being said,  I had the enjoyment of taking my son on his first fishing trip this year and his first hunt.  Whether he ever wants to hunt or fish, whether he likes to the shoot the guns that I put so much time in on or not,  I do however want him to enjoy the outdoors.  My daddy loved the outdoors and I love it.  My Daddy was logger and yes I have been the logger's safety man, but I love the outdoors by hunting.  Maybe my boy and I looking at a bird and looking a bunny waiting on a big buck will give him a love that I have.  Only time will tell.
    Why do you love to hunt?

    

Oops

    The setting is the first day of Muzzle loader and I am hunting a small farm that I intentionally don't hunt until gun because it signals the beginning of rut.
     I was sitting in a shooting house over  one of my green fields in box stand .  This green field is about  a 3/4 acre planting half in whitetail extreme and the other half in a annual blend.  I work hard with my deer.   I plant spring and fall.  I give them mineral licks in the off season and feed them year round when possible.  I also knew from trail cams that there was nice buck that I deemed a shooter.   I had been doing my normal all day sit on the first day of muzzle loader.  I had just  relieved myself into a bottle and was relaxing in the warm sun when I looked up an saw a buck on the other side of the field.   I saw him from the side and he looked high at first.  I raised my smoke pole and when I did it hit the box stand.   The buck who was making a scrape looked at me.  I had a "OH CRAP" moment and immediately knew the buck had me.   Without a conscious thought, I had pulled back the trigger and BOOM went the gun. 
     I trust my muzzle loader and was a little surprised at the buck running off.   The blood was heavy in the field then tapered off as he exited.   I went and got a light and went to work tracking.  I do best most of the times when I follow it from first blood and just follow the trail.  This day was no exception.  I followed the guy and he surprisingly made it about 100 yards in my thick woods.  I realized when I found the buck that I had "Ground checked" the wrong buck.
     Allot of people are happy to shoot any buck.   I however about have as much fun trying to grow them as I do hunting them.  I do however think I was looking for the big buck I had seen earlier on trail cams.  My desire to shoot the big buck for the wall pushed me into shooting a buck that I would have loved to let walk. 
     This year has had allot of ups and downs for me.   I have tried to practise QDMA for years.  This was a six point that I shot but really had no excuse for shooting.  I had this long story about how I had come to this point but in the end I enjoyed my hunt.   Between us, I would rather go two years and not kill a buck, rather than shot two mediocre bucks back to back.  I am however proud of the buck I grew and the hunt I enjoyed.   The buck had been named "Working Man" as I knew him from previous trail cam pictures.
     Moral of the story----- Don't get too excited..  Don't take yourself too seriously and try to enjoy every day in the field.     

Old Hunting Tales

     From my prior posts you know Dad, James Arnold, was a woodsman but not a real big hunter.  He did however hunt for turkeys, squirrels, rabbits, and the like on occasion.   He would at times tell me of a story.   My Dad wasn't one to tell tall tales however the story always seemed a little far out.
     My Dad has told the story of squirrel hunting in and around his home in Wilcox County Alabama   He told me that he hunting without a dog and was just waiting for them to come out of their nests.  He had already shot a couple of squirrels with his trusty old Stevens Double barrel.   He had just sat down to relax and let things settle to see if more of the little guys came out.   He heard a huge commotion.   He told of "the trees growing dark with squirrels" and innumerable amount moving through the trees as he sat under the trunk of that tree.  My dad didn't start shooting.  It actually scared him with the large amount of animals that he saw moving.   My father used the word " migrating".  He was shaken at  the sight of the squirrels and  guess it was something that made an impression on him.
     Was it a tall tale?    I did go out and do a little research.  From Skinnymouse.com  "Flyger, who died last year at age 83, reported squirrels in North Carolina in 1968 were so determined to swim across lakes that wildlife officers in boats couldn’t force them to turn around.  Unfortunately, squirrels aren’t great swimmers, and 45 carcasses were found in two weeks in the spillway of the Cheoah Dam in North Carolina. Hundreds more were found dead on highways. Motorists reported squirrels seemed to be dancing in the roads, apparently spooked by traffic after spending most of their lives in the woods."
     From the same publication,  "The same Easter freeze that devastated the state’s peach crop could lead to a phenomenon unseen in these parts for nearly 40 years a massive squirrel migration.
Sure, the term sounds funny — picture squirrels in little covered wagons heading west — but it’s serious stuff.in September 1968, squirrels searching for more hospitable living conditions along the Eastern Seaboard ended up dead along the highways and floating in lake spillways throughout the Southeast.
Wildlife officials have no idea whether another September migration is near, but they do see a repeat of one factor in thin the last one — the Easter freeze wiped out white oak acorn production.
    Old Hunting tales carry us back to times and memories of the past.   We relive our hunts or remember our friends and loved ones and their experiences.    I am sure that you have some story that father or uncle told you.  Don't be so quick to discount it as there may be some truth to it.   Good luck creating your hunting stories and remember to share the outdoors with a child.

Second Chance 10

     Few hunters talk of misses, well I have one for you.    It was muzzleloading season in VA and I was hunting out of a ladder stand (at that time) that I call the  "Bear Stand".  Muzzleloader falls into the looking phase of the rut up there so its a good time to sit all day.   The wind was a little weird that evening but I decided to go in real early and hunt a large buck I had seen early in Bow season.  I got in the stand about 1 that afternoon and settled in for a sit.  
     The evening had been pretty uneventful as I expected it to be.  Long about 4:00 that afternoon, I heard some noise.   A doe was moving in the woods beside the green field that I had planted.  She came out almost down wind of me on a road that I also had planted.   I sat there and was surprised to see in the woods a huge rack in the woods.    I raised my Thompson Center Omega and put the cross hairs on him.   BOOM and  smoke bellowed out as one would expect from a 50 caliber smoke pole.    As the smoke cleared, I was surprised to see the buck still standing there.   I was only about 30 yards from the deer and he didn't know where the shot came from!   Excitedly, I attempted to reload but the big buck and his doe eased of into the thick woods.
     I got down and just couldn't believe I missed the buck.   I looked for blood and looked for blood.  As dark approached, I gave up my search for the deer and went home.  I remember working the next day and making it back up the property to do one last search.   I found the bucks tracks but never a sign of the big guy.  I spent hours looking for that deer and it was real hard for me to admit that I had missed.
     Later that week, my son had tubes put in his ears.  Having the whole day off, I had told my wife that I may hunt that afternoon.  I can however still remember how angry she realized that I was going to VA.   I truly had buck fever at that time and was just sick at myself for missing that deer.  
     Once the boy was OK, I left out for the woods.  I went to the other side of the farm and hunted another field that I had planted in whitetail extreme.  I was sitting in tripod at that time and got into the stand around 3.  The wind was right for that stand and I just knew nothing would come back to the other stand.
     I can remember taking a work call and getting off the stand and walking to the truck for reception.   I got back into the stand and still had memories of the big buck on my mind.  I was questioning myself and my decisions.  I remember texting my wife back and fourth attempting to get her in a better mood with me.  She is an excellent wife, extremely good to me, but was not happy I was hunting there that afternoon.  5:00 in the afternoon, without any warning, the Big Ten point ran across the field.   He was running at a steady pace and was making his way directly across the field.  This time I got a good rest and put my cross hairs on the buck.   BOOM!   This time the Big Buck went down in his tracks!
     As I said earlier, there was no tracking.  The Ten point lay kicking in the field and died in his tracks.  I had made a 70 yard shot at what was a very nice buck for me and pretty respectable for any part of the world.   To make things even more interesting, the buck had mark on the top of the back.  This was the same buck that I missed earlier in the week.  The sabot had removed the hair on top the buck's back.
     He was heck to load on my 4 wheeler.  I can remember texting pictures to my wife and my buddy "B".  He was for me the culmination of allot of work that I had done on that farm as well as just the biggest buck I had shot to date.  The things I learned from this one:  A) never give up and B) get a good rest when shooting a gun.  All my misses have come when I shooting without a rest.  C)  Have a good wife who loves you and is willing to put up with a hunter with Buck Fever.  D)  A little luck never hurts :)

They are chasing!

     Every January long after the bucks of North Carolina and Virginia have long forgotten their romantic tendencies, I have long enjoyed going back home to Alabama to see if I can get a crack at one last buck.  Some years I went to visit my parents in Wilcox county to hunt in the yellow clay of home, but as of recent I have been going to Pike Couty Alabama. My buddy B Davis has a family farm and we have long hunted this part of the world since college.  The January hunt has sort of evolved into a group of friends that meet up for several days of hunting and socializing.   Some new guys have showed up and some have went by the wayside, but the hunt and our friendships have continued. 
     But rewind a little back into history.   Kevin Foshee and I , being the out-of-state boys, have sort of made it a tradition to come in a little early and attempt to kill a buck before any of the other guys come in and stink the place up.  We know that we can go in and be super-serious about our hunting and try to catch those bucks chasing a doe.  
     This year was COLD!   Kevin brought in a load of black jack oak  from Florida that we about burnt up trying to keep warm.  We were staying at the old house trying to keep warm---but it was really cold at night.   Kevin had a new UTV mule but it didnt have a windshield.  We were staying a good 2 miles from the hunting property and I can remember being so cold riding in it to the hunting property.  We would get up well before day light, make lunches, and go for an all day event.  It would be so cold riding into the property that all I looked forward to was daylight.  But thank God for heavy clothes and fire at night.  Sure it was cold enough to break ice in the toilet when we got home one night, and we had to sleep with all our clothes on , but Kevin got the price that year.   I love to hunt but this year really tested my love for the hunt, but I digress.
     So it was the last of our all day hunts before the "locals" showed up.  (I am really just giving my friend a hard time.).  We were sitting on a perfect evening.  I was in the condo stand I believe watching a few does and a small buck or so, when BOOOOOMM! went Foshee and his 7 mag.   I sat for a while before Foshee came and got me.  Kevin could have left me sit but came and got me as he was excited to find his buck. (haha)
     This was a retrieval!  Kevin was sitting in a box stand overlooking one of B's well managed green fields.  Kevin had shot the buck with a very nice  Sako bolt action chambered in my favorite 7mm Remington Mag.  Kevin who has a very good eye for picking out deer, had made a very good shot on a big 7 point in the pines right outside of the field.  We went into the woods looking and it was time to look for blood.  We had to get out our lights even got on all fours.   When all of the sudden the blood got heavier!   We ended up jumping the buck!  You could hear him trying to get away from us but he was in bad shape.  I remember urging Foshee to wait till the morning but we progressed.  
     Within a minute or two, we were on the buck.  Kevin aimed the rifle and put a second deadly shot into the buck.   And what a buck he was!  He was a very nice 7 point.  I believe he currently resides on Kevin's wall as a european mount.
     What a good memory!  All the guys came in the next day.   We all celebrated the buck that Kevin had shot and enjoyed time with each other.  I didn't get a buck that trip.  A buck is what I am after, but it is not what the hunt  or that trip is always about.  Sometimes is more fun to freeze to death and see beautiful frosty mornings and sometimes is about spending time with good friends.  This time is was about helping a good friend find and pull out a nice buck that made memories for both of us.
   

She was almost the Death of me!

     Why my parents let me buy that old  Jeep CJ5, no one can tell.   It was jacked up, red, loud, and proud!  The old girl had a V8 with a 3/4 racing cam that would sit and idle like a race car.   The Jeep had a suspension lift that was at least 4 inches above 33x22x12.50s that were mounted.  When you gave it all the it had, the Front tires would jump off the ground and not touch back soon enough.   I of course loved the jeep.  I kept the top off and  called it some type of hunting vehicle even though it was all toy.  
     Well, I had just put an investment of brand new grip tires on the Jeep.   I had a date that evening but my buddy Matt Parker wanted us to ride out to Pigeon creek before I went into town.   It was raining that Saturday afternoon so we decided to head down the long dirt road to have a little fun.  We went down to the creek.  We took opportunities to hit about any mud hole that we could find.   Things were going good!   Parker even brought along a couple of beverages and we were enjoying ourselves.
    Picture it.  There was a nice summer thundershower that was about to be over.  We had a couple of drinks (I understand that's its wrong to drink n drive, but I was young and dumb.).   We were laughing and talking to each other.   We came into downtown Forest Home Alabama,  that's a joke in and of its own if you know anything of the spot in the road.    As I came near the intersection to turn right toward my house, I pressed the brake.   Little did I know that one of the front tires had no brakes and the other brake was locking up.   With a new set of grip tires and a nice wet road,  the jacked up Jeep started to slide and was trying to flip over.   I was about to run into a house right next to road, so I jerked the wheel in the opposite direction.   I remember sliding and the next thing I saw the Forest Home Post Office.  I barely missed it in my slide and then saw a propane tank.   We missed that tank by inches as we screamed, cursed, and cried.  You should have seen Matt Parker's eyes during and after.
     It was over.  Matt said"  WHAT DID YOU DO?"    I said "  @#$%@#$, WE ARE ALIVE!"   We quickly jumped back into the jeep and gave it gas.  We put mud all over the Post office and made huge ruts getting out of the yard.
     Well, my date wasn't too happy with me being late.   Matt went home and cleaned out his britches, ha ha.  The old Jeep was soon to have a new brake job.    What a crazy day and dumb things I did when  I was younger however they are memories.  The old red CJ5 is now only a memory.  Matthew and I are still friends but don't see each other that much.   I am sure this memory crosses Matt's mind every once in a while crosses even if its a night mare and followed by cold sweets.

Long Live the Hunt

     Hunting in the Piedmont area of North Carolina has its ups and downs.   The hunting pressure is high.  Most of the small farms are broken into small tracts of hardwoods and farm land.  There are however opportunites for the hunter willing to try his luck.   This year I was hunting a buck on a 40 acre farm that I have access on.  
     On the first evening, I sat up my climber.  I had to do a little trimming to get it in ,but pressed myself to get up the tree with my bow.   I was able to get high up in a white oak.   I was adjacent a large hay field and sitting near a funnel.  There were buck rubs all in the little wood lot and I felt good of my chances.   About dark, things got interesting.   3 racked bucks and 3 young bucks were in the field.  The younger bucks were running around grunting and carrying on .   I hadn't trimmed as I should have and was only able to get a glimpse of a very large 8 point.   I watched the big buck walk off to the other side of the field and sat there till after dark waiting for all of the deer to leave.
     I hunted and hunted that stand!   I actually hunted it out.   I was pretty good about only trying to sit it in a favorable wind, but I sat there alot waiting on that buck.   I was seeing nothing.  I had sat there for a couple of weeks and not seen a deer.   From all the hunting, I was beat and gave up on the stand.  
     It was a week before muzzleloader and I knew that once rifle started the buck would be dead.   I got the idea of putting in a corn pile near the climber.   I put the corn pile (baiting is legal in NC) right on the edge of the field and left it alone for a few days.   The corn was getting torn up.  They went through a bag of corn in only a few days.
     It was now muzzleloader season and I was ready to kill a buck.  I got my smoke pole out and went to the bow stand.  I climbed up the old white oak and got ready for my afternoon hunt.  It was a nice fall day in NC and there was a breeze.  I can remember thinking of my fathers upcoming surgery to remove a tumor from his brain.   I do allot of talking and praying to God when I hunt.  This of course was a hard and scary time for me, so I was doing allot of it.  But back to the hunt.  
     A doe and two yearlings came out first.   I watched them eat on the corn.   The doe looked up at me  and I believe caught a touch of movement.  She didn't care for me and decided to move her and the little ones on their way.
     I was thinking my hunt was over at this time.   But only about 20 minutes later, a deer came back to the pile.  This time however it was a buck.   I looked at the rack and thought him to be 3.5 years old, and slowly eased up my gun.   The buck made to the pile and slowly began to eat.   I can still see the Buck's face and body language as he sort of gave me the impression that all was not right.  It was however too late!  The inline muzzleloader pounded the buck.   He tore off down the woodline and went deep into the woods.
     I took my time and sat in the tree for a little.  I decided to get down and check for blood.   It was all over the place and the blood trail was easy to follow.  I quickly found the 7 point at the bottom of the hill and went to my trusty 4 wheeler to go get the buck.   I pulled the heavy buck to the top of the hill through the briars and brush.  I then struggled and struggled to load the big buck onto the 4 wheeler.
     On the ride home, I can remember showing the land owner the buck and feeling pride.  Thoughts in my head still went to my father.  We were to leave the next day for Bama and my father's operation.  I had killed the beast, but it was more of a way to keep my mind off of other things.  This hunt is a sweet memory to me.  The buck is mounted and sits in my office as a reminder of that day and the times I enjoyed hunting this buck.  He was not the big one I believe but he was a nice buck that lives on my memories.
     Long Live the Hunt!

Climb that tree Boy!

     As I  picked up bow hunting probably around the age of 18 or 19, I was forced to leave the ground and even venture away from ladder stands.   I made the decision that I needed my first climber.  Rather than going out and making a hard earned investment for a new stand,  I bought a used stand.   I purchased an A-Mach style stand and was ready.  This stand had a small seat that you used to pull yourself up with.   The stand required allot of upper-arm strength to use and really was a bad design.  I however was determined to bow hunt with it.
    I went to my Grandmas place in Oak Grove, Alabama.    I picked myself a nice, slick ,red oak.  I was very green with climbing and knew nothing about what trees to climb and how to be careful.  I climb out of red oaks now but never knew of the dangers and how hard they are to climb at that age of my life.   (But I digress).  So I put the stand up and was ready for my hunt that afternoon.
     The afternoon came.   I went to the tree with my Bear "Whitetail 2" bow and new real tree overalls.  I was very dumb at this stage, but I was ready to hunt!  I made it down into the hollow behind my Grandma's farm.   The stand was a good walk from the house, but was a known deer area.
     (We will call this the event).   It was a nice warm afternoon in Alabama.  Bow season in Bama, is more like time to be scouting and not really so much hunting.  I was however ready to draw blood, so into the briar's and down the hollow  I went.   I don't really know how I made it up 12 feet into the air but I did.   I was climbing and the bottom of the climber fell from my feet.   This wouldn't be such of a problem if I had the top and bottom  tied together, but I however did not.   So the bottom of the stand went to ground barely missing my bow at the bottom of the tree.  I was stuck hanging from the top of the stand.    I was there hanging from the top of the stand trying to figure out what to do.    I decided to let go.    So as my arms started burning,  I let go.    I did however bear hug the tree on the way down.   I guess that did slow me down enough to keep from breaking any bones as I hit the bottom of the tree onto the bottom of the stand.  The stand was bent after I hit it.   I was badly bruised, and my arms were bleeding.  The oak tree had rubbed all the skin off on the inside of my arms on the way down. 
     I can remember laying on the ground and feeling like I was dead.  The fall had scared me and I was in bad shape from the fall..  I regrouped and pulled myself together.  I made a few choice comments to the tree stand and them got my bow and went home.
     I was lucky!   The stand was not tied together properly.   I had not practised at home before climbing the tree.  I could have been killed the first time I climbed, but I was lucky.  I still climb to this day and love it.  That old tree stand however stayed there for years  till my brother in law went and got it out of the tree  ( I gave it to him and never climbed it again).  That old climber would not be in my climber arsenal again!
    I do love to hunt in climbing tree stands.  I hope to be able to hunt in them till they tell me I am not able to use them due to being to old!!   Please be smarter than me  Please tie off in your climbers.  Tie them together.  Get yourself a good climber, and let someone know where you will be hunting.   Don't be dumb butt like myself!    Safe hunting.

Build it and they will come Part 2

    (Growing)   In no time,  the green patch was up.  This was new ground to agriculture, so the oats, rye, and wheat went crazy.   I sort of laugh at everyone preaching that you need to do a soil test, check your PH, etc, etc.  Yes I understand the importance of it, but we didn't.  I can also delete this one day if Biologic or The Whitetail institute wishes to sponsor me! haha.  I think the newness of the whole thing was the fun of it.  We however had the base for a good hunting spot.  Now all we need were deer.
     (The stand)  Daddy came home with a stand one evening.   He had been given a metal ladder stand from a friend and brought it home to see what I thought.  He decided to carry down to the shop at Nuss Timber and have them do some modifications.   We added about 3 feet on the bottom to start.  Then my dad added arm rests at the top as I think he thought it may aid in keeping me on the stand and not on the ground.    We took the stand behind the house and placed it on a large pine.   It was a good stand and in a good location.  Daddy was good about seeing a desire or need that I had and not only filling it but exceeding my expectations.  I think everybody has memories of their father like that but my Daddy was good to me.  That old green stand was good and solid, allowing me to learn to hunt in a stand.
     (Scouting)  Boy did they come.  I started seeing sign all over the place.   On the trail into the field, there was a big scrape.  A buck was rubbing trees all around the little green field and there were tracks all in the field.  I was so excited and ready to kill a deer.
    (The Harvest)  I picked a day to hunt when I was all alone.  I was at home after school, but Mama and Daddy were not there.  I dressed in my brown cover-alls and put on a orange hat as it was a requirement by Alabama law.  I sat in the stand and started my wait on a trophy.   As I sat in the stand and day dreamed about my day, I heard something walking up the hill to my green field.  It was a deer walking into the field!  I took little time with shouldering my gun.  As soon as the little doe walked into the field, I let the 12 gauge go on her.  Down went the little deer.   I can remember being so excited that I almost fell out of the ladder stand. 
     (The Recovery)  There wasn't much of a recovery.  It was a good thing that I safely made it out the stand.  I had a loaded gun as I was scared it would run off.  I walked toward the deer laying in the field and nudged it with the end of the barrel.  It was dead!  I was told that you had to cut the neck.  So I took a pocket knife out and cut the neck.   (This was a misconception that I had for several years into my deer hunting career, but I digress.)  I pulled the little deer back to the house and called my brother. 
     (The cleaning)  Ok, this was my second deer.   I had helped Bruce, my brother-in-law, clean a deer before, so I knew what I was doing.   I did however call my brother Kyle Arnold to help me clean this deer.   Kyle, who lived in Pine Hill at the time, came over right over.  He came up and laughed at me.  He thought the little doe was more of a rabbit than a deer, but we cleaned it anyway.  He poked at me a little as the deer was so small but it was the first I had even behind the house!  I took out my trusty knife given to me by sister Lesha and my brother-in-law Bruce.  We cleaned the deer up nicely and got it ready for the freezer.  My mom later on washed it sufficiently to her liking as we had not done a good enough job.  I can remember her disapproval with the way my brother and I cleaned the meat.    Geneva Arnold, my mother, is a very good woman, but she likes things done the way she wants them.  But I digress as she may also read this one, haha.
     (Afterthoughts)  This was big moment for me.  I have built many green fields and killed more deer than I can count since these first days.  The green field however gave my father and something to do together.  It kept me busy and got me excited about hunting.   The lessons I learned from this planting and this harvest have stuck with me to this day.   Thanks again Bruce Monk for the seed that have given me great memories.  Thanks to my Daddy who was willing to help me in a sport that he wasn't really that interested in, but loved me enough to care.    I do believe that if you build it-------------THEY WILL COME!
   

Shoot him Again!

     Before the days of camo, we enjoyed listened to the hounds run deer in the pines of south-central Alabama.  This was before the days of Quality Deer Management,  spending a large part of my disposable income on habitat improvement for deer, and just the days of simpler things.  In those days you rarely saw a 4x4 truck.   Only a few people actually wore camouflage.  We thought they were silly  and we called them "Educated Hunters".   Yes I did enjoy sitting in a oak hollow waiting for a big buck, but I spent allot of time stalking and running deer with dogs as I was young and too full of energy.  I hunted with a Remington 1100 or a Marlin 30/30.  I wish I never sold that Marlin.
     Keith Davis, aka B, was one of the guys that hunted allot with.  (I continue to hunt with him in some form to this day.)  From his father, we were able to hunt on some property in Georgiana Alabama.  This property was owned by a timber mill of which Mr. Claude Davis, B's daddy, was a manager.  The land was called Kokomo.  Most of the men that hunted in it were however not management.  It may have been in our imagination, but we did allot of hunting with these guys but never killed a deer.  Heck we seldom saw one.  Most of the time, it seemed that we sort of  got stuck off in the wrong stands.  Some of the time they would even forget about us and would leave us!  My memories of most of these hunts is that we spent more time helping look for the dogs than we did hunting.  But we loved to hunt and enjoyed working with the dogs as well.  Those were fun times.  It was very interactive and it gave us boys to socialize.
     Well we went to college.   I began reading hunting magazines.   I had to buy myself a bolt action rifle.  It was a Winchester Model 70 chambered in 7mm Rem Mag.  (I do wish I had that semi custom gun but it was stolen. I had a nice Leupold 3x9x50 on it and it was very accurate, but I digress.)  I even got myself a Chevy Tahoe 4x4.   We read about passing up little bucks and allowed them to grow.  I admit that it was a shock as deer seemed to be around every corner.  The idea of letting a legal buck pass was unheard of!  But we slowly sold in on the idea of tree stands, camo, big bucks, and a different way of hunting.  We joked of educated hunters, but we were closely going to that side.  We hunted with dogs less, and spent time in stands and shooting houses.
     One weekend, my good friend B and I  decided to go back hunting with the gang at Kokomo.   We joined up with them.  I remember them looking at us.  I showed up with real tree camo and nice little 4x4. All of the regulars were there.   As usual, B and I were sent to the back side of the property.  We were promised that it to be a good spot.  We never even heard the dogs.   We couldn't tell you when the drive began or ended.   B and I were sitting there smoking Marlboro lights leaning against my Chevy , when a buck ran out.   I raised my 1100 and fired!  The buck didn't go down but instead charged us.  I fired 2 more into the buck.  I thought he would kill us!  B began firing his 1100 as well.   We both unloaded upon the Buck.  B screamed "Reload!"   That poor beast however made to within about 10 yards of us before one of those buckshot kicked in.  We were screaming and laughing, it was the best.  I can remember the excitement as the buck charged and how proud we were of the deer afterwards.  During the attack, We were standing near our vehicle in the middle of grown up, clear cut.  I don't really know if the buck was even the result of the dog hunt, but that didn't matter to us.  What a fun time and a sweet memory that day was, but I digress.
     Back to the Buck!  He was grand buck.  He was only a 6 point but what a 6 point.  He was tall and high.  I guesstimate that he was a 3 and 1/2 or 4 and 1/2.   We promptly went and found the other hunters.  We had to find them as they were already on the next drive.  We showed off the buck to the other hunter's disbelief.  After they had all seen the buck, we packed up our belongings and went back to Greenville Alabama.  For all the years that we had hunted and brought hunters to these hunts, this was our only deer we killed with them.  I am confident that neither B Davis or myself went back to the club again but it was  nice farewell to the group!!
     B had the rack plaque mounted.  It now proudly resides at his hunting cabin.  I have nothing against hunting with hounds, but have changed my tactics over the years.  I still stay in touch with my friend.  Several of us friends get together once a year in Bama to hunt and meet.  We occasionally tell the story of the buck that charged us.  Its nice to have good outdoor memories, but when those memories are with one of your Best Friends----Its all the better!

They are not making any more of it!

     My father, James Henry Arnold, was a forester and logger by trade.  He saw the timber industry boom as well as land prices in Wilcox County Alabama go up over his life time.  He owned a small portion of timber and farm land when he passed away, but he had regretted not buying in.   He instilled in me the drive to own property and if at all possible invest in land.  He would talk about the missed opportunities that he had to purchase the land with the timber that he helped Nuss Timber buy in the past.   He saw the values the land had now and what he could have purchased it for in the past.  His old saying was "They aren't making any more it ".  (land)
     My wife and I were in a good financial place a few years back.   We had money to invest and of course my Daddy's words rang in my head.  I looked and looked for the right piece of property.   The search had began but I was yet to own anything other than my house.
     During this same period of time my father was rushed into a surgery for tumors on his brain.  The tumors were removed and found to be from lung cancer.  My father began his battle with cancer and we all know the chances of winning it are few and far between.   So,  I spent allot of my free time traveling back and forth from North Carolina to Alabama helping my sisters and brother take care of my father.  But I digress.
      I was still looking for land and used several agents as well as the Internet.  I happened on 50 acres in Halifax county VA.   It was a big square on the side of a mountain that had a small creek acting a border on the bottom.  Being in the timber industry myself, I could see the timber potential as well as the hunting possibilities of the property.   Negotiations began.  I tried to tell my father of the land potential, but the cancer was robbing him of air.  The man that held my hand through all of this  really wasn't able to help tell me what to do. 
     I got that call you never want to hear one night as I lay in bed.  My sister Patsy was telling me that Daddy was being air lifted to Birmingham but they didn't expect him to make it.   Chele and I of course started packing and began the long drive to Alabama.  It was a trip that I carried a suit in my luggage and we all know that doesn't have a good ending.  I made it to the hospital  to see my Dad on what I believe was a Saturday.  This was the Saturday before Easter. He was still there but not by much.
     That Saturday, via the phone, we made our final offer on the property and were signing documents via faxes at hospital.   I know that sounds crazy but I driven to do what I felt was right and I think part of me had my father in mind as well.
     My father passed away from Pneumonia the Monday after Easter.  At the same time I was the proud owner of a new piece of property in Virginia.  It was so bitter sweet.   I never was really ever able to tell him what I had done.  My Daddy and I were best friends and it was hard not being able to have him enjoy what I was doing.  I have learned  however in life that "God is good, God is just, but nobody ever said that God or life is fair."  You can take that quote from me.   He however was 80 and lived a long life.  The cancer was causing him allot of pain and I hope he is in a much better place now.  But again, I digress.
     After burying my father and signing all the paperwork for my property.  (It really about happened that way.)  I got my old grey Ford tractor up to Virginia with a bush hog and started to work.  The little Ford 9N is my old girl and she works the steep roads like a pro, but again I digress.  So, I began doing some well needed mowing and started planning green fields for deer hunting.  I was riding the old tractor from the back side of the property after a long days work.  I was alone and going over the past months with my father as I  felt his hand on my shoulder.  That may be in my head but I felt his hand on me as I rode that old tractor back to the gate.  I felt a sense of pride in owning the land that I worked so hard for but there was so much sorrow mingled with sadness in all the recent events.  I try to take consolation that maybe he sees and enjoys what I do.  Maybe he sees the work I put into the land and what I know meant allot to him and I both.
     It was three years ago on April the 13th that my dad passed away from the old man's friend.  A little piece of him now exists in James Jordan Arnold (Jamie), who is my 2 year old son.  Jamie is named for both of his Grandfathers who both lost battles with Cancer.  Jamie and I go up to the property to feed the deer and work on the property.  I hope as the years go by that I can instill the love of the outdoors and the love of the land in him as my dad in me.
     This isn't my normal style of writing.  This story was probably written more for me than for your enjoyment, but I hope someone got a smile from it.

Build it and they will come. (PART 1)

     "The Bag"  It all started with my brother-in-law, Bruce, giving me a small bag of seed to build a OAT PATCH.  That was the start of an adventure.  He left it in my hands to hopefully help me kill a deer.
     "The Muscle"  As stated in earlier publications,  James Henry Arnold was not much of hunter.  As a father though, he loved me a lot and loved to see me happy.  My siblings may say that he liked to see me happy too much of the time.  Well, I approached him with the bag of seed and told him about my dreams of a deer field.  He sat in his recliner and I watched as he wheels started to spin.   
     "The Spot"  We lived in Pine Hill Alabama which is located in Wilcox county.  We had recently had my brother , Kyle, do some timbering around our house place and there was a nice 1/8 to 1/4 acre clearing behind the house.  My daddy and I looked over the spot and decided it was a nice place to build a deer plot.
     "Plot Plus"  We ventured over to Flave McGillberry's farm which was on the way over to our pasture in Moore's Valley Alabama.  Daddy talked with Mr. Flave about building a plot and gave us some extra oats, wheat, and even a touch of rye.   I can remember running my hands though the seeds in the bucket.  I talked about killing a big buck.   My dad laughed at me and gave me a grin.   He had a twinkle in his eye that I can remember from no other and maybe it was just his love for me, but it was one thing I remember of him most.  I can remember his cap pushed back on his head.  He drove me in his pickup back toward the house and talked about building the plot.  I can say that my father did alot for me.  His old sayings, the principles he helped set in me, as well as just his honesty helped mold me to who I am today---but I got off the story.
     "Tilling the land"   That was an easy job.  Daddy had a Ford 5000 and a set of discs.  The tractor was back from the days they used them to skid logs into the deck on my dads logging crew.  The strong,old tractor may have been overkill for such a plot but it tore up the ground and made a nice bed.  I stood by and watched as he ran the tractor.   The ground was rich and I believe is some of the best in the world. I can see the rich dirt and feel it in between the toes of my bare feet.   Daddy however was no newbie to planting.  He had managed a garden and was the son of a farmer.  He told me stories of his father Henry and of his brothers along with their plantings and crops.  Once The seed bed was prepared, we turned to the seeds and mixed them all up.
     "Planting and covering the seed"  This is where it got interesting.   We put out the fertilizer and seed. We walked along with buckets and threw the fertilizer then the seeds out by hand.  Daddy felt the seed needed to be covered.  We rigged up some drag behind our Riding lawnmower.  It was a riding mower with the motor behind the mower.  It was a Snapper brand with a Briggs n stratton motor but again I digress.   We took our time and rode the lawn mower to the spot.  Daddy rode the lawn mower and I finished putting out the remainder of the seed.  The mower got stuck in the uneven tilled ground and my dad for some reason reached behind to lift the mower.  He grabbed the hot exhaust which branded his hand.  I can remember the screams of my father.   The sight of his hand still makes me cringe to this day.  Well that ended the planting for the day, but luckily the job was done and all we needed was rain.

A Hunter Was Born

     This is a story that I wrote back in 2012 of my days as youngster down in Southwest Alabama and I recently revised it.  Hope you enjoy this memory of hunts long ago.  Authors notes:  The picture attached is of myself, my son, and our dog on a dove hunt in North Carolina.
     I was not from a long line of hunters.   My dad was a logger and really didn't hunt much.   Sure he had killed a few turkeys and squirrels but really cared less about hunting.  He did teach me to shoot a gun and basic safety.  He also instilled in me a love for the woods that has stuck with me to this day.
     I was however introduced to hunting and deer hunting by brother-in-law, Bruce Monk.  He had a nice remington 700 in 270 caliber with a leupold scope.  It was so cool.  I even bought my first real gun of my own from Bruce.  He sold me a remington 1100 12 gauge that has served me well.
I remember Bruce in his National Guard/Army Camo and me in whatever I could find or got for Christmas.  We hunted in Kimber lane in Wilcox County Alabama if not on my Grandma's land on the border of Wilcox and Marengo County Alabama.   I carried my 1100 with buckshot and thought myself a expert hunter.
     Daddy had acquired us hunting permits(you youngsters may have to look up that term.)  to this property off of the river.  Bruce and I went to the property one morning and I went to my normal spot.   I can recall that this was old Dallas Cooperage land that was eventually called Soterra inc, but I digress.  Back to my hunting spot,  I can remember the stump nestled in a hollow.  It was a pretty spot that I saw alot of game out of that spot.  I can almost smell the leaves , feel the coolness on my cheek, and see the fog as we were near a creek.   I would sit for many hours on this stump.   I can remember my butt hurting but trying to stay still.   In those days I just sat, and didn't think much of the wind or anything else.  I had sat many times without seeing a deer.   This time I was lucky.   A doe came over the hill and boom went my gun.  2 more deer came over the hill and I proceeded to unload the auto loader.  After the smoke had cleared, I had wounded a nice button buck.    He was not really legal and Bruce was a little cross with me.  But I shot a deer and it was cool.  We pulled the deer out which seemed like forever and loaded it up in Bruce's antique Chevy truck.   I can remember the thick yellow mud in my boots and burning muscles after pulling out that little buck.  But what a day and what a memory.  It is one that I will remember forever.
     This wasn't my first deer but it was the beginning of my deer career.  I can probably point to one person who set a fire in me to hunt and I know in my heart it was Bruce.  The love of guns, archery, deer hunting, knives, and many other things came from this man..  Before I forget,  Thank you Bruce!
     Don't forget to carry a kid hunting, even if he is your goofy little brother-in-law.   Time spent in the woods is time well spent and it could change a person's life for the better.