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.