I was looking through some old files on my computer the other day and came across my spearfishing video folder containing many of my dives from last summer. Watching my head mounted GoPro HD camera capture my dives shooting Hogfish, Gag Grouper and Mangrove Snapper got me amped up for this season.
I've been spearfishing in one form or another since I was a kid. It started with a pole spear around the dock lines for sheepshead and continued to free diving the artificial reefs in the Gulf of Mexico. For a while it was an obsession. I would spearfish year round, wearing a hooded wetsuit in the winter. Early in my marriage I wanted to go spearfishing but my wife wanted to go on a date. I thought I could shoot two fish with one spear by taking her on a date to watch me spearfish from the seawall. Bad idea.
Seven years ago I fell from grace in the eyes of "true spearfishermen" and became Scuba certified. I became too fat for my wetsuit and haven't thrown down the money for a new one. Now spearfishing is more of a seasonal thing for me. My boss and pastor, Danny Hodges, tries to go offshore spearfishing every Monday in the Summer, weather permitting; and I am fortunate enough to be on his A-list of dive partners. With the water warming quickly it is time to get back on it!
One of the best perks of spearfishing the Gulf of Mexico is the Hogfish. They are really tough to catch on hook and line gear but are plentiful and super easy to spear. They seem to be genetically programmed to swim slowly in front of a speargun and turn broadside. Did I mention that they are killer table fare? The whitest, flakiest fillet you will ever eat. There is one small ledge we call Marilyn's Birthday that is our go to spot for Hogfish. I can usually hang in one spot and limit out in a matter of minutes. As I shoot one I keep my eye on the next victim as they wait in line to swim in front of my spear; stupid, delicious fish!
One thing that I am bummed about is the fact that Gag Grouper harvest is closed till July this year. One of my favorite parts of spearfishing the Gulf is sticking a big Gag hanging in the sand off the ledge. This winter and spring we have caught more big Gag Grouper than I have ever seen in 30 years of fishing the Gulf, but according to the tree huggers at NOAA they are over fished and very scarce. So until July I will have to pass on the Gag. It will feel like passing on a big buck while doe hunting.
But I need to stay positive and think about Mangrove Snapper, Hogfish, Scamp and Red grouper. Not to mention Amberjack, Cobia, and others that can be taken with a speargun. So it's time to inspect the gear, fill the tanks and clean the grille for the best eating the Gulf has to offer.
I've had a few nice inshore fishing experiences this April. I'll start with Joe's Creek. My brother Buka discovered earlier this month that juvenile tarpon are stacked thick from the 71st Street bridge to the 54th Ave. bridge. Using a small gold jig and live shrimp I jumped four fish in the 2 - 3 foot range; all of which threw my hook. My brother Johnny did manage to land one at night using a live sand perch on the bottom. They should still be there for a bit. On high tide they spread out, but low tide they tend to hold in a hole where a side ditch runs into Joe's Creek just South of 54th Ave. Evenings seem to be the best time to get them to bite as they're pretty finicky.
Bass fishing has been crazy at a secret spot where I have been blessed with opportunity from the only person with access to the lake. I got my second invite to the lake last Friday evening and brought Buka along. We caught about 40 bass in a couple hours of fishing; all in the 2 - 8 pound range. The gators were a little hairy though. We had to bring a bucket of rocks to keep from getting eaten. Not a place I would bring my kids. I went through 2 packs of purple rubber worms and a pack of dark blue rubber lizards. Buka was using a spinner bait. I think a hot dog would work well in this lake; they were hitting everything!
I hit the flats of Boca Ciega Bay yesterday evening after work. It was a very low tide so I focused on sandy potholes in the grass flats that were holding a lot of trout. I caught a limit of keepers including a nice 23 incher. After securing dinner in the cooler I left the trout to seek redfish with no success. Did have a couple hit and misses using a jig by Mirror Lure I've been stuck on called Lil' John. Gold seems to be the color for me right now, as it has been out fishing everything else I've been throwing. Low tide is a great time to get to know the flats better. The skinny water reveals the flat's secrets: deeper cuts and holes where fish hold up. Keeping some spots I found in mind, I'm looking forward to getting back after this weekend weather blows through.
It's only halfway through turkey season, but already my thoughts are straying ahead to September. There's something about deer season that stays with me all year long. Maybe it's the fact that last year was my first hunting season without bringing home venison to feed my family. Whatever the reason, I'm already getting pumped up for this year's season and the chance to go after deer with a vengeance.
I did have a good excuse for last year's fruitlessness. We had our fourth child in the middle of November, which is the time I've historically taken the majority of my deer including all of my good bucks. Between the baby and work I didn't have the opportunity to get up to either of my two leases in Georgia after October. I did manage to arrow a nice 8 point buck on Florida public land in November but didn't recover him till the beginning of December. While I was glad I eventually found him and was able to take home a Euro mount, I'm a meat hunter and this year I'm hoping to fill the freezer with delicious, lean venison.
Big bucks on small lease
Here's my plan: Spend less, hunt more. With the family growing bigger and the paycheck staying the same size, I have decided to give up my big lease in Georgia. That will still leave me with a small 60 acre lease shared by my brother and I. Its a property owned by a farmer and surrounded by thick hardwoods and farmland. The really nice thing is that there isn't a lot of hunting pressure on the surrounding properties. It's an area known to the local old timers for growing huge bucks.
Last year I hunted the property only one evening in September. While I didn't see anything, my trail cams told the true story that there were some really nice bucks working the property. From July through September we captured pictures of a group of about seven bucks including two big ten pointers. My suspicion that at least one of the big old boys survived the season was confirmed a couple weeks ago when a blueberry farm worker found a shed antler from the bigger of the two ten pointers. While these bruisers stayed nocturnal July - September, I'm hoping that they will make the fatal mistake during the November rut; and if all goes well, I will be there to catch it.
I have also done a lot of post season scouting at an area in Citrus WMA, and I am confident that I have a good chance of ambushing one of the nice bucks I've caught on camera there as well. Citrus has a late archery season in November that lasts three weeks and very few people hunt the area I've been hunting. The rut is going on at that time as well. Following the archery season there are two weekends of quota only late muzzle loader and two weekends of quota only late general gun. Other than that, the deer are left alone. This makes for a great opportunity to catch them with an arrow after they've had 10 months to run around free from hunting pressure.
Citrus buck
A good plan helps a lot but it is no guarantee for success. If you go on a hunt that guarantees a kill, it's not really hunting. While I've never gone on a hunt that guarantees success, I think I'm going to start Florida archery season with the closest thing to it I've ever experienced; a private cattle ranch in Zolfo Springs, Fl that offers paid hunts. I've done a lot of hog hunting there with great success and the property is teeming with deer as well. I'm planning on starting my season with an archery doe hunt there and hopefully get this season off to a good start.
That's my plan, and Lord willing, I'll be able to stick with it.
On my last post I shared about my tough luck turkey hunting pubic land the opening week in Florida: I missed a gobbler the first morning and hit a bird two days later while peppering an old guy behind it who preceded to jump up and shoot the same bird, claiming it for himself. So my turkey season began with two very frustrating experiences. Hunting aint' like going to the grocery store and picking up what you want. It is a highly variable experience filled with highs and lows. Sometimes I feel like Michael Waddell with every animal in the woods walking right to me, and other times I feel like Jimmy Big Time who couldn't get close to an animal in a petting zoo; but here's what I've learned through many slow times, if you stick with, it sooner or later things will break wide open. Thankfully, I've found turkey redemption this weekend in Georgia.
I had to work opening morning but right after I got off my brother Jacob picked me up and we headed to our lease in Southeast Georgia. We arrived at the camp late in the evening and without having an opportunity to do any preseason scouting I didn't know where to start in morning. Jacob, who's a braver man than me, brought along his three little boys; confining himself to stay in his Double Bull blind all weekend. My plan was to hear some birds gobble and go to them. I went to sleep with low expectations for the morning, expecting it to be more of a scouting expedition than a killin' one.
After getting three little boys under 9 years old up and at em', we reached the woods a little later than we hoped. The first light of morning was already glowing over the pines when my brother dropped me off at a little logging road where I had heard birds last season. I got out of the truck, walked about 50 yards and hit my slate call. Instantly I was cut off by a pair of gobbling birds about 150 yards down a pine row in front of me! My expectation for the morning shot up. I crept down to the end of the pine row where I set up my hen decoy and sat against a pine tree. The birds must have gobbled a hundred times before they flew down and headed towards a field on a neighboring property. As their gobbles got further away I crept up to the property line where I watched the two Toms strut in the field with their harem of hens. As they stood in full strut, five deer crossed the field single file behind them. I was truly enjoying the morning.
After watching the pair of Toms for about half an hour I noticed they seemed to be working their way towards the property line on the corner of our lease. I decided to take a walk around and see if they would come over to our side. I was walking a road that was separated from the field by a few pine rows while keeping my eyes on the strutting gobblers. Then I was stopped dead in my tracks by a fanning tail in the pines to my left. At first I thought it might be someone's decoy until it began to move. It was a strutting Tom right off the road! I quickly jumped into the little ditch on the opposite side of the road and belly crawled my way even with the strutting Tom. As I peeked over the ditch I could see his tail fanning at about 40 yards. I put my hen decoy up and did some calling but the Tom wouldn't budge. After waiting for about ten minutes I decided to make a move. I crawled up a little way till I put some brush between myself and the bird and then crossed the road like a big snake. When I got to a pine tree on the other side I lifted my head hoping to be within 30 yards of the bird. He was nowhere to be seen. Thinking he had busted me crossing the road I stalked towards where I had last seen him. I think he startled me as much as I did him when we met at 20 yards. His retreat into the pines was met by two shots from my semi-auto 12 gauge. Then to my horror I watched a bird fly through the pines and over the road as I went running after it.
I was fuming mad. At this point in my frustrating hunting season it just seemed typical. I could still see the first two toms out in the field so I begrudgingly made my way back to the spot I had shot to set up and start over. As I walked up I noticed something flopping on the ground. It was a big Tom! I ran up and put another round in its head just because I wanted to make sure no old guy jumped out from behind a bush again to claim my bird. I was jumping up and down pumping my fist in the air with pure joy. I finally got my break and killed a bird in the most lucky fashion.
Not only was he a bird but he was the biggest gobbler I have ever seen. He sported an 11 inch beard with both spurs a little over an inch and a quarter; but the most noticeable thing to me was that his toenails curled out and around over three inches long. Weighing in at 25 lb. he was truly a big freak nasty. I had bagged probably the biggest bird of my life on the first morning of my hunt so the pressure was off.
I had some close calls with a couple more Toms but they were all henned up and wouldn't budge their course. I did have a big strutting Tom at about 40 yards but I decided against taking a long shot due to my failures so far in that department. I watched him fly up to roost and planned to get him on the last morning of our hunt.
When my alarm went off the next morning I was both tired and feeling sorry for my brother who was trying to wake his boys. I offered to stay back to watch his youngest two and drew him a map on a napkin of where the Tom had roosted the evening before. He and his oldest son set up early where I told them but he decided to move towards some other gobblers sounding off further down. My nephew Noah was left in the spot. The hens flew down first and ran towards the neighboring field. He got up to move when the gobbler sounded off 20 yards away and ran off. He was bummed!
Meanwhile I was back at camp making pancakes for the boys and doing dishes in the cook shed. I walked out to the road to take the garbage out and heard a gobble across the street in the blueberry field owned by a good friend of ours. I didn't believe my ears until I heard him sound a second time. I walked up the road and looked down the edge of the field to see a big bronze tail fan gleaming in the morning sun. My gun was with my brother in his truck but then I remembered, my bow was in the bedroom! I sprinted back to the house and threw on some camo pants and my boots. Since my hat was in the truck I tied a camo shirt over my head like a ninja. Grabbing my bow, I ran back to the field and peered around the corner. The gobbler was still standing tail open in the same spot. Once again I hit the ground and belly crawled my way through the tall grass towards a big oak tree. When I finally made my way there I peeked around the tree to see my victim. A metal folding chair with a bronze back that looked like a turkey fan in the sunlight. A little further to the left was a hen watching me stalk a chair. She took off into the woods and I'm sure the gobbler followed her. I was lucky this trip but not that lucky.
Hunting can be tough and at times downright frustrating. But hang in there and things will eventually work out for the human and not the animal. After a tough start to the season I got the bird of a lifetime and made a really good stalk on a folding chair. Get out in the woods and sooner or later you'll have your break as well.
It started out with all the makings of a text book turkey hunt. I was set up in a cypress bottom that made a narrow funnel along a big marsh pond. I had missed a bird here on opening morning when I impatiently took a long shot. I was determined to be more patient if given the opportunity again. I had a gobbler responding to my call and his gobble was getting louder and louder.
I was doing a good job of keeping my cool until they emerged out of the cypress roots in front of me. Two big gobblers, strutting and putting as they worked their way towards me. With my heart pounding out of my chest I put my scope to my eye and kept it on the bigger bird as he strutted his way back and forth at about 40 yards. I was telling myself, "Just wait Josh, just wait." but my finger wasn't listening. As he stopped with his big red head in my cross-hairs I could bear it no longer. I squeezed off the shot and watched him drop and flop.
I jumped up and began the victory dash towards him as I put another shell in the chamber for insurance. This is when the text book turkey hunt took a turn towards the chaotic. As I was running up to prevent his floppy attempt to escape, another shot rang out, but it wasn't from my gun. Then I heard an angry shout from the palmettos behind the turkey, "You shot me $%*&@$ %&*(#$!"
I stopped dead in my tracks. Who was this and was he shooting back at me? I've never experienced a change of emotions so drastic and fast. It started out as a victory dash to retrieve my bird and then turned to a rescue run to help this angry man, half expecting to get shot. When I got to him I found that he was a true old timer and he was standing over the dead turkey. "Are you okay?" I asked with an awkward and shaken tone (this was my first time shooting someone and I wasn't quite sure what the proper procedure was for this kind of accident; I wondered what Dick Cheney said)?
Thank God, he was fine. One pellet had hit his ankle without puncturing his pant leg much less his skin. "Well, at least I got my turkey" was his response. Now I was really in a pickle. I had called these birds in, watched them strut, shot one and was running up to retrieve it when this old guy stepped out from behind the palmettos and put my bird down for the count; but I wasn't about to argue over a turkey with a 70 something year old man whom I had just peppered with a 3 1/2 inch magnum load. I figured he had earned it as a consolation prize for getting shot.
We were standing next to a big cypress tree with a wooden sign nailed to it that said, "In Memory of Robin." When he looked up and saw that the turkey had fallen under that tree he began crying. Now I was really feeling awkward. He explained that Robin was his best hunting buddy. They had been turkey hunting together at this honey hole since the 1970s. Robin died a couple years ago and his friend nailed up the sign to commemorate him. He turned out to be a really nice guy and shared his knowledge of 40 years hunting this off the beaten path spot at Richloam WMA. He said it was a strutting zone where for years gobblers have visited late in the mornings after they lose their hens. I believe him because both mornings I have hunted there I've seen gobblers around 11 a.m. and they were gobbling and strutting like crazy.
He offered to give me the meat and he would keep the long spurs and 10 1/2 inch beard. I declined, content with some pictures. I was just thankful that he was okay and I made a new friend in the woods. I probably have more years of turkey hunting left than he does and I think he was glad to share his knowledge of the area with me and know that the secrets of this honey hole wouldn't die with him and his best buddy Robin.
Not every hunt turns out with a text book ending; but every hunt does write a story in my memories and this is one I'll never forget: The time I shot two old Florida birds and luckily only one died. It was also a startling reminder to try to be as safe as possible, especially on public land. It's probably not a good idea to stalk up on gobbling birds on public property when there's a good possibility that there's a kid with an itchy trigger finger on the other end of the string that is causing the birds to gobble.
Through the long hot days of summer I find myself daydreaming about September archery season. When it finally comes I have deer on the brain through mid January. Then I find myself chasing hog and small game through the end of February. When the small game season finally ends I have the brief thought that hunting season is over. But then I remember...SPRING TURKEY SEASON IS COMING!
My turkey hunting started as an uneventful experience. My brother Jacob took me to Three Lakes WMA and we sat around and listened to other hunters practicing their calling skills. It seemed like there was another hunter under every tree. We did see a couple hens but that was about it. Didn't hear any gobbles, and even with the multitude of other hunters, we didn't see anyone bring a bird to the check station.
But I decided to give turkey hunting another chance and went with my brother to his lease in South Georgia. There the birds were gobbling and I can't describe the excitement that came over me as I looked down the barrel of a shotgun expecting a gobbler to step out in front of our set-up at any moment. We never did seal the deal on a gobbler that trip but I had experienced what turkey hunting was about and I was hooked.
Noah and Josh's first turkeys
My first turkey came a couple years later in 2009. We had been hunting our lease and hearing a lot of birds but they seemed to be all henned up. Then our friend Jeff, who's family owns a large blueberry farm near our lease, invited us to hunt a large field near his farm where turkey religiously come to feed. The field is about 1,000 yards long and wide and is usually planted in corn and then plowed up in the winter. Turkey come out from the pines on the East side of the field at all times of the day. I've never sat there without looking at turkey nearly every minute of the hunt. The tricky part is being within shooting range on a field that large. The first afternoon we saw a ton of hens and a couple gobblers strutting about 600 yards from us. The next morning Jacob's son Noah joined us as we set up in a brush blind Jeff had made under a low hanging water oak at the back corner of the field. Shortly after first light and the beautiful music of gobbling toms, we began to watch the hens filter into the field. Then I heard my brother whisper, "Gobbler." He was sitting on the right, Noah in the middle and myself on the left, so he could see the bird emerging from the corner of the field before I could. It wasn't one bird but three Jakes who worked their way single file into our field of view. I whispered a quiet, "One, two," and then "Bang!" Our shotguns went off in unison and three Jakes were taking a dust nap! It was both my first turkey and Noah's and we couldn't be more elated at the way it worked out.
Jacob's Gobbler
The next year we once again got permission to hunt the same field and opening morning Jacob and Noah shot three nice Toms. I couldn't make the opener due to my daughter Ellie being born March 17; but the beginning of April I was able to slip away for a weekend to hunt with them in Georgia. The second evening of our hunt we decided to try to shoot a bird with our bows so we left the shotguns at camp and sat in my ground blind at the corner of the same field. A nice Tom came out and fed his way past us at about 50 yards and out of view to our right. About 20 minutes later he appeared again at 30 yards but there were a few small branches blocking a clean shot with a bow. Then he was gone again for good. Why didn't we bring our shotguns? Putting our bows away, we tried to run and gun gobbling Toms on our lease the next morning with no luck. Our time was nearly up and it was the last afternoon hunt before we had to leave the next morning. Jacob and Noah decided to stay at camp and I almost decided to join them. But I had to give it another shot. I drove to the big field and walked the thousand yards through soft plowed dirt to the corner where I set up my ground blind. It was brutally hot as I sweated in my jeans looking out at a bright field of dirt. I took my jeans off and slipped my thin netted ghillie suit pants over my underwear. Then a hen came out from right behind me in a rushed fashion. I was wondering if the ground blind had spooked her when I looked out of a small port hole to my left to see a large Tom following her trail about 5 steps from my blind. I carefully stuck the end of my shotgun out of the front window and prayed that he would continue out to the field. Time seemed to slow down and then he stepped into view right in front of my barrel at 15 yards. My 3 1/2 inch magnum load connected, blasting his neck along with a good piece of his beard. I was stoked! I threw a celebration in my ground blind and then had enough sense to put my jeans back on before running out to see him. A nice 20 lb Tom with a 10 inch beard and 1 1/4 inch spurs.
Last season was fun. I saw two Toms on my lease opening morning. They held up at about 50 yards and I took a shot as they walked away. I missed and they ran into the pines unharmed. We ended up back at the lucky field and set up a hen and a jake decoy. A big tom came out ready to fight. He bristled up and rushed the jake decoy. Jacob was in the best position to take a shot in my cramped ground blind and he dropped the tom at 10 yards. Seeing that was almost as fun as taking one myself.
This year I want to accomplish two feats:
1. Harvest my first Osceola on public land.
2. If I accomplish the first, harvest a turkey with my bow in Georgia.
My brother Jonny and I have drawn quota permits for Richloam WMA which opens March 17. I have hunted there a ton and know a lot of areas where I have seen turkey, but I want do as much scouting as I can before opening day. Last week Jonny and I drove down there and at first light went to an area by the river where we archery hunted years ago. We parked the truck, stepped out and I hit my slate call. Instantly two gobblers lit up right in front of us. That was easy. We made our way down a small trail until we could see the large oak tree that they were roosted in. My only concern is that it is the obvious spot to go to and I think a lot of other hunters will be there opening morning. We drove all over the 58,000 acre property and checked areas where we have seen turkey in the past. Surprisingly, there was very little turkey sign in these spots that are usually teaming with tracks. I had never seen Richloam this dry and many of the swamps that are usually knee deep in water were completely bone dry. I suspect that the dry conditions might have changed the turkey's roosting areas from past seasons I have hunted there. Not content with having only one obvious area where I know gobblers are roosting, I am planning on going again to scout tomorrow morning as I have a couple more areas in mind that are off the beaten trail.
If I can manage to seal the deal with a Richloam gobbler the first week, I am planning on going stick and string the next week when I go up to Georgia for the opener there. But first thing first. I need to locate some more gobblers at Richloam and show up next Saturday with a game plan. Stay tuned to see how it goes!
For the past few years I've been putting together an event with a small group of guys from my church called Rugged Camp. The idea is a weekend of primitive camping, hunting, and learning survival skills; It pretty much came from watching way too many Man vs. Wild episodes. Last year we went to Myakka State Forest during their archery hog management hunt in November. We split up into two man teams and had a list of survival accomplishments with different points for each one. The team with the most points at the end of the weekend won the title of top woodsmen; kind of like a survival scavenger hunt. We were so busy trying to check accomplishments off the list that it sort of took the fun out of it, "Fire with sticks, check. Eat a frog, check. Shoot a hog with a bow..." Well nobody checked that one off.
This year I had a different plan. Due to my son being born in November I changed the venue to a February small game hunt at Citrus WMA. We had a good group of guys signed up to camp Fri - Sun the last weekend of small game season at Citrus. Instead of making it a competition, I put together a schedule of events and planned to teach different survival skills over the course of three days: hydration skills, primitive fire making, small game cleaning, and other stuff every guy should know. But plans tend to change due to unforeseeable events. Tragically, a very young woman whom most of us knew was killed in an accidental shooting the week before and her memorial service was scheduled for the Saturday right in the middle of the camp. I shortened the camp to Saturday afternoon through Sunday and a few of the guys decided to cancel. After the memorial service four of us with heavy hearts got in our vehicles and headed north to Citrus in our dress clothes. My brother Jacob and his son Noah would meet up with us later in the evening.
We arrived about 3 p.m. and quickly changed into our hunting apparel. Being that we only had a day and a half and a smaller group of guys, we threw the agenda out the window and decided to just play it by ear. The one accomplishment that I did plan to do was not to bring any food with me but only eat what I could find in the woods. Shotguns in hand, except Carlos who had a slingshot, we headed down the trail towards a big pond. When we arrived at the edge of the pond we split up and I headed towards my climber that I had left up over some big hog wallows. Before I got to my stand I decided to get some dinner insurance; so I sat down for a little bit and shot two squirrels. After cleaning, bagging them up, and stuffing them in my backpack I made my way to the stand. When I got to the pond I found some young cattail reeds sprouting up. I pulled up a couple and added the tender part of their stalks to my dinner bag. They taste kind of like celery and work good in wild game stews when thinly sliced up. I had something to work with for dinner but a nice little 40lb hog would be a lot better than two squirrels and some cattails.
I climbed my stand and began to settle into the peaceful evening overlooking the pond when my older brother and his son started waging World War III on squirrels about 100 yards to my right, their 12 gauge and 22 mag. were making a great rhythmic beat. Then my brother Jonny started in on the squirrels 100 yards to my left. My expectations weren't too high of a hog coming from either direction so I began to accept the situation: Squirrel, it's what's for dinner. After dark we met up and tried to bop some frogs with sticks but missed the only one we saw. So with a good batch of squirrels we headed for camp.
I decided to do squirrel two ways: one stewed with cattails and the other skewered over an open flame. I did bring a little camp spice jar I picked up in the camping aisle of Wal-Mart. So after putting every spice it had on my two squirrels, I began cooking them. The first one I quartered up and put in my little camp frying pan with sliced cattails. Putting the top on the pan I left it to simmer on the grille. The second one I skewered with palmetto stalks, and after putting a couple garlic cloves given to me by Carlos in its cavity, I tied it all together with palmetto fronds. It ended up looking like a demonic little squirrel crucifix of some sort. I was just hoping it tasted better than it looked. I propped it up over the camp fire to simmer and attended to my stew on the grille. When all of our cooking was done we gathered around the picnic table, thanked the Lord and dug in. I ate the stew first and it tasted okay at best. The cattail was actually pretty good and the spices helped mask the rodent taste that squirrels can have when not slow cooked. I was surprised when I got to the skewered squirrel. It had a nice spicy smoky crust and the meat was white and not too tough. It was definitely the better course of the night. After joking around the campfire we spread our sleeping bags out on the ground and attempted to sleep.
Carlos was the first one out as a low steady roar came from his sleeping bag. Then went my brother Jacob. His snore has evolved a lot since we shared a room as boys. It sounded like a mix between a kazoo and a weed whacker but it shifted gears like a race car. He must have won the race sometime in the wee hours of the morning because he finally stopped and I fell asleep for a little bit before I was awakened by the howling of coyotes. Soon 6 a.m. came and my iPhone sounded the alarm to get up and at em'. My back ached and my head was pounding. I felt like just lying in my sleeping bag all morning. But I forced my body to get up and we began preparing to go out and hunt down breakfast, that is until we checked the weather radar on our phones. How did we survive before smart phones? There was a big rain front coming right at us from the coast. I'm rugged and all but I don't like sitting in a rainstorm in the woods all morning so I asked who wanted to go into town for breakfast. The decision was unanimous. We piled into our trucks and drove 25 minutes to Cracker Barrel. Uncle Hershel's Favorite and three coffees later I felt like a new man; I was once again ready to tackle the wild. We headed back to Citrus and when we arrived at the parking lot it was still pouring rain and there was an empty truck there. Soon two drenched old guys with cowboy hats and 22's came trudging up the trail. I rolled down the window just long enough to ask them if they had fun. Apparently they were still living in the good old days and didn't have smart phones with weather radar.
Finally late in the morning the weather broke and we headed once again down towards the pond. On the way there we took a couple detours so I could grab two trail cameras that I had left in the woods the week before. The first one had a couple does and the second one had some does and two big hogs. Finally we made it to the pond and began walking through the tall marshy reeds and sawgrass hoping to spook up a rabbit, a snipe or maybe even a hog. My brother Jonny did get one rabbit and I saw a couple snipe that flew too low to safely take a shot without risking a Dick Cheney. With one rabbit we headed towards a peninsula on the pond to figure out lunch. It was still raining off and on and so making a fire would be difficult especially since we forgot the lighter at the truck. This was our moment to rise to the occasion and make rugged camp history; our moment to make Dave and Cody look like a couple of wusies; to make Bear Grylls look like a British man, oh wait, he is. I found a dead maple tree and cut a fire board and spindle. Then I found a big clump of fine roots hanging from a willow tree. In the middle of the clump the fibers were somewhat dryer than those on the outside so I made a tinder nest to hopefully kindle an ember into a flame with. After preparing and notching the fire board we used the bow and spindle technique to make an ember which we placed into the nest of willow roots. We began blowing into it profusely as billows of smoke choked us, but it was just too moist to burst into flame. We had to act quick or we would be left with rabbit sushi for lunch. I had a light bulb moment and quickly pulled a shotgun shell out of my backpack. Using my Buck Knife I carfully cut open the plastic around the shell and poured the gun powder onto the ember. "Poof!" We had a flame, for a couple seconds. Three shotgun shells of gunpowder later we had a small fire going in the light drizzle and a rabbit roasting on a stick. By this time three of the guys had to head home and so it was just myself, Jonny and Ryan Jones left. We enjoyed the rabbit, which was much tastier than the squirrels and then once again checked the weather radar. Another round of heavy rain was coming our way so we made the decision to officially end Rugged Camp 2012.
By the time we hit the trail the rain had arrived. I still had to walk around to the other side of the pond and retrieve my climber tree stand before starting back to the parking area. A couple miles later we arrived back to my 4Runner soaking wet and sore. We still had our dress clothes from the memorial service in the car and being that they were the only dry clothes we had left, we changed into them and hit the road about 5 p.m. We went through the Wendy's drive-thru and got some burgers and frosties which didn't do nearly for us what Cracker Barrel did, I think the squirrels were better than the burgers. Then we hit the highway. Along the road we saw a few deer and a big sow rooting up an orange grove with a bunch of piglets, more than we saw in a day and a half of being in the woods. All in all Rugged Camp was alright this year. My highlights were eating what we could get, Cracker Barrel, and lighting a fire in the rain without any conventional fire starting device. Was this the last Rugged Camp? I don't think so. Lord willing, next Rugged Camp will be coming up this September. Jumper Creek WMA during archery season, the campsite accessible only by boat! In my mind, that's an adventure worth looking forward to!
.JPG)
