A great many times stories are told and articles are written about specifically targeted trophy animals. I am as guilty as anyone for this. So, what are we to do about “just average” or unexpected animals. I’ll argue that they can be just as enriching and rewarding, and that we as sportsmen should be as strong in our praise for these as any other game legally taken. Admittedly, there are a few on this sight that already do share their exploits on "just average" game - and I applaud them.
Thus begins my attempt to tell the story of several “consolation prize” animals I have taken this November.
Our season in North Carolina had not begun well. During the two months leading into archery season, a large portion of our hunt club (what you would call a syndicate) was subject to logging. Some was clear cut, some was dozed and hilled for replanting, some was thinned. High seat locations that had been a sure thing were now in the middle of “the deer desert”. This was followed by not 1, but rather 2 Hurricanes (Florence – a direct hit, and Michael – a glancing blow) that severely waterlogged the ground, and toppled many mature trees. With all of these factors, I had not yet pulled a trigger or released an arrow on anything larger than a grey squirrel.
Upon return from my Highlands holiday, the weather was more reasonable, and the game was beginning to settle into new patterns. A few trips out saw an animal here, and there, but nothing to pull the trigger on.
Then, in November my lucked changed significantly. I was selected for a Veterans Only hunt with the same group that had graciously hosted me two years ago when I was able to blood my new Tikka on a feral hog. Needless to say, I was quite excited.
The day of the Veterans hunt arrived and plans were set. Eleven veterans were taken out to various stands, freshly baited, to hunt feral swine. My 1st stand was overlooking 400 yards of powerline ride, with a small swamp at the bottom. It was all for naught though as I watched every possible bird and animal except legal game come through. Back in camp that night there was only a single doe whitetail brought in. The large resident sounders of pigs had moved off (as evidence by no trail camera pictures that day). Camp was still a good time, because anytime you have a dozen veterans and adult beverages, some very interesting stories get told.
The next morning found me in a blind that was quite constricted for shooting. This was in a thicket adjacent to a swamp and was a known hotspot for feral hog. The maximum shooting distance was 25 yards and I had taken my Tikka .270 that morning, not understanding how constricted this spot was. I should have gone back to camp and picked up my Benelli shotgun and loaded it with buckshot (very legal method in NC). I had one buck come by at 10 yards, but the brush was so thick that no rifle shot presented. Lunch at camp showed a few more deer taken as well a very large coyote, but the hogs were still proving elusive. I spent mid-day pelting out the coyote for my fellow vet, as it was his first and he wanted to have it tanned for display.
For the final evening hunt I was directed to a stand called “Double barrel” for its two parallel shooting lanes cut into the swamp and thicket. As I was settling into the blind, gunfire erupted nearby. The hogs had returned and one of our group had stumbled into an entire sounder as he walked into his assigned blind. Several shots netted him two hogs – and the sounder split in all 4 cardinal directions. This information was relayed via text to all the others hunters, and the expectations were great. Alas, not another hog was seen that evening.
As I sat at my stand, I had a small buck suddenly appear, nose to the ground following a doe. A quick glass showed him to be a prime target, due to a weak rack, and a very fat body. As he stepped into the left shooting lane he paused, and my shot was true. Dressed out he was 105 pounds, but was loaded with fat.
For a hog hunt, this buck was clearly a welcomed consolation prize..
Knowing the rut was full on, I chose to go out Monday morning after dropping my youngest daughter at school. It was a low grey day, with occasional light drizzle, perfect for stalking. I parked and walked the 3/4 mile access road to the farthest highseat, stopping often to set the rifle up on the sticks.
This soon paid off, as a large bobcat walked out approximately 75 yards away. The cat was only giving me a rear view as it walked, but at 110 yards (paced) it stopped and turned sideways. I did not hesitate, and was met with a “thwop” and sight of a cat dropped where it stood. There was little pelt damage because a bobcat doesn't provide much resistance to a 120 grain copper bullet (Barnes TTSX).
As a side note – This bobcat was fully utilized. The skull and pelt as a trophy and the meat for my own consumption. For those that have never had it, I describe it as a light red meat, somewhat akin to young pig.
Further stalking around had me come face to face with a rut crazed young spike whitetail. I had the wind in my favor, and watched him prance around for at least a minute trying to sort out what I was. Our club has a 4 point minimum rule during rifle season, so unless I wanted to pay a fine – he was free and clear.
Two weeks later found me out again, but I also knew that the bear houndsmen would be hunting that morning. Our club has 3 large tracts of land sub-leased to a group of bear hunters, so we often deer hunt the last tract they will hunt and then join the hunt when the come onto that tract. My morning sit was entirely fruitless (not even the normal rabbits or raccoons for entertainment ).
As they entered the last and largest tract, I could hear the dogs barking. I hopped down and headed over to meet the crew. I was warmly welcomed and, as is club policy, invited along to hunt. I put my scoped rifle in the truck, strapped on my pistol, and followed. Soon we heard a dog barking treed, and we went to find the dogs.
Now, unlike some negative portrayals of hunting game with hounds, this was not a leisurely stroll to the tree and quick kill of a hapless animal. This was a 45 minute slog (I would use a stronger word if I knew of one) through a swamp that was anywhere from ankle to bollocks deep cold water. In addition were quite a few thorned vines and left-over blow downs from the Hurricanes. The only bright side was that the water and air temperature was cold enough to keep the venomous snakes sluggish.
Arriving at the tree, we could indeed see a legal bear (they must be at least 75# to be legal) about 20-30 yards up the tree. At this point, all the dogs were caught and leashed, then I was offered the chance to take my first bear over hounds (I had taken my first years ago in Canada using archery kit over bait).
As the distance was a bit far for a clear pistol shot, I was handed lever action rifle. When all was ready, I put the rifle up, cocked the hammer, gently squeezed the trigger – and CLICK. Opening the action I found a cartridge with a barely detectable dent in the primer. Removing this and chambering a new round I repeated the process and – CLICK. Yet again the same results. Repeat a 3rd time – and again CLICK.
OK – Now the bear is getting braver without the hounds at the base of the tree, and I have a rifle that may have a broken firing pin, or weakened spring. Digging into pockets we found a box of new cartidges, unopened and factory fresh. Removing one, I again lined up the sights on the bear, pulled the trigger, and BOOM. I was rewarded with a successful detonation and sight of a dead bear.
Now came the unexpected part. It was an excellent shot, into the neck , which resulted in an instant kill. But, the bear seemed to be hung in the tree. As I leaned over and asked if we were going to have to climb to retrieve I was told “Lets wait and see if it will fall”. True to the statement, the bear made a final twitch and fell. Even more unexpectedly – when a 100 pounds of bear falls from a 50 feet up, into thigh deep water, what is going to happen?
I realized what was going to happen about 10 feet before splashdown. I had just enough time to turn and avoid a full cold splash to the face from a dead bear cannonball. I did not however avoid the splash to the rest of me. At this point, being completely wet from about mid chest down I waded over to claim my consolation prize. Clearly not one of the famed 600 pound plus swamp bears of North Carolina, but a trophy to me nonetheless. The bonus was that this was small enough to shoulder and carry out of the swamp. I asked how they bring the big ones out of swamp like this and the answer was “Winches, chainsaws, and hours upon hours of hard work”.
Closing note – Like the Bobcat, the bear was fully utilized. The pelt and skull saved, and the meat harvested and smoked as some of the sweetest Barbecue meat you will ever taste.
Thus begins my attempt to tell the story of several “consolation prize” animals I have taken this November.
Our season in North Carolina had not begun well. During the two months leading into archery season, a large portion of our hunt club (what you would call a syndicate) was subject to logging. Some was clear cut, some was dozed and hilled for replanting, some was thinned. High seat locations that had been a sure thing were now in the middle of “the deer desert”. This was followed by not 1, but rather 2 Hurricanes (Florence – a direct hit, and Michael – a glancing blow) that severely waterlogged the ground, and toppled many mature trees. With all of these factors, I had not yet pulled a trigger or released an arrow on anything larger than a grey squirrel.
Upon return from my Highlands holiday, the weather was more reasonable, and the game was beginning to settle into new patterns. A few trips out saw an animal here, and there, but nothing to pull the trigger on.
Then, in November my lucked changed significantly. I was selected for a Veterans Only hunt with the same group that had graciously hosted me two years ago when I was able to blood my new Tikka on a feral hog. Needless to say, I was quite excited.
The day of the Veterans hunt arrived and plans were set. Eleven veterans were taken out to various stands, freshly baited, to hunt feral swine. My 1st stand was overlooking 400 yards of powerline ride, with a small swamp at the bottom. It was all for naught though as I watched every possible bird and animal except legal game come through. Back in camp that night there was only a single doe whitetail brought in. The large resident sounders of pigs had moved off (as evidence by no trail camera pictures that day). Camp was still a good time, because anytime you have a dozen veterans and adult beverages, some very interesting stories get told.
The next morning found me in a blind that was quite constricted for shooting. This was in a thicket adjacent to a swamp and was a known hotspot for feral hog. The maximum shooting distance was 25 yards and I had taken my Tikka .270 that morning, not understanding how constricted this spot was. I should have gone back to camp and picked up my Benelli shotgun and loaded it with buckshot (very legal method in NC). I had one buck come by at 10 yards, but the brush was so thick that no rifle shot presented. Lunch at camp showed a few more deer taken as well a very large coyote, but the hogs were still proving elusive. I spent mid-day pelting out the coyote for my fellow vet, as it was his first and he wanted to have it tanned for display.
For the final evening hunt I was directed to a stand called “Double barrel” for its two parallel shooting lanes cut into the swamp and thicket. As I was settling into the blind, gunfire erupted nearby. The hogs had returned and one of our group had stumbled into an entire sounder as he walked into his assigned blind. Several shots netted him two hogs – and the sounder split in all 4 cardinal directions. This information was relayed via text to all the others hunters, and the expectations were great. Alas, not another hog was seen that evening.
As I sat at my stand, I had a small buck suddenly appear, nose to the ground following a doe. A quick glass showed him to be a prime target, due to a weak rack, and a very fat body. As he stepped into the left shooting lane he paused, and my shot was true. Dressed out he was 105 pounds, but was loaded with fat.
For a hog hunt, this buck was clearly a welcomed consolation prize..
Knowing the rut was full on, I chose to go out Monday morning after dropping my youngest daughter at school. It was a low grey day, with occasional light drizzle, perfect for stalking. I parked and walked the 3/4 mile access road to the farthest highseat, stopping often to set the rifle up on the sticks.
This soon paid off, as a large bobcat walked out approximately 75 yards away. The cat was only giving me a rear view as it walked, but at 110 yards (paced) it stopped and turned sideways. I did not hesitate, and was met with a “thwop” and sight of a cat dropped where it stood. There was little pelt damage because a bobcat doesn't provide much resistance to a 120 grain copper bullet (Barnes TTSX).
As a side note – This bobcat was fully utilized. The skull and pelt as a trophy and the meat for my own consumption. For those that have never had it, I describe it as a light red meat, somewhat akin to young pig.
Further stalking around had me come face to face with a rut crazed young spike whitetail. I had the wind in my favor, and watched him prance around for at least a minute trying to sort out what I was. Our club has a 4 point minimum rule during rifle season, so unless I wanted to pay a fine – he was free and clear.
Two weeks later found me out again, but I also knew that the bear houndsmen would be hunting that morning. Our club has 3 large tracts of land sub-leased to a group of bear hunters, so we often deer hunt the last tract they will hunt and then join the hunt when the come onto that tract. My morning sit was entirely fruitless (not even the normal rabbits or raccoons for entertainment ).
As they entered the last and largest tract, I could hear the dogs barking. I hopped down and headed over to meet the crew. I was warmly welcomed and, as is club policy, invited along to hunt. I put my scoped rifle in the truck, strapped on my pistol, and followed. Soon we heard a dog barking treed, and we went to find the dogs.
Now, unlike some negative portrayals of hunting game with hounds, this was not a leisurely stroll to the tree and quick kill of a hapless animal. This was a 45 minute slog (I would use a stronger word if I knew of one) through a swamp that was anywhere from ankle to bollocks deep cold water. In addition were quite a few thorned vines and left-over blow downs from the Hurricanes. The only bright side was that the water and air temperature was cold enough to keep the venomous snakes sluggish.
Arriving at the tree, we could indeed see a legal bear (they must be at least 75# to be legal) about 20-30 yards up the tree. At this point, all the dogs were caught and leashed, then I was offered the chance to take my first bear over hounds (I had taken my first years ago in Canada using archery kit over bait).
As the distance was a bit far for a clear pistol shot, I was handed lever action rifle. When all was ready, I put the rifle up, cocked the hammer, gently squeezed the trigger – and CLICK. Opening the action I found a cartridge with a barely detectable dent in the primer. Removing this and chambering a new round I repeated the process and – CLICK. Yet again the same results. Repeat a 3rd time – and again CLICK.
OK – Now the bear is getting braver without the hounds at the base of the tree, and I have a rifle that may have a broken firing pin, or weakened spring. Digging into pockets we found a box of new cartidges, unopened and factory fresh. Removing one, I again lined up the sights on the bear, pulled the trigger, and BOOM. I was rewarded with a successful detonation and sight of a dead bear.
Now came the unexpected part. It was an excellent shot, into the neck , which resulted in an instant kill. But, the bear seemed to be hung in the tree. As I leaned over and asked if we were going to have to climb to retrieve I was told “Lets wait and see if it will fall”. True to the statement, the bear made a final twitch and fell. Even more unexpectedly – when a 100 pounds of bear falls from a 50 feet up, into thigh deep water, what is going to happen?
I realized what was going to happen about 10 feet before splashdown. I had just enough time to turn and avoid a full cold splash to the face from a dead bear cannonball. I did not however avoid the splash to the rest of me. At this point, being completely wet from about mid chest down I waded over to claim my consolation prize. Clearly not one of the famed 600 pound plus swamp bears of North Carolina, but a trophy to me nonetheless. The bonus was that this was small enough to shoulder and carry out of the swamp. I asked how they bring the big ones out of swamp like this and the answer was “Winches, chainsaws, and hours upon hours of hard work”.
Closing note – Like the Bobcat, the bear was fully utilized. The pelt and skull saved, and the meat harvested and smoked as some of the sweetest Barbecue meat you will ever taste.
