Some Images of Deer Hunting, 2012

The Friday Night War Council at Burton.

The trophy wall at Burton



Lori's opening morning buck

Some opening morning trophies.

The boning line.

Setting up the sausage stuffer.

The Bench

Ellen coming back to the truck on opening morning.

He's safe.

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 26, 2012

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 29, 2012 by Greg Koelker

The Big One has come and gone.  El and I had a good time opening weekend staying with Barb and Chuck down on Dutch Hollow Ridge near Burton and eating too much good food like homemade vegetable beef soup or homemade chicken noodle soup or barbecue or, well, you get the idea.  We partied a bit at night, and we hunted hard with the Burton Deer Hunters.  Our group killed 9 deer in the first two days.  Nine deer is down for us; our deer party has been averaging something like 18 critters tagged in the first couple of days over the last couple years.    El and I did not fill any tags.

On Sunday morning, I was celebrating, lost in a reverie of days spent in the woods with lots of deer (okay, I was snoozing with my back against a tree) when I had that feeling that someone was watching me.  I opened my right eye and saw a frozen deer staring down at me from about forty yards away.  My Ruger was leaning against the tree to my left, and I slowly slid my left hand to the gun and got a hold on it.  I knew if I moved much the deer would vaporize.  I waited until the buck - it was a small buck - put its head down and stepped into some gooseberry bushes to pull up and look through the scope.  No deer!  There it was!  I made out its head and neck.  I slid the scope down to where I thought I could see it's shoulder  behind the bushes and squeezed the trigger.  The deer spun as if hit and ran away low to the ground.  In less than a second, I lost it in the trees up the hill.  I climbed to the spot  where it had been standing, for some reason thinking it might be there yet.  It wasn't.  There was no sign, that is no blood or hair, that I had hit it.  I must have pulled the shot or shot under it.  After half an hour of circling about where I saw the deer run, I realized that I had missed.  I saw ten other deer that day, all too far away to shoot at.

Anyway, we butchered 9 deer on Monday morning by 10:30, with most of the crew (some were at work or school) doing their time honored jobs on the line.  Brother-in-law Dave had two deer skinned by the time we got there at 7 AM.  Dave takes the back straps out after he has the deer skinned and puts them in a cooler.  They will soon be work for the steak cutters.  Brother Bill had a child's wagon loaded with loins and rib cages ready for the boning tables.  I put on some rubber gloves, got a newly sharpened knife out of Bill's knife drawer, slapped it over a steel a few times, and began working on dismembering a hind quarter that was waiting for me on the end of a picnic table.  The boys  were boning out rib cages and shoulders tossing waste in boxes and burger chunks in coolers and chunks to be cut into steaks and chops in others.  Chuck and Dave had taken out the tenderloins on the nights before so they wouldn't dry out.  Those most special cuts of meat would end up as medallions fried in butter and onions by sister Kathy (who does not hunt) for lunch, along with more pots of homemade soups, cookies, meat sticks, cheese, and cookies and such.  The boys got the huge grinder going making burger.  Dave drove a cooler full of trimmings down to Hauber's in Dickeyville to be made into summer sausage.  Bill's wife Amy returned from Sam's Club in Dubuque with boxes of pork shoulder that some of us cut open, boned, and then sliced into strips to be used in making rope sausage.  Eventually, a mix of seasonins was worked into some batches of ground trim and ground pork that were run through a couple times for making rope sausage.  Todd and nephew Nick ran the sausage stuffer filling lengths of casings with mix destined for some apple smoking in Bill's outhouse sized smoker.  Ellen and Barb and Katie cut steaks and butterfly chops and packaged them in meal-sized bags ready for the freezer.       

I hit my first deer on Thanksgiving.  Ellen and I hunted here at Grouse Hollow on Turkey Day morning.  Dan Brown was here too.  He called the house a bit after 6 AM to say he had just seen a big buck in the field.  I changed my plans and took the truck around the back way to the ridge to try and get ahead of the buck while Ellen went up into the Grouse Hollow to watch for it if I managed to turn it back into the farm.  I took a long walk through the Corner Woods, along the neighbors, and out onto the point above where I hoped the buck had taken to ground.  If it did, we never saw it.  Ellen did see some baldies run over the hill.  Dan later told us they stopped by his tent blind, but he figured they were too small to shoot.  Anyway, that night after a day of feasting and visiting and watching football, Ellen and I and nephew Jason Junk were headed north on Highway 35 just out of Lynxville when Ellen exclaimed, "Deer!  Stop!"  There was a small deer in the middle of the northbound lane, probably blinded by the light.  I slammed on the brakes and the Explorer performed admirably stopping almost on a dime after a straight, tire squealing slide that ended when the car rolled the small deer.  The deer went down hard but managed to get to its feet; it jumped the concrete barrier and scrambled up the steep hill beyond.  The lights were okay and the engine was working fine, so we drove home.  An inspection under the yard light showed only some deer hair on the bumper and maybe a bent license plate, but otherwise no visible damage, so we got by with one I guess.  

We didn't hunt on Friday.  The wind made it so miserable, it was just nice being in a warm house and doing inside stuff.  Ellen made homemade chicken noodle soup so the house had an aroma to die for.  I did homework and worked on wedding pictures.  

On Saturday morning, El walked along a ridge top while I stumbled up the ditch in the bottom of the Oak Hollow.   No deer.  

After a trip to the dump and our friends the Swenson's at the Flying Horse Stables, we went out again to sit out the last two hours of the day.  Ellen took a stand overlooking the Grouse Hollow, while I went to the Corner Woods and found a comfortable stump.  The air had a bite to it that burned my cheeks as the sun went down.  There was an occasional breeze that rustled dried oak leaves over head, but the only action I had was birds and squirrels.  There were maybe half a dozen fuzzy tree rats playing a rough game of tag on a topless hollowed tree a few yards down the hill from me.  They were fun to watch, but I couldn't hear much when they were ramming around.  About 4, I heard something else coming. I managed to stand and slowly turn in time to see a deer running by maybe 40 yards away.  I couldn't get my gun up in time for it, but then another one, a bigger one, came on the run through the same spot.  I got it in the scope and fired.  I waited.  I had hoped to see a buck coming right along or maybe standing watch somewhere up the hill from me, but after a bit, I gave that up and walked over to where I thought the deer had been when I shot.  I called Ellen and told her what had happened and that I found some deer hair at the scene of shooting.  She was up at the of the Grouse Hollow and on her way.  I looked for blood.  Nothing.  I walked down the way the first deer had gone, thinking I'd find some sign or maybe find my deer.  Nope.  I walked back up to the original spot and then saw a deer stretched out facing me twenty feet away.  I was standing by the doe when Ellen got there.  She found blood immediately.  Apparently the deer had spun away from me when I hit it and had run a few yards before turning and falling down.  I had made a good kill with the entrance wound in the lower rib cage.  I tagged the deer's ear and Ellen held the deer's legs while I field dressed it.  As it would take a lot more time if I did it, Ellen walked back over the ridge to where I had left the four wheeler and drove it back.  After a bit of struggle trying to lift the limp critter onto the back of the quad, Ellen suggested we lift up the front end together and slide the rest on.  That worked well.  Back at the ranch, after a turn at the hydrant to wash out the deer's insides, we shifted the body to the back of the Ranger and I took it down to the Thirsty Turtle in Stoddard to register.  Chad Myhre slipped a metal tag through the ear hole of my deer and then told me about his group's hunt and the busy weekend the folks at the Turtle had registering deer.  Saturday and Sunday of opening weekend sounded like it was crazy.  Early on, all reports were of a record kill on opening weekend, but keep in mind the weather.  It was downright balmy so a lot people who might have waited to register their deer until later in the week probably couldn't wait.  Back at the ranch, I was able to back the pickup under the rope hoist and hang the deer up to the rafters in the pole shed.  I used a flashlight and my hunting knife to cut out the tenderloins before I went in for the night.

On the last day of gun season, we lay pretty low.  El went to church, while I started this column.  I also did a load of my dirty clothes and finished fixing up the Christmas lights.  El got the kitchen floor ready for a rug under our kitchen table.  You see, although we have geo-thermal heat, the tile under our kitchen table is attached to a cement slab that used to be a porch and has no heated area under it.  The rug makes the area more comfortable.  Ron Von Glahn came up to collect the deer I shot for canning later this week and he and I got in a load of firewood up on the ridge. Later, our neighbors the Sikoras called and wanted to deer hunt so we made some plans and got out.  In two drives, I did not see a critter besides squirrels, rabbits, and birds.   Anyway, we did move a few deer around.  While our neighbor Jim Pickar did not see anything from a tripod stand in the bottom of the hollow, 12-year old Jake, had two baldies come up to him.  He said he didn't dare move as they were on his "wrong" side.  Gregg said there were at least three deer that moved in front of him, but all escaped for another day.  At sundown, I stopped to chat with Jared Krause who had hunted all day with no luck.  He said their group only had one buck, and - because their group has rules on buck size, it cost the shooter - his nephew- $100 for shooting a buck with less than a 15-inch rack.  The money goes into a sausage fund.  Jared had heard that most of the neighbors hadn't done much better.  I shared that our Iowa hunters only took home one doe.  Anyway, I know the warm kitchen felt pretty good by the time we quit.  El and/or I might get out with smoke poles (muzzle loader rifles) this weekend; however, we are off to Lambeau Field and the Viking/Packer game this weekend.  Let us hope for great weather and a Packer victory.  After last night's debacle, they have to play better right?  

Until next time, get out - there is plenty of deer hunting left what with the muzzle loader season on now and a week of antlerless hunting and the late bow season.  If that's not enough, well then, I don't know.  The stories will have to do for another year, I guess.  Turkey hunters who haven't got their spring permits applied for should do it.  The deadline to apply is December 10.  Enjoy. 

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 22, 2012 by Greg Koelker

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 22, 2012 by Greg Koelker

Deer Hunting Eve!  The holidays have arrived.  I celebrated with a cup of
coffee and a walk with Scout.  The ground was frosted and the air biting,
but not too much.  I was thinking, "Perfect."  That is perfect for opening
morning, tomorrow.  I kept thinking, "Tomorrow at this time, oh boy."
I'll be in place at The Bench, a hundred and a half acres of thickly
wooded hillside surrounding a long rolling field deep in the Grant River
valley.  I don't know what crops were planted there this year, but I hear
tell that there are plenty of deer.  Brother-in-law Bill, who farms the
land we hunt on, declared basically that "brown is down" this year,
because on one 300-acre bean field, there were literally no soybeans along
the edges as much as 30 to 40 yards in - the crime mostly attributed to a
large herd of hungry whitetails.  Anyway, down the road from the house, I
spotted a deer silhouetted against a picked cornfield.  Ironically, there
is a crooked red "No Hunting" sign set in the fence line by the road in
what would have been in the foreground of the scene - if I had a camera
with me.  (I'll remember the camera next time to guarantee that I never
ever see that exact scene again.)  It stood frozen, watching Scout and I
pass on down to the neighbor's.  On the way back, it was still watching
us, and then it chose to exit, tail high, trotting up into the woods.

For the last couple weeks, Jake Sikora (who rides down to Stoddard with me
in the morning) and I have been noticing a pickup up this big valley,
probably someone bow hunting.  This morning when I went by, there was no
pickup, but there was a deer standing right were the truck usually has
been.   I saw a couple of deer just outside of Stoddard in a cornfield
too.  (I hope I haven't used up my quota of seeing deer for the week just
yet!)

Anyway, when I get home from work today (Friday), El and I will load the
Ranger with the clothes, guns, and boxes of food and gear she has been
accumulating this week.  In years past, when the boys were little, I would
load the pickup and then put a sheet of plywood over the pile for the boys
to ride on in the back.  They would dress warm, bring along their Walkmans
and games and such, and crawl into sleeping bags for the ride down.  We
had a blow up "boot" between the cab and the topper, so we would have the
back slider window open to give them some heat.   I remember more than
once, closing the window after scolding them to quit fighting and arguing
and wrestling and complaining about what the other was doing or saying.
When we got to the home place, after hugs and "Hi Grammas and Grampas," we
would unload military style with everyone carrying stuff in.  After we
started staying at Barb and Chuck's, it was the same.  Once after
surveying the rows and piles of hunting stuff on their huge kitchen floor,
Chuck complained, "Well, didn't you throw in the kitchen sink?"  After we
remodeled the kitchen, I saved the huge steel sink to take down for the
deer hunt; we never had room, but it would have been funny.

Anyway, I suppose I'd better get this off and get some papers corrected,
so until next time, get out.  Here's hoping you and yours have a warm and
family filled Thanksgiving and deer hunt - and the Packers keep winning.
Enjoy.

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 15, 2012 by Greg Koelker

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 15, 2012 by Greg Koelker

The Big One has crept up and is now upon us. This weekend somewhere close to a million men, women, and kids will take to Wisconsin's woods, fields, and swamps to participate in the hunt for an estimated – no, I won't put down anybody's estimates, but let's just say, that with the mild winter we just experienced, there are going to be plenty of critters to shoot at - if last year is any indicator. In 2011 deer hunters in Wisconsin tallied 347,711 deer total, an increase over the previsous two seasons. I for one, am getting excited.

Our hunt, while pretty informal most of the time, is based on much tradition. I joined the Hauk/Uppena hunting party back in 1974 when I was invited in with great enthusiasm – okay, I married in, so they had to let me hunt with them. Back in those days, we were a small group growing rapidly. My father-in-law, Walt Hauk, his brother Uncle Mose, and Uncle Charles Uppena were the leaders and elders of the group. Ellen and her brothers Dick, Tom, Mike, and Brian and her sister Barb were joined by Charles' sons Denny, Carl, and Curt Uppena and cousin Steve as well as Joe and Gordie Kremer and Frank Patzel once in awhile. My brother Del joined the group in high school. We could cover some ground with a gang like this driving. Why, I remember one year when we still had a three-day any deer season, we hung six deer on the meat pole, or rather Uncle Charles windmill! (None of them were mine.) I used to love riding over to Uncle Charles' farmhouse with Walt and my brothers-in-law on the night before for the war council. We'd talk about who had seen what so far, maybe catch up on a little family gossip over a cold one, and end with a discussion who was going where in the morning followed by when and where we would meet. Generally, the boys and I would keep pretty quiet (yes, I could be quiet sometimes) while Charles and Walt talked. We hauled our deer and hunters with two-wheel drive pickups and cut up deer in a cold pole shed. Since then things have changed some.

Sadly, in the early 1980's, Hatfield and McCoy-like, the group split along Uppena and Hauk lines. Just kidding; there is no fued – it was because, with the addition of other brothers and sisters and more “married's in” and youngsters getting old enough to tag along, the party was getting too big – and dangerous. I say sadly, because I know we all enjoyed hunting with the cousins, and it is always good to see them and catch on how their hunt went.

Anyway, the Hatfield . . . uh, Hauk side now meets at Bill (Hauk) and his wife Amy's heated shop in Burton in the Grant River valley for the war council on Friday night before the hunt. I and brother-in-law Chuck are the elders in the party, I guess, at 60 and 59 respectively. The hunt party, now semi-officially named the Burton Deer Hunters, seems to be in constant flux of growth and decline depending on the year and the day; it includes members from all over the U.S. Sometimes but mostly Wisconsin. Going from last year's list the group includes: us, El's brother Bill Hauk, Barb and Chuck Wright, their son Chris and his son Zach, and their daughter Angie, El's sister Lori Fure and her husband Dave, as well as their kids Doug, Katie, Brian and Jordan, El's brother Tom from Buckeye, AZ, nephews Nick Hauk, Jason and Jared Junk, Amy's brother Jessie Sahr, cousin Todd Reynolds, and Chris' friend Travis from Minnesota (he does pretty well with the Viking/Packer ribbing he gets), and Chad “Beanpole” Brinkman. Believe me, we can cover some brush and we hang up some deer, 19 on opening weekend in 2011 during an any deer season. Part of our tradition is driving deer, part is is partying together, part is sharing the stories, and part is the work of meat cutting and sausage making. Simply put, the tradition is getting together with family and spending days together in the field. It don't get no better.

Anyway, we will tell and make stories amuck, hunt hard, and eat like royalty this next weekend.

In an hour or so, after I finish my musings here and a few other chores, I will start carrying our deer hunting clothing and gear downstairs to make a semi-orgainized pile of his and her's so we can take stock of what we have and might “need.” El will be talking to Barb about groceries tonight and then making a trip for provisions this week. We had the Ranger serviced last week. I need to clean the detritus of nearly two months of hunting and trips to the dump yet this week, move the tractor and mower so our Iowa hunters have a place to hang deer, pack up our hunting chairs, case up the rifles, oil up boots, the list goes on.

I suppose I'd better go do something more useful than tap on a keyboard.

Until next time, get out – to all of you taking to the woods this weekend, have a great hunt, but more than that, be safe. No deer is worth hurting someone. Enjoy.

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 8, 2012 by Greg Koelker

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 8, 2012 by Greg Koelker

If you haven't been for a drive in the country (or maybe even in town), you maybe haven't seen the dead deer along the road. It is that time and they are running, literally for the next generation. I have been seeing deer from the driver's seat and from a tree stand, but I haven't killed one – either way as of yet. Still, I have a hunting story or two to share.

Last Friday night Ellen and I helped Eli Jackson get his nine pointer out of the woods. After a couple hours of shivering in the wind, I was on my way in from my stand with a hot supper and something over ice on my mind when I met Eli by his truck; he was just standing there. I stopped and then I could tell he had something to say. Actually, he was still shaking just a bit I think. He had a sheepish grin on his face and then quietly asked, “You want to help get one out tonight?” He told me how he had arrowed a nice buck near the Oak Stand and that he was pretty sure he heard it go down almost an hour and a half before. I went home and changed into jeans and hiking boots, and grabbed a light. El got me her new headlamp and a wad of rag strips for use as blood markers - should we need them. She said, “Too many feet can obliterate a blood trail,” and she decided to wait in reserve as our young friend Pat Colby and Mike, his buddy, were up on the ridge too.

Back at the truck, the boys were packing up there bows. Without fanfare we drove to the scene of the crime and started down the hill on the blood trail with Eli in the lead. He said he had found part of his arrow broken off and left it as a marker. He uses Illuminocks that light up when the arrow is fired, so he could see it glowing along the blood trail. I trailed the younger guys down through the downed trees and prickly ash, holding up Ellen's multi-lantern high for light and trying not to trip. There was a good blood trail and it took less than ten minutes to find the buck lying head down the steep hillside, “There he is,” I heard Eli say with little of the emotion I know he was feeling. The buck was a nice fat 8-pointer with high tines - a 9^th tine was broken off. After hand shakes and pictures, Pat and I each held a back leg while Eli field dressed the critter. Mike took pictures and kept the head up hill. I called Ellen and she brought the fourwheeler up a logging road that was downhill from us maybe 50 yards. I scrambled down to meet her and light the way for the boys. I also called Sikoras to see if Gregg and Jake wanted to come over and see the deer. Gregg was working, but sixth grader Jake walked over.

Back at the ranch, we washed the buck out at the hydrant and hung it up with the rope hoist in the shop; Pat held a light while Eli cut the tenderloins out. Eli and Ellen cleaned them up in the kitchen while Jake and I drove Pat and Mike in Ellen's Explorer back up to get the trucks left on the ridge. We shined at least a half-a-dozen deer on our way, including three in the field right by Jake's house.

When Jake and I walked into the kitchen, Ellen -she is way too good to us- had set out the grilled pizzas that had been on the menu for our supper – before all heck broke loose, so to speak – and she had some venison tenderloin medallions frying on the stove with mushrooms and onions and peppers. If that wasn't enough, she had baked raspberry/chocolate chip cookies that afternoon. The guys and I munched pizza and sipped celebratory libations to the hunt and hunter, before turning to plates of fried venison. They had all seen deer that night. Eli said that a doe and a much bigger buck walked by him just after he had shot his buck, and Mike said he figured he saw over a dozen deer. Pat saw one, but I got a rock, as Charlie Brown would say.

Before I drove Jake home, he said would have been in bed by then as he was going duck hunting with his dad in the morning. I said he was going to be pretty tired in the morning. He replied, “It's a small price to pay,” (to see the buck, hear the stories, and have a plate of venison!) I couldn't agree more, Jake.

The stories are what will be left when the meat is all consumed and the trophy nailed to the wall. The stories endure. Here is another story from a friend, Jeff Fischer of Middleton. He wrote me this last week and I thought I'd share it:

“42 years in the making! A lot of hard work and I am finally blessed with an opportunity to harvest a beautiful buck. Hundreds of hours in the stand, checking cameras, changing memory cards and batteries, scouting, letting the areas sit until the perfect wind, etc. Only to rush out after work last night after a meeting to sit for one hour and have this 4 year old walk straight to me down wind for a chance to harvest him.... Go figure! Just when you think you have these beautiful creatures figured out, they put you back in check and do something you thought they would never do (make himself vulnerable). I rattled and grunted him in after seeing him earlier in the night. He circled around 100 yards south of me and came straight at me from downwind, with my scent right at him. I guess a male, is a male, is a male, not thinking straight when thinking about females. Shot him at 30 yards, quartering away from me - just the whole time line of how it came together, such an awesome and blessed feeling. Lot's of pride to know my efforts and patience, along with proper scent control, etc. do actually work. He is no state record but a trophy by far for me. He rough scored mid 140's, 10 pointer, 4 year old. What a great day. I have him on camera, full velvet in August and no pictures since. Good luck in the tree and most importantly... be safe and take it all in with full enjoyment. We are only here for a very short period of time. What a blessing we have to be able to enjoy bow hunting. As my good friend Koelkie says... get out and enjoy the outdoors! Fisch”

Do you think Jeff was excited when he wrote this? Congrats on the buck and thanks for the great write up.

With stories still in mind, Ellen had a surprise visitor last week. It seems that our old friend Larry Oldenburg from Chaseburg read my plea for hickory nuts last week, so he called and offered to bring some over. He and El visited over coffee and cookies for nearly two hours. Larry and his late wife, Doris – who grew up in our house – used to come and visit and members of their family have stopped over the years. Larry told Ellen he had sighted in his rifle and was going deer hunting this season. When he was leaving, Larry said, “I have a birthday coming up. December 7^th, Pearl Harbor Day.” El asked him the big question, “I'll be 92.” If you see Larry tell him good hunting and if it's in December wish him happy birthday and ask him about his deer hunt.

I took my own advice last week and “shot” my deer rifle. That is, four misfires later, I put the bolt in some cleaner and then re-lubricated it and after another misfire, the next three rounds fired. It was off to the Bad Axe and gunsmith Ron Stokke. For future reference, Ron showed me how to take apart my rifle bolt and clean it. He told me he put a new spring in it that should make it work better. He cleaned both of our rifles, so we should be good come November 17 – the Big One is upon us – only a week away! Time to take inventory, buy the license, get to the grocery store, and service the truck.

Until next time, get out –This year, why not get a journal and start recording the details of your hunt? Who was there, who got what, what were the stories told, maybe the best joke or prank, the food, the cost, etc. You and your kids and grandkids will appreciate it. After the Packers victory over the Cardinals, Scout, Ellen and I took a load of spent pumpkins up to the food plot and took a long walk around our ridge top. There is a lot of deer and turkey sign, but not much left for them to eat. We had a great visit and some well-needed exercise. Enjoy.

Eli's Buck November 2, 2012

Eli's 9-pointer 

Add caption

Me, Pat, and Eli 

El holds the lantern for the boys

Cutting out the tenderloins in the shop

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