Grouse Hollow Journal: November 2013

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Scout and I with pheasant

Scout and Gregg with Pheasant

Grouse Hollow Journal for the week of November 21, 2013

Grouse Hollow Journal for the week of November 21, 2013 by Greg Koelker

Last week one morning, Gregg Sikora and I and Scout ventured over to the Kickapoo Wildlife Area to shop for a pheasant dinner. The sun was already high in the sky and we could see our breaths when we disembarked at a parking area. Excitement began to build from the get go; all three of us heard the crowing rooster pheasants nearby. Scout shivered and paced about in anticipation. Gregg and I got on our boots and uncased our shotguns as quickly as we could. I had my over/under Browning Citori shotgun along, loaded with the only two magnum steel shot shells I could find at home. Gregg worked the edge of the trees and I stalked farther out in the now bent over marsh grass. Scout worked it all, bounding to and fro, poking her nose into every grassy spot with her tail wagging. The area we hunted was rough, frozen marshy ground broken by fence rows and willow woods. Gregg saw Scout go “birdy” first. She froze everything but her whirring tail, her eyes and nose fixated on a clump of grass that maybe held a bird. It did. The rooster pheasant busted skyward between us, offering only a cursive shot to Gregg and flying through the trees next to a frozen pond. We laughed and cursed a tad. Scout wanted to chase after the escaping bird, but she listened and we got back on the hunt. A few minutes later, Scout rousted another rooster and Gregg got another shot off, this time dropping a flying bird into some thick marsh feathers drifting down behind it. That downed bird must have burrowed a bit, and without Scout, we may not have found it. We admired the ringneck and took a couple of pictures and moved on. I missed a close bird; I still wonder how. Anyway, on the way back, Scout flushed a rooster right in front of me. I swung up and missed the rocketing pheasant as it veered around me. Then, swinging with it as it flew away and firing again I connected. The bird crumpled and disappeared into the marsh. Again Scout was needed to find the bird, but we had two. Gregg said that second shot was a thing of beauty and he wished he had it on tape. Me too. Anyway, after Scout and I posed with the bird, we tried the spot where the very first pheasant vanished to. I was walking on pretty solid ground along a fence when I saw two pheasants poke their heads out of a clump of grass by a fence post up ahead. Scout saw them too and turned her attention to them. I started to run, or rather what is as close to running as I do, to try and close the gap. Scout didn't wait for me, crashing into the birds hideout. They flushed, one flying directly away, and the other crossing far out over the marsh. I managed to get off two fruitless shots, from too far away at one of the birds. We looked for more and found ourselves in a nasty bunch of icy humps of grass where with each step, one would break through the ice a second or two after putting some weight on a foot. It was tough and tiring. Scout ventured out on the ice of a pond and I thought, “Uh oh!” but she managed to trot right back into the grass without breaking through, her petite 90 pounds not enough to break through I guess. Back at the truck, we heard another rooster cackle, taunting us near where we started, but all three of us were ready for a break. Gregg and I munched on newly dried venison jerky, dried fruit, and drank some cold water. After she caught her breath, I poured water out of a gallon jug for a very thirsty Scout. We stopped at the Thirsty Turtle for Turtle Burgers and fries for lunch. Back at the ranch, Scout was pretty stiffened up after the hunt and long car ride. She got a lunch along with a treat with a low-dose aspirin in it. That was a great morning; watching Scout work is my favorite part of bird hunting. Of course so was dinner that night; Ellen fixed roast pheasant with mushroom and wine gravy with a side of wild rice and broccoli for supper. (The next morning, I was the one who needed the aspirin for my stiff legs.)

Anyway, the Big One is upon us. I am so excited I can hardly wait. This is the start of the holidays for our family. There is much to be done to prepare. Last week we went shopping for ammunition and a pair of new boots for Ellen. We sighted in our rifles last week. I am confident that my rifle is on at 200 yards, so if I miss it will be my fault. Our dining room table is covered with blaze orange, gun cases, food boxes, and such. We dump out our boxes and check that lights work, gloves are in place, that there are plenty of hand warmers, back tags are in back tag holders, our walkie talkies have fresh batteries, etc. The Ranger will be topped off with all fluids checked. I still have to fill the four-wheeler's gas tank and check my trailer tires. Ellen has been making cookies and I have been drying jerky for the lunch box. She just told me that she had the fixin's for my favorite opening morning breakfast, French toast casserole. Here is her recipe: first you need a 13x9 inch pan, six eggs, 2-3 cups of milk, 1 tsp of salt, 12 slices of bread (crusts trimmed) buttered on one side, a package of chopped ham, and some grated cheddar cheese. Alternate layers of bread, ham, and cheese. Pour a mixture of the beaten eggs, salt, and milk over it all and LET STAND OVER NIGHT. In the morning bake this at 350 for 1 hour. (My special touch is a dollop of Plondke's sorghum molasses on top of my slice.) Let me say eatin' don't git no better.

Speaking of food - as I so often do - last deer season the Wisconsin Deer Donation program provided thousands of pounds of venison to those less fortunate in Wisconsin. Since the program began, something like 4 million pounds have been donated! All one has to do to donate is tag and field dress a deer taken outside of CWD Zone and register it. In Vernon County, the designated processor is Westby Locker and Meats, 406 North Main. Call first to make sure they are taking deer at that time. Their number is: (608) 634-4515. Anyway, we'll head down to Grant County for the weekend and our Iowa hunters, Tom, Steve, and Dan will move in to our house on Friday afternoon. They and Dan, Dave, and Mark will be hunting at Grouse Hollow on opening weekend. When we get packed into Barb and Chuck's on Friday evening, Chuck and I - the old guys, will head down to the war council at Burton to check in with the hunting party. There will be jokes, stories, drinks, snacks, and plenty of fellowship - good luck in the morning, etc. before we break up for an early bedtime and early rising. Anyway, I will be on the phone with someone regarding this coming weekend every night this week, no doubt.

Until next time, get out - this season, almost the entire state of Wisconsin is a rifle zone and there are other changes to the rules; if you have a question regarding most anything to do with deer hunting, you can contact a Customer Service Representative for general questions seven days a week from 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. at 1-888-936-7463 to ask a question. All of us at Grouse Hollow want to wish everyone a safe and not too cold hunt. I hope you all get that big one, but in my opinion, any deer is a trophy. Enjoy.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Archery Deer Pics 2013

My first archery deer in this century

Gregg skinning out my little buck

Pat with his dandy archery buck taken near the Mushroom Hole

Grouse Hollow Journal for the week of November 14, 2013

Grouse Hollow Journal for the week of November 14, 2013 by Greg Koelker

On Sunday, November 3, after all the ruckus of getting in Chet's buck, I was fired up to hunt in the afternoon. Back at the ranch, I got my camo on and drove Chet and Taryn back to their vehicle on the ridge and walked to a tree stand in the Corner Woods. The sky was turning gray in the west and it was windy as heck. I left the truck by what we call the downed barn (a derelict granary long fallen down) and I was walking as quietly and quickly as I could in the middle of the Corner Woods, almost to my stand, when I spooked a doe that leaped, whitetail flashing and vanished into the neighbor's woods, of course blowing out the obligatory shrill warning to all that the jig was up in this area. Rats. Anyway, I stuck to my plan and got in my tree and tied on my safety harness and hauled up my bow and knocked up an arrow and hung the bow from a hanger and sat back to contemplate the day and situation. Chet has two deer in one week. What kind of luck is that, and for us to almost run over the dead buck, on the road no less? The bucks are rutting hard and running all over and I just kicked up a warning to every deer in miles that I was hunting here. Such is life I guess. Wait, what is that noise . . .

I wasn't in the stand ten minutes when I heard something behind me. I slowly turned my head right and could just make out a walking deer on the edge of my peripheral vision. My heart started to speed up and my breath came quicker; I moved in increments to reach my hanging bow and hook my release on the bow string. I didn't see the deer again; well, eventually I could see it or at least a deer clear over by the edge of the trees, checking out the field beyond. I tried my grunt call. I don't know if that helped or not, but the deer started meandering toward my area. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement. Two other deer were ghosting quietly by along the woods on my right, way too far to see what they were even, but adding fuel to the engine that was making my temples pump. I could see now that the deer coming toward me was a small buck, a spike or maybe a fork. Of course it turned and headed away down into the hollow. I tried the grunt call again. The deer had disappeared. Okay, I started to relax. I tried a the grunt call again. The sun was fast fading over the Mississippi. The woods was quiet and getter darker, and the wind had died to a whisper. I thought I saw a shadow moving far down the hill in the woods. Something was coming up out of the hollow right on the path I took into the stand - headed right for me. It was the little buck. Now, I had the debate with myself whether to let this buck go and hunt for a trophy. One side argued it was small and would grow and the other countered with I haven't taken any archery deer since the last century, 1999 in fact. I decided to take the shot if it was offered. The buck took its time, nibbling on leaves, testing the air, staring in different directions for what seemed like long periods, but it kept coming. When it finally stepped into a shooting lane, I realized that there were too many new tree shoots for a clear shot. Of course it paused there, perfectly broadside. I figured it would pick up my scent or turn away, instead it walked into the next lane and I drew back, aimed, and squeezed the release. I saw the arrow drive deep. The buck whirled and I could see maybe a foot of the arrow protruding from it. It ran a few steps, started trotting then walking, it stopped turning its head back, walked on a bit, seemed to look back again, walked a few more steps, and dropped over on its side some fifty yards away.

After I relaxed a bit, I tried texting Ellen and then Eli and Chet. Eventually, I called the house and muttered to my wife that I had one down and that I would come home in awhile. I didn't want to make too much noise or get down too early and possibly spook the wounded deer into a panicked run deep down into the hollow. I eventually stalked out away from what I hoped was a downed and finished deer and drove home. Ellen had made me a toasted cheese sandwich and I relished the food and chance to settle my nerves a bit. My cell dinged with a text from Eli saying that he and Pat and Brad were back to the truck and they would wait for us by the corner woods. Ellen had already gathered some lights, and we took off up the ridge in the Ranger. Since I had seen the deer fall over, the boys were eager to get on the track (Pat and Brad also had to drive all the way back to Fond du Lac that night.) I took them to the stand and pointed out the target area. Pat picked up blood right away. We had a rare thing: a walk-along blood trail. I found my arrow, most likely pulled out by the wounded deer. Then Brad or Pat said, “You got him. Here he is!” I did and there he was. It was a three-point buck. After congratulations all around, I marked and zip tied my buck tag to an ear, and got to the bloody work of field dressing. Having three twenty-something athletes around helps when it comes to dragging a deer to the truck. Thanks Ellen and Guys. The next day, my neighbor Greg Sikora and I registered the deer at ACE in Shelby and got about the job of butchering it up. The ticks were amazing. As I started skinning the critter, wood and deer ticks fell in droves from the hide. I got some bug killer and sprayed under the carcass. Anyway, I kept a back strap and made three roasts out of it for grilling, wrapped in bacon, some cold evening this winter, and gave the rest to Greg.

The excitement goes on. It didn't end with my buck. Remember last Friday morning? Frosty and 22 degrees and no wind? Pat and Eli had awakened Scout at some time after 5 AM when they pulled in the farm yard - brrrr! Around 7 AM, Ellen and I were just having coffee, planning our day of maybe car shopping, when we got a text from Eli that Pat “hit one.” A little while later, Pat showed up and readily took the cup of steaming coffee that Ellen handed him. He appeared to be in a bit of a daze, a happy daze. He said he hit a good one. “I am sure I got it. The shot was from seven yards.” He added with a smile that the morning was perfect. “When I first got in the tree stand and got settled, I thought this could be what heaven is like, all quiet and clear.” It was a heavenly morning for a bow hunter for sure. (Still, I hope the real deal is a tad warmer, but not quite like the other place.) Anyway, he said the buck came by his tree stand and he was pretty sure he double lung'ed it. It ran away uphill, so I wondered. Anyway, when Eli showed up, he was pretty upset with himself. He had “the one” buck - a high tined 9-pointer, he had been hoping to get a shot at all season at some fifteen yards away, but he couldn't take the shot because he had hung his quiver in such a way as to make it an obstacle and when he raised his bow, the buck picked him up and vaporized. It returned later, but not close enough. After awhile the four of us went out to pick up the trail. I have been on many tracking jobs, but this was the most impressive blood trail I have ever been on, including firearm wounded critters. He was using a Rage broadhead. We found it within two hundred yards. It was a dandy 11 maybe 13-point buck (depending on your point sensibilities) that was thick necked and heavy of body. After high fives, congrats all around, and a round of photos, the boys set about tagging and field dressing the critter while Ellen scoped out a path through the downed trees and brush to the field below, and I went back to the farm for the four-wheeler and trailer to retrieve it.

Back at the ranch, Ellen asked if anyone wanted lunch and Eli suggested we eat some buck tenderloins, so I was elected to do surgery and remove the huge morsels of meat from inside the body cavity. Our neighbor, Gregg had joined us by now and he volunteered to grill the meat over an open fire across the road. While the boys hung the deer, I trimmed up the tenderloins and cut them up and Ellen started some raw fries and biscuits. Gregg and I grilled the medallions over some oak coals in his fire pit, adding a dash of Pleasoning. We took them back in a roaster and, well, I've said it often enough, it don't git no better. Congratulations Pat.

Until next time, get out - check out your blaze gear, boots, etc. and if you haven't, shoot your gun-season weapons soon and make sure they work. I can't emphasize this enough after the last couple years when my rifle misfired while sighting it in and needed gunsmith work. Anyway, I am done with bow hunting. On to turkey hunting and fishing and the Big One close upon us. Enjoy.

Friday, November 8, 2013

Chet's Buck

We found Chet's buck right along one of our logging roads.

Chet and his daughter Taryn

Grouse Hollow Journal for the week of November 7, 2013

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 7, 2013 by Greg Koelker

Ellen and I checked out our opening morning deer stands last week on Wednesday morning. We begin our gun deer hunt on a parcel of Ellen's brother Bill's farm in Grant County. The area was dubbed “the Bench” long ago by her Uncle Mose I guess, so called because it sets like a bench up above the Grant River bottom land fields and is surrounded by steep hardwood hillsides sort of like the back of a bench. Anyway, it was a gloomy morning but not raining while she went to work with her Fiskars geared brushing tool, cutting prickly ash, berry canes, small junk trees, and eye stabbing overhead branches to make an easier path in to her spot. We left a fold up chair leaning against the tree, and I punched some reflective tacks into the trees along the way as we left. She wrapped a small tree with bright orange marker ribbon too. We cleaned up some of the brush around my stand too. There was a large wasp nest hanging nearby. It seems like there are more paper wasp nests around this season.

After we finished, we drove up to Barb and Chuck's farm and got put to work. Barb had a pot of potato soup warming up on the stove, but she and Chuck were in the process of making dried apples slices. They have several prolific trees that were loaded with beautiful fruit this season. (Johnny Appleseed, a.k.a. Chuck, said he planted so many trees to keep Barb from driving up to Gays Mills and spending so much on bags of apples.) Anyway, the sink was full of peeled and cored red delicious from one of their trees. The apples were soaking in a lemon water solution to keep them from turning brown. Barb had four or five dehydrators rounded up, and we all started layering apple slices in them; Barb sprinkled the slices with cinnamon. The kitchen smelled of apple pie and cinnamon. When we had the kitchen back in apple-order, Barb ladled up steaming bowls of soup while Chuck sliced some cheese and put out crackers. It don't get no better.

We dropped in on my mom too. My number one fan, she doesn't get the paper or use the internet, so Ellen cuts out the Journal and saves them for her every week. At nearly 83, she is loving her retirement. Going out to brunch, gambling, and spending time with her grandkids.

We had some excitement around the ranch this week what with the rut in full swing. Our nephew Chet showed up at the door - right at lunch time, Monday morning. (Did you ever notice how relatives seem to time things for meal time?) Anyway, he appeared shaken. Then he told us his story. He had arrowed a deer in the early morning. He waited awhile, and then contacted Eli who was hunting nearby by text message. Chet told us the two of them tracked the deer across the hollow into the woods and down the hill back the way it came and then lost the track in the spot we call the Mushroom Hole. He wanted to call his friend, Monica who has a licensed blood tracking dog.

Ellen fixed us toasted cheese sandwiches and then we headed out. Chet showed us the last blood and then went to call his friend with the dog. Ellen circled around a bit and found the blood trail again. She almost always does. Anyway, we were hard on it, when Monica showed up with Louis, a Czech wire-hair. Louis is licensed to blood track. Monica had a harness on Louis rather than a collar. She had a 20-foot nylon web leash. She also had a tracking and shock collar just in case. It was a good thing Monica is in shape because Louis was all over that blood trail, kicking up the wounded deer in just minutes. Ellen saw it get up and run. It turned out that instead of running into the woods like one might figure it would do, it crossed an open field, the road, and hid in the tall weeds of a ditch. Monica said that Louis actually walked up and touched the downed deer with his nose. We had it. Anyway, Chet was finally able to tag it and I gutted it for him.

On Sunday morning, Chet called. He stuck another deer. A nice 8-pointer he said. He feared it wasn't a good hit, so we decided to wait for a few hours to begin tracking it. His daughter, Taryn, a sophomore in high school, was in one of my blinds and had some excitement of her own. She said a forked buck jumped the fence from the field into our food plot nearby. She got pretty excited, shaking and all. The buck started walking toward her, and she began pulling her bow back, but her release caught on her coat and she doinked the arrow a few feet out of the blind. The deer walked away.

That afternoon, Chet and Eli and Taryn were on the blood trail up the hill when Ellen and I decided to bring the four wheeler up to help. We were on a logging road just below the Oak Stand when we came upon Chet's buck stretched out right on the road. El walked up the hill to look for the trackers, while I tried calling Chet and finally got Eli. The buck proved to be a nice one and Chet was pretty pumped. After pictures, I let him use my Cutco serrated blade knife to gut it himself this time. Two deer in one week for him; he should buy lottery tickets I think. Anyway, his freezer is full, and that's a good thing as he has to work all of gun season. Congratulations Chet.

Until next time, get out - Eli, Pat, and Brad brought us a cooler full of meat sticks, brat and cheese patties, marinated chicken breasts, and venison bacon this week in appreciation for letting them hunt. Thanks boys. Let's see, apples and cinnamon, potato soup, cheese and crackers, grilled cheese sandwiches, meat sticks, brat patties, chicken breasts, and venison bacon; do I write about food too much in the journal? Nope. I gotta wrap this up and send it off. It's time for breakfast. Life is good. Enjoy.

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Grouse Hollow Journal for week of October 31, 2013

“Since golden October declined into sombre November/And the apples were gathered and stored, and the land became brown sharp points of death in a waste of water and mud.”

T.S. Eliot

In October I got about a bit, traveling to North Dakota to hunt ducks, Horicon Marsh to hunt geese, bowhunting here at Grouse Hollow, and Lake Onalaska for panfish.

I have written about my western hunt, but the week after I returned, Jake Sikora and Scout and I went to Mayville and hunted geese and ducks from a purchased blind ($18 for the day) on the outskirts of the Horicon Marsh. We left our house at 2:40 A.M. to get there by daylight. As we went up Losey Boulevard, I saw Dan Fladhammer all alone walking on a tread mill in Snap Fitness - whoa, talk about ambition! At the Goose Haven Gun Club, the man had us sign a release and I paid him for blind 29. We needed lights to get to our blind that was situated down a field road and to the right along an unpicked cornfield. The blind was a simple affair, basically a plywood box with a bench seat in it and room for two people, one canine, and my thermos. As dawn grew brighter, we (okay, sharp-eyed Jake) could pick out lines of birds passing - sand hill cranes. We must have seen over a thousand of them in the first hour, “gronking” their way out of the marsh in flocks of four and eight and even twenty. The canada geese started. The first pair to come in close enough should have been down and made into jerky or roast goose by now, but being the card-carrying ballistically-impaired shotgunner that I am, they flew on, startled no doubt, but unscathed. (Jake even had the audacity to laugh.) We managed to shoot at others, with no effect. We saw thousands of honkers in the morning hours. We also saw some mallards and wood ducks, that all landed in the marsh refuge right where we could see them. We heard other hunters shoot, but not often. We could hear a man loudly correcting his dog. Always the lady, Scout was curled up at our feet in the blind; however, every time we pulled up on passing geese or ducks and fired skyward, Scout would bound out of the blind in anticipation of a retrieve. By midmorning, we were getting wet, so we decided to drive around the marsh and stop at the visitor's center; the road in was chained? Oh yeah, the federal shutdown even reached to Horicon Marsh. Anyway, all we managed was feathers a couple of times unfortunately, but neither Jake nor Scout had ever seen Horicon, so it was worth the trip, goose or no goose. Jake thought it was way better than school and I thought it was way better than, than, uh, not going I guess.

Vinny Ruetten and I got out on Lake Onalaska twice this past week. On a windy, rainy Saturday morning trip, we found hot bluegill action in 15 feet of water just off a drop off. We got caught in a small squall, complete with a cold shower, but then the sun returned. We were using nightcrawlers and small jigs to fill up the livewell. After we got the Queen out, Vinny bought a huge lunch at the Red Pines; he had a burger and I a hot beef and swiss and the obligatory fries and beer.

Ellen and I tried the same spot later that week. It was much, much windier and colder, but no rain in sight. I baited up El's hook and she had a slabber bluegill on before I even got my hook in the water. I thought, “Here we go again.” Alas, it was not to be. Ellen hooked half-a-dozen keeper panfish, and I only one, so we called it a morning and got out of the cold. This was one of those mornings where one appreciates being outside just so one can feel a whole lot better once the truck heater is on full blast.

On Friday morning, Vince and I found a hole full of perch in Lake Onalaska. We must have caught close to 100 apiece - but interestingly enough, no other species. Vince used minnows and I used crawler chunks and we put enough fish in the well for two weekend perch fries. When we finished cleaning perch, we had a heaping gallon ice cream pail full!

I have not seen any deer while I have been hunting, so far. I have seen plenty after dark while I was driving and in trail cam images. I am going out again before the Packers play this evening. When I get back, I am frying Canadian walleye filets with Ellen's homemade cole slaw and mashed potatoes. Oh yeah, how about those Packers? What a weekend - my Pirates dominated Weston on Friday night 46-13 too! Boomshakalaka!

It is Halloween week. I used to love Halloween as a kid. I loved hitting the houses and bingeing on unlimited chocolate and sugar for days afterward. I used to love taking Ben and Mark trick or treating in the Coulee. When they were really little, I'd just take them to the neighbors and they'd get a pile of goodies, and I'd usually get a cocktail - at each house. Whew! Good thing we were close. For years Halloween cost me money; Ben has diabetes and I would buy his stash from him for deer hunting. Halloween holds a different kind of memory now. It will be six years ago on Halloween night (actually very early November 1^st, 2007) that my dad passed. I still think to call him when I have some new idea or plan or purchase in the works or something I need to fix or some story I think he'd get a kick out of, and then I remember he is gone. I often smile then thinking what he might say - we used to call him Archie Bunker, so you might have an idea too. Anyway, for me, Halloween will always be the day my dad died.

Until next time, get out - my favorite month of the year has up and left us. Ellen's wonderful garden is now just barren ground punctuated with some tall sunflower plants, some mulched garlic and asparagus patches, and the red raspberries waiting for my nippers. November is upon us - November is a lot like what T.S. said I guess, but November has promise, good, too; it may be the time of gray skies, cold winds and rains and snow likely in the forecast, but there is also the whitetail rut, wood cutting to warm you many times over, busy bird feeders, the northern duck and goose migration, the final harvest that ends with frozen furrows in fields, hot soup simmering on the stove, Lambeau leaps, long naps in front of the fire, maybe a first snow day, and the beginning of the holiday season; the first holiday being Wisconsin's annual Whitetail Gun Deer Hunt in just a little over three weeks! Enjoy.