Red River Hunt 2011

All seven of the boys were home and the family had spent a great Christmas together. After seeing Michael to the airport for his return to Fort Drum, New York, where he is stationed with the 10th mountain division, the wild woods of Red River wma began calling out to me.

I hooked up the "old siver bullet" on Dec. 29th and hit the road to answer the call. Following me was an old friend named Kelley Caraway, aka. "The Terminator." It would be his first time in the area and would be staying the next four days with me, in the trailer. His price for admission was two cans of gas and hot food. Everyone who knows me well, knows I can barely make hot dogs or boil water without burning them. In other words, a cook I am not.

We arrived, set up camp and hit the woods to do a little scouting during the first two days in preparation for the opening day of bucks only. After a particularly long-grueling day spent hiking in the woods from sun up to sun down I was starving to death and eagerly looked forward to what the Terminator would be cooking. He pulled out the ingredients and began preparing . . . grilled cheese sandwiches . . .for the next four days!

Lucky for him another old friend showed up and felt sorry for me. Greg Horton set up his tent next to us and cooked a sausage and potatoe gravy one night and homemeade chilli the next. Not only did he provide good company and entertainment he also reported seeing deer where he was hunting and brought us out to his place.

I heard a shot ring out, not long after settling into our stands. The Terminator had come through again by downing a nice four-point buck. He gave Greg and I a piece of fresh venison before happily departing for home.

Greg remained another night and departed the next day after not seeing any mature bucks to harvest. However, he did see a doe and a buck too young to shoot and we had a good time together.

I had a night to myself before Clayton, aka. "A Train" showed up to join me for two days. Meanwhile down on the west end of the campground a hunter named Wiley bagged a monstrous 14pt. buck that is sure to make waves across the state with its impressive anters. They are huge and may be record setters. The next day Wiley's buddy, Scotty downed another brute. His gorgeous animal was an 11pt. sporting a five inch drop tine. Seeing the two hanging in the same tree next to each other was an awesome sight to see. The proud hunters certainly inspired the rest of us to stay in the woods. I became friends with the two after they took pity on me and invited me over to eat some good cookin, after finding out I was alone. I ate like a king. They grilled venison sausage, pork spare ribs and a stuffed roast of backstrap, wrapped in bacon. I get hungry just thinking about it.

I saw five does before leaving to welcome Clayton to camp. Over the next three days he saw one doe and grilled boneless porkchops to eat at night. We had a great time scouting and hunting before he had to leave.

I relocated my stand after Clayton left and set my rifle down to strap it onto a tree at 1:57 in the afternoon. I heard the loud rustling of leaves coming from the direction I had just walked. The sound reminded me of a mini cyclone whipping through the woods. It happened so fast and grew loud so quickly I thought whatever it was, was about to run me over. I whipped my head around to see two mature does running past in full stride and right on their tails was a big old buck chasing them, begging for affection!

I hollered at them hoping to sow confusion and create a moment of hesitation while I reached for my rifle. It didn't work. They were so intent on their game of "catch, if catch can" I don't think they heard my bellowing or even knew I was there.

That old buck would end up being the only one I saw during the first week of bucks only. However I did see a total of twelve does and eagerly looked forward to the following week, which would be an either sex hunt with primitive firearms. I felt certain I would be bringing home some venison then. But first I needed to return home for the intervening weekend to see my brother-in-law Clifford, who had traveled all the way from Baja California (Old Mexico) to visit. And I needed a cure to a little home sickness. And I craved a hot shower, the old gravel pot-holed washboard levee road had shaken a water pipe loose in the old siver bullet. Baby wipes just didn't quite cut it with an old smelly hunter, like me.