A number of years ago, I received a call prior to the season opener inviting me up for a hunt in San Saba county. It was a place I knew and admired - around 700 acres, numerous deer, hogs, wild goats, turkeys and varmints with a tank full of catfish. I'm not sure I've ever hunted a better place. As there was another section of land available much more open with less brush, everyone else on the lease elected to hunt there opening morning which gave me this whole place for myself. Wow. With no one else on the property, I decided to still hunt through the cedars and live oaks. I made my way through the gate before daylight and parked the truck up on the ridge just inside I grabbed my binoculars and rifle, chambered a cartridge, and began hunting towards the tank.
Opening morning brings a freshness of energy, a newness to life, anticipation of opportunities and a freedom from the trappings of modern-day living. It's you and the earth...and the prey. This day I wanted to simply enjoy the experience of watching the sun rise as I became one with the environment, watching the animals move about as if I were one of them. Through an opening in the brush, I watched the ducks dapple on the pond in the distance. Within a few yards a cottontail busily chewed some grass, watching me with curiosity, unafraid. I donned my bandanna to hide the whiteness of my face, pulled on my chocolate-brown cotton gloves to cover my hands and began slipping through the brush, standing still and looking around for 5 minutes for every 45 seconds I spent moving towards the tank. As the sun rose, it peaked over my shoulder and I stayed close to cedar limbs to break my outline. Twenty yards ahead a doe stepped into an opening quartering to the right away from me, completely unaware. She looked hard right and I froze, then she looked left and began heading directly away from me. I quickly dropped to a knee, bringing my rifle up as antlers began coming behind the top of the cedar bush the doe had stepped out from. The buck's stopped with his head and neck extending beyond and his body covered by the cedar bush as my heart began drumming in my ears. The buck looked to my right and then straight at me...I didn't move. He looked away, took one step and looked back at me. That one step put his vitals in the open and I took the shot. At the recoil, he ran where he was looking - towards me. I stood as I worked the bolt and shot him from the hip less than 3 yards away, which slammed him to the ground, dead on his feet. Then I got the shakes...
I don't believe he was charging me, but simply running in the direction he was facing as his body instinctively responded to the impact. He was an 8-pointer with long times and a 15 1/2 inch spread. It all happened in less than two minutes from when I saw the doe step out. And all I was really looking for was an early morning walk. I field-dressed the buck, all the time fully appreciating taking an animal of this caliber without doing any scouting or field work ahead of time - this buck was better than average for the area. As I made my way to the truck feeling blessed and relaxed, I stumbled onto another buck of the same caliber. Not wanting to tag out both my bucks on opening morning, I decided to save this one for another day...I never saw him or a buck as big as this one again during that season, but it gave me something to look forward to throughout the season.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Starting off the New Year Right
A previous year, New Year's day fell on a Wednesday. Hmmm, what to do with only one day off in the middle of the week?
The wheels began turning in my head. I had been hunting a better-than-average buck in the hill country 2 1/2 hours away. Let's see - I could get there around 8 pm Tuesday night, get up at the break of dawn, hunt until dark, and be home around 9 PM...it was a no-brainer, I went after him. The buck I pursued was special...he was big-bodied, with dark antlers, 'the boss' of his world and more elusive than the others...I had seen him only once before - in the rain across a raging creek that was impassable, as he raked a bush with his antlers. It was all I could do to not shoot him - as he was in range and unaware I was around; and I knew from experience I may never see him in the scope again. At that point, I decided it was him or nothing. A hunt for a specific animal is a very different kind of hunt than for any representative animal. It's personal.
New Year's Eve I arrived at the cabin in the dark on a cold night, quickly laid out my gear for the next day, checked my rifle and equipment and was soon on the bed in my sleeping bag. It was so cold, I laid the bag over my head, creating a small breathing hole through the covers. Sometime, deep in the night, I heard scratching on the wood floor, then felt a weight on the bed until it moved up on top of my head. A Rat! I ripped off the covers, slamming the rat against a wall, heard the thud against the floor and it scurrying away into the darkness. The things you gotta do to kill a deer!
I was up before dawn fixing my coffee and oatmeal, turning over the options in my head for the day's hunt, trying to decide the best place to be, considering the wind and angle of the rising sun on the landscape. This would be my last opportunity to hunt him for the season. My plan that morning allowed several opportunities for nice hill country bucks, but my buck was a no-show.
That evening, I decided to hunt from a new spot from within a thin brushline near a dry creek bed, with different views of the property. I setup in some agarita brush with my folding camo chair and created an opening I could move my rifle freely within. I settled down after a few position-checks, where I shouldered the rifle in various directions and created rests in event a shot presented itself. I reaffirmed to myself that I would holdout for this one buck, as I had a long drive before having to go to work the following day, and no other deer would be worth the effort, at this point.
The evening was beautiful, partly cloudy, cool with a slight wind and the deer came out to enjoy the weather. Several smaller bucks and lots of does moved back and forth through openings in the brush and the exposed pasture, not uncommon in Mason county, where sightings of 40-50 deer during one hunt are common. I felt great and began to accept that the big one got away again for another year, yet reveled in my last deer hunt of the season, taking in the orangish sunset, the smell of the country air, the feeling of the coolness beginning to cover the ground and hoping I could contain these memories until next fall's deer season. I came out of my trance when some deer appeared at the top of the ridge running. There was almost no daylight left. I scoped the deer and found my buck chasing a doe and began swinging the rifle to the right trying to gauge the speed and distance. Suddenly, the scope had brush encroaching on the right side of the view and I squeezed the trigger. The shot seemed horribly loud and foreign in the peaceful world of the sunset. Muzzle glare stole my night vision momentarily. I made a mental note of exactly where the buck was when I squeezed off the shot to keep from becoming disoriented in the darkness, as I would have to walk 300 yards to where he was. I could see no movement on the hillside - it was too dark to see deer through the pockets of brush - then a flash of white caught my eye 40 yards to the right of where I was focusing. I wondered what that could be. I stood. I closed my eyes and replayed the shot - memorizing the last image of the sight picture - it looked good. Again, I took notice of the exact spot the buck was last seen on the ridge. I hung a tissue on a bush about head high where I was for a marker, and began walking toward the ridge. Quickly, I was where the buck was last seen when ...no blood, nothing out of place. Hmmm...I knew I had to to slow down, take my time and refocus on looking for sign. I was becoming distracted by my work schedule and the pressing need to get back home.
It was cold and dark here. I was alone. Maybe I missed? But no, the sight picture in my head said 'no, it was a good shot.' I tagged the bush he had disappeared in with tissue and began walking in small circles around the bush, looking for anything out of place and especially looking for blood...and found nothing. I walked in larger circles, becoming more desperate, and it was beginning to appear that I had missed. It was a long shot, the buck was running, the light was bad. "Well, maybe the rifle is off", I thought to myself, making a note to check it at the range when I could. Then I remembered the flash of white I had seen - it was a quick flash about 40 yards distant in the center of the brush. I went back to the spot I had shot from, and using my binoculars, I found the tissue on the bush where the buck was last seen. Based on memory, I marked where I had seen the white flash and mentally noted an odd-shaped bush where the flash was. Every 20 yards or so in the darkness, I would look through my binoculars to ensure I was heading in the right direction, finding the tissue marking where the buck was last and finding the odd-shaped bush near where the white flash appeared. Finally I was at the odd-shaped bush and noted nothing unusual. My flashlight was the only source of light now with its meager range, as the sun had fully set.
I marked the odd-shaped bush with a tissue and began walking circles around it. Within 10 yards I found my buck - dead - gut shot. I field-dressed it on the spot and admired the heavy-bodied 8-pointer with a 16-inch spread. What a beauty! I marked a bush by the buck, and headed to camp to get the truck. I got the truck stuck in a small creek bed going to pick him up in the pasture but finally broke free, found my way to the deer, loaded it and hauled it to a processor. What a great way to end the season!
I got lucky on this one in several ways, but persistence carried me to the place where luck took over.
The wheels began turning in my head. I had been hunting a better-than-average buck in the hill country 2 1/2 hours away. Let's see - I could get there around 8 pm Tuesday night, get up at the break of dawn, hunt until dark, and be home around 9 PM...it was a no-brainer, I went after him. The buck I pursued was special...he was big-bodied, with dark antlers, 'the boss' of his world and more elusive than the others...I had seen him only once before - in the rain across a raging creek that was impassable, as he raked a bush with his antlers. It was all I could do to not shoot him - as he was in range and unaware I was around; and I knew from experience I may never see him in the scope again. At that point, I decided it was him or nothing. A hunt for a specific animal is a very different kind of hunt than for any representative animal. It's personal.
New Year's Eve I arrived at the cabin in the dark on a cold night, quickly laid out my gear for the next day, checked my rifle and equipment and was soon on the bed in my sleeping bag. It was so cold, I laid the bag over my head, creating a small breathing hole through the covers. Sometime, deep in the night, I heard scratching on the wood floor, then felt a weight on the bed until it moved up on top of my head. A Rat! I ripped off the covers, slamming the rat against a wall, heard the thud against the floor and it scurrying away into the darkness. The things you gotta do to kill a deer!
I was up before dawn fixing my coffee and oatmeal, turning over the options in my head for the day's hunt, trying to decide the best place to be, considering the wind and angle of the rising sun on the landscape. This would be my last opportunity to hunt him for the season. My plan that morning allowed several opportunities for nice hill country bucks, but my buck was a no-show.
That evening, I decided to hunt from a new spot from within a thin brushline near a dry creek bed, with different views of the property. I setup in some agarita brush with my folding camo chair and created an opening I could move my rifle freely within. I settled down after a few position-checks, where I shouldered the rifle in various directions and created rests in event a shot presented itself. I reaffirmed to myself that I would holdout for this one buck, as I had a long drive before having to go to work the following day, and no other deer would be worth the effort, at this point.
The evening was beautiful, partly cloudy, cool with a slight wind and the deer came out to enjoy the weather. Several smaller bucks and lots of does moved back and forth through openings in the brush and the exposed pasture, not uncommon in Mason county, where sightings of 40-50 deer during one hunt are common. I felt great and began to accept that the big one got away again for another year, yet reveled in my last deer hunt of the season, taking in the orangish sunset, the smell of the country air, the feeling of the coolness beginning to cover the ground and hoping I could contain these memories until next fall's deer season. I came out of my trance when some deer appeared at the top of the ridge running. There was almost no daylight left. I scoped the deer and found my buck chasing a doe and began swinging the rifle to the right trying to gauge the speed and distance. Suddenly, the scope had brush encroaching on the right side of the view and I squeezed the trigger. The shot seemed horribly loud and foreign in the peaceful world of the sunset. Muzzle glare stole my night vision momentarily. I made a mental note of exactly where the buck was when I squeezed off the shot to keep from becoming disoriented in the darkness, as I would have to walk 300 yards to where he was. I could see no movement on the hillside - it was too dark to see deer through the pockets of brush - then a flash of white caught my eye 40 yards to the right of where I was focusing. I wondered what that could be. I stood. I closed my eyes and replayed the shot - memorizing the last image of the sight picture - it looked good. Again, I took notice of the exact spot the buck was last seen on the ridge. I hung a tissue on a bush about head high where I was for a marker, and began walking toward the ridge. Quickly, I was where the buck was last seen when ...no blood, nothing out of place. Hmmm...I knew I had to to slow down, take my time and refocus on looking for sign. I was becoming distracted by my work schedule and the pressing need to get back home.
It was cold and dark here. I was alone. Maybe I missed? But no, the sight picture in my head said 'no, it was a good shot.' I tagged the bush he had disappeared in with tissue and began walking in small circles around the bush, looking for anything out of place and especially looking for blood...and found nothing. I walked in larger circles, becoming more desperate, and it was beginning to appear that I had missed. It was a long shot, the buck was running, the light was bad. "Well, maybe the rifle is off", I thought to myself, making a note to check it at the range when I could. Then I remembered the flash of white I had seen - it was a quick flash about 40 yards distant in the center of the brush. I went back to the spot I had shot from, and using my binoculars, I found the tissue on the bush where the buck was last seen. Based on memory, I marked where I had seen the white flash and mentally noted an odd-shaped bush where the flash was. Every 20 yards or so in the darkness, I would look through my binoculars to ensure I was heading in the right direction, finding the tissue marking where the buck was last and finding the odd-shaped bush near where the white flash appeared. Finally I was at the odd-shaped bush and noted nothing unusual. My flashlight was the only source of light now with its meager range, as the sun had fully set.
I marked the odd-shaped bush with a tissue and began walking circles around it. Within 10 yards I found my buck - dead - gut shot. I field-dressed it on the spot and admired the heavy-bodied 8-pointer with a 16-inch spread. What a beauty! I marked a bush by the buck, and headed to camp to get the truck. I got the truck stuck in a small creek bed going to pick him up in the pasture but finally broke free, found my way to the deer, loaded it and hauled it to a processor. What a great way to end the season!
I got lucky on this one in several ways, but persistence carried me to the place where luck took over.
Monday, January 11, 2010
My Ideal Hog Rifle
This is something I have been working on for some time...hogs are always available for sport in Texas...at night, with lights, using bait, anyway you want to kill a hog, you can, in Texas. This is a golden opportunity - a world where you can hunt anytime, in anyway you would like, with no limits, no tags, no restrictions and knowing that when you take a shot, you will be improving the habitat as hogs are overpopulated and destructive. Other benefits include them being the 'other white meat' as well as being challenging to hunt, with a hint of danger. An unending supply of fun awaits. My hunting experience usually finds me within 100 yards of hogs with them moving endlessly, in sub-optimum light, before disappearing. If you could pick your ideal hog gun, what would it be?
I've gone through several iterations and am in a happy place with my recent choice after a lot of field-testing. I've learned you want a bullet with enough lethality (is that a real word?) to drop a pig in its tracks when properly placed. I knew that all along, but at one time I was carrying a .44 revolver with a scope - nothing wrong with the caliber, but a little difficult to place the bullet accurately time after time using a pistol. This lesson was reinforced on a summer night in South Texas, recently. One night, shortly after dark, using a light, I shot a large hog. It squealed and ran through the black brush. This particular summer had brought alot of rain and the grass and black brush was incredibly thick and waist-high. I decided to head back to the truck and drive to the last spot the hog was seen. From there I retrieved a spotlight and a pistol without a scope to navigate through the brush. I took my time and considered all the things that could happen while pursuing a wounded hog in the black Texas summer night. I had been reading African hunting stories and imagined myself as a PH retrieving an injured animal and wondered how they did it. It sounds adventurous, almost fun when reading about it, but to step in those boots puts it into a different light. Dropping a hog in its tracks became much more important than before. Cautiously, looking for snakes with each step, I followed the blood trail as it entered a tunnel within the black brush. There was nothing to do but enter the tunnel on hands and knees, trying to keep the thorns from ripping my shirt while keeping alert for the hog. Splashes of bright red clearly marked the hog's trail - right up to the monster rattler crossing the trail. The snake's head had already passed and the body was crossing the trail much as a train crosses a road. And it kept on going. And it kept moving. Finally, I decided to shoot the snake. I held on the snake and squeezed the trigger...and several rattlers in this bush began rattling all around me. I backed out of the tunnel after checking my backtrail closely and decided I could wait to retrieve this particular hog until a later time.
Next, I moved to a 30/06 with a Zeiss 3X9X50 as a way to improve accuracy and pick up the most light possible. I began setting feeders to go off 30 minutes after dark and hunted only on moonlit nights. When doing this, it's critical to know when the moon rises as if it does not come up until 2 AM, there is a lot of dark time until you have enough light to shoot with. This was pretty successful, but I had some challenges with cloud cover dimming my light and seeing the precise 'cross' in the crosshairs. I was shooting really large boars that could prove dangerous if you pursue them in the bush and I wanted toknow exactly where the bullet was going.
I progressed to a night light on my feeders so I could see crosshairs clearly on the hogs. This worked great when the hogs would come under the light but sometimes I had educated hogs who would not enter into the light under the feeder - they would skirt around it and never come into the light - all I could see were silhouettes, which absorbed the crosshairs and made it impossible to be precise.
Now I have a scope with an illuminated reticle - a Weaver Classic Extreme 3X9X50 with a 30mm tube. A .35 Whelen makes a bigger hole than a 30/06, so I got a M700 CDL and had the barrel shortened for ease of use and quick handling. This has proven to be the best hog rig I've had so far. I call it 'Thumper' and it optimizes everything about hog hunting for me. After alot of trial and error hunting hogs in many different circumstances, I think I will be using this rig for a long, long time.
I took this hog recently in the evening on a dark moon. I climbed into my tree blind after scattering some corn on a hog trail and watched the sun drop beneath the tree tops. As the sun was brightly in my eye when looking west, I was impressed by how fast it went from bright in my eye, to partially obscured to wholly gone, within seconds. Then I heard the grunting of pigs. I looked where I placed the the corn in the trail 50 yards distant but could see nothing with my naked eye. I looked through my binoculars and a herd of hogs jumped out at me. Amazing - they were right there, but in the darkness, were invisible to my naked eyes. Since this hog was the largest, I put my scope on it, and the crosshairs disappeared. I illuminated the reticle, which lights a small dot in the vortex of the crosshairs, and placed it on the point of the shoulder. The gun boomed as I squeezed the trigger and the hog lie motionless.
When taking the shot, I did not know whether it was a sow or boar, whether it was big or small - only that it was the largest in the herd and was well within range. I could see only its darkness of form, and when it was broadside. And that's all that 'Thumper' needs to add to its collection of successes.
I've gone through several iterations and am in a happy place with my recent choice after a lot of field-testing. I've learned you want a bullet with enough lethality (is that a real word?) to drop a pig in its tracks when properly placed. I knew that all along, but at one time I was carrying a .44 revolver with a scope - nothing wrong with the caliber, but a little difficult to place the bullet accurately time after time using a pistol. This lesson was reinforced on a summer night in South Texas, recently. One night, shortly after dark, using a light, I shot a large hog. It squealed and ran through the black brush. This particular summer had brought alot of rain and the grass and black brush was incredibly thick and waist-high. I decided to head back to the truck and drive to the last spot the hog was seen. From there I retrieved a spotlight and a pistol without a scope to navigate through the brush. I took my time and considered all the things that could happen while pursuing a wounded hog in the black Texas summer night. I had been reading African hunting stories and imagined myself as a PH retrieving an injured animal and wondered how they did it. It sounds adventurous, almost fun when reading about it, but to step in those boots puts it into a different light. Dropping a hog in its tracks became much more important than before. Cautiously, looking for snakes with each step, I followed the blood trail as it entered a tunnel within the black brush. There was nothing to do but enter the tunnel on hands and knees, trying to keep the thorns from ripping my shirt while keeping alert for the hog. Splashes of bright red clearly marked the hog's trail - right up to the monster rattler crossing the trail. The snake's head had already passed and the body was crossing the trail much as a train crosses a road. And it kept on going. And it kept moving. Finally, I decided to shoot the snake. I held on the snake and squeezed the trigger...and several rattlers in this bush began rattling all around me. I backed out of the tunnel after checking my backtrail closely and decided I could wait to retrieve this particular hog until a later time.
Next, I moved to a 30/06 with a Zeiss 3X9X50 as a way to improve accuracy and pick up the most light possible. I began setting feeders to go off 30 minutes after dark and hunted only on moonlit nights. When doing this, it's critical to know when the moon rises as if it does not come up until 2 AM, there is a lot of dark time until you have enough light to shoot with. This was pretty successful, but I had some challenges with cloud cover dimming my light and seeing the precise 'cross' in the crosshairs. I was shooting really large boars that could prove dangerous if you pursue them in the bush and I wanted toknow exactly where the bullet was going.
I progressed to a night light on my feeders so I could see crosshairs clearly on the hogs. This worked great when the hogs would come under the light but sometimes I had educated hogs who would not enter into the light under the feeder - they would skirt around it and never come into the light - all I could see were silhouettes, which absorbed the crosshairs and made it impossible to be precise.
Now I have a scope with an illuminated reticle - a Weaver Classic Extreme 3X9X50 with a 30mm tube. A .35 Whelen makes a bigger hole than a 30/06, so I got a M700 CDL and had the barrel shortened for ease of use and quick handling. This has proven to be the best hog rig I've had so far. I call it 'Thumper' and it optimizes everything about hog hunting for me. After alot of trial and error hunting hogs in many different circumstances, I think I will be using this rig for a long, long time.
When taking the shot, I did not know whether it was a sow or boar, whether it was big or small - only that it was the largest in the herd and was well within range. I could see only its darkness of form, and when it was broadside. And that's all that 'Thumper' needs to add to its collection of successes.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Birthday Buck
Sometimes, things just work out. My birthday is in December, during the week when you take finals if you're in college. This year's birthday was different - it made up for the years of taking finals as my birthday present. This year on my birthday, I arose in the predawn to a fog - a fog so thick that wetness permeated everything and visibility was nil. Based on the previous morning, the rising sun would thicken the fog even more. I decided to hunt a place I had not hunted in two years...a cedar thicket in a corner of the property that I rarely frequent.
I set out that morning with low expectations but a heart of gratitude for being able to spend time outdoors on my birthday. I took a small cup of corn and dribbled it in strategic places in hopes of slowing down any game animals that may come by. As I settled into my position, I noticed tiny droplets accumulating on my binoculars and rifle and wondered how long it would be before I could see the area around me. The wind fluctuated gently, sometimes bringing more moisture and other times, clearing the air around me for 50-75 yards distant. Minutes dragged by slowly. Eight o'clock and nothing. Everything on me is dripping in moisture. I decide to wait until 8:30 before heading back to enjoy a hot cup of coffee. Daylight is beginning to filter through the fog, with shadows of the treetops and limbs taking on odd shapes as dense fog is pushed by pockets of clear air. All is deathly silent. It seems magical.
I look up and there are antlers heading my way. White antlers. Not a trophy to most, but where I am, a trophy indeed. He stops to taste the corn. I move the rifle to my shoulder, awkwardly raising my leg to lay the rifle on my knee and I scrape my boot against some brush. He looks directly at me and decides something is not right and moves off through the brush. I spot an opening he should cross and setup on that spot. He never breaks a stride and I squeeze off as he moves through the opening. At the shot, he lurches back and runs one step and is out of view. I reflect on the shot - it felt good. I wait a few moments and replay the shot again in my mind - same thoughts - he should be dead. Quietly, I make my way toward where I last saw him. As I begin moving towards where he ran, I see antlers on the ground and am rewarded with my buck.
I set out that morning with low expectations but a heart of gratitude for being able to spend time outdoors on my birthday. I took a small cup of corn and dribbled it in strategic places in hopes of slowing down any game animals that may come by. As I settled into my position, I noticed tiny droplets accumulating on my binoculars and rifle and wondered how long it would be before I could see the area around me. The wind fluctuated gently, sometimes bringing more moisture and other times, clearing the air around me for 50-75 yards distant. Minutes dragged by slowly. Eight o'clock and nothing. Everything on me is dripping in moisture. I decide to wait until 8:30 before heading back to enjoy a hot cup of coffee. Daylight is beginning to filter through the fog, with shadows of the treetops and limbs taking on odd shapes as dense fog is pushed by pockets of clear air. All is deathly silent. It seems magical.
I look up and there are antlers heading my way. White antlers. Not a trophy to most, but where I am, a trophy indeed. He stops to taste the corn. I move the rifle to my shoulder, awkwardly raising my leg to lay the rifle on my knee and I scrape my boot against some brush. He looks directly at me and decides something is not right and moves off through the brush. I spot an opening he should cross and setup on that spot. He never breaks a stride and I squeeze off as he moves through the opening. At the shot, he lurches back and runs one step and is out of view. I reflect on the shot - it felt good. I wait a few moments and replay the shot again in my mind - same thoughts - he should be dead. Quietly, I make my way toward where I last saw him. As I begin moving towards where he ran, I see antlers on the ground and am rewarded with my buck.
Fox in a Tree
When you spend enough time in the field, occasionally you are treated with sightings of especially shy animals - such as a gray fox. Recently, as I focused on the deer in front of me, my peripheral vision picked up movement 25 yards away and I could make out a fluffy tail moving through the grass. I reached for my rifle and, as the blind creaked, the fox looked up and began trotting away from me. Instinctively, I hand-squeaked, mimicking a rodent in distress, and although the fox obviously saw me, it began trotting toward me in an attempt to get downwind. It stopped for a split second and I squeezed the trigger as the crosshairs found its body. The fox is a pretty small animal - especially when it's moving. My shot grazed its underbody and severed a back leg. The fox was going in circles, crying out and biting itself and then headed off to a cedar tree, where it climbed up as high as it could get up a limb.
Hmmm, what to do? I didn't want to send a bullet through the air to parts unknown, so I decided I would shoot the fox on the ground. The trick was to get him on the ground - something he really did not want. I began by throwing sticks and rocks and bumping him around but that was not getting anywhere, so I decided to sit down 20 yards out under a big oak shielded by branches from him, hoping he would come down...a few minutes later, it looked like he was sleeping. I did not want him to rest so I moved back under him and he became alert, growling and barking as if he would eat me if I came up his limb. As the sun was rising, I came out of my thermals, jackets and gloves, stood my rifle up against a tree and gathered a pile of baseball-sized rocks, all the while keeping one eye on the fox in the tree. After tossing several rocks (most near-hits and a few dead-on hits), I finally knocked him from the limb. As he hit the ground, I dashed for my rifle and cut an angle to see around the tree he had put between us. I snapped a shot at a blurry furball 40 yards out and knew I had missed. As I ran towards him, I worked the bolt and instantly fired another round into the ground. "OK", I thought, "better keep my finger off the trigger while I'm running with my rifle". I worked the bolt again, wondering how many more shots I had, as I was trying to find this fox. I came through an opening of the cedars and noticed a bush moving to my left and began looking up in the tree - then I spotted his reddish hide on the ground underneath the limbs, 25 yards distant. Quickly, I kneeled down and found him in the scope, through a myriad of limbs. I squeezed the trigger and instantly, he dropped. As I worked the bolt, I chambered my last bullet and noticed a limb severed cleanly in two, yet the bullet still found its mark. This little animal took me over an hour to collect and required 4 shots. I skinned him as his pelt was extremely luxurious.
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