Edge

Once when I was about 12, my dad and I came across a deer that had been killed, partially eaten and somewhat buried by a bear. Dad asked me if I wanted my first bear and I was afraid to say "Thank you, but NO," If I had said no, dad may have replaced me with my sister as one of his hunting partners. A big pine had blown over about 20' from the kill, it's roots took enough dirt and rock with it to make a nice looking fox hole to lay low in and wait. Dad gave me his 30-06 Game Master with extra clip, .357 Ruger, a walkie-talkie, 5 cell flash light and a thermos full of hot, black coffee.Then dad left. Walking back to the jeep he said, "Nice knowing ya, son" and "Don't tell your mother." Yup, dad left me there to battle the bear alone and grow the heck up, I reckon.... Heck, I thought I'd done all that growin up stuff when he taught me at 9 how to fist fight while wearing roller skates. Love you, dad!

I was laughing so hard I think I accidently clicked on the dislike button. Sorry.

yes azgf is doing aerial surveys of south central thru se AZ thru early Feb.

I'd like to try that lost beef call...bet it works great. I was probably about 8 years old when my dad started teaching me to call. 45 years later, I'm taking a renewed interest in calling and I'm using the same hand me down call. It's a distressed rabbit. It worked, called in lions, bobcat, coyote, various birds and even deer. The deer let their curiosity get the best of them. Another hunter convinced me to carry a squeaky toy, too. I've seen predators stop dead in their tracks at the sound of a Hello Kitty chew toy.

I have bobcats in my backyard....

Without going back and reading the story again (I heard it first hand), Let me assure you the only thing that's smells like fish, is the fact that the dweeb whom wrote the story is not an outdoorsman or hunter. He took journalistic license to the point of the absurd. It was about like sending an auto mechanic to do a climatology report. Last I heard, the head is hanging at the community college classroom in Blanding, UT where Max's son is an instructor. I love Mrs. Johnson with all my heart, but honestly, Max or his son should've been interviewed for the story, not that the hick reporter would have got it right...Knowing Max, I'm sure he was busy tending to his 5,000 acre farm and herd of Foxtrotters in Eastland, UT. The head is an SCI record, not WSI. There is no WSI nor do I recall that mistake made, but it wouldn't surprise me. The reporter never even bothered to mention the SCI score. The head was discovered at an outdoors expo in Salt Lake, not an SCI Convention. Max's son is a teacher and hunting guide and had a booth there displaying the head and his Alaska guiding services. Max is not concerned about the money this deer head may be worth, he believes his treasure awaits him. He is a devote Christian and loving family man that I have great admiration for. Oh and as a side note, the buck had been scored before by Boone and Crockett but received some lesser score.

Heading that way for archery deer, any boots on the ground there recently?

And a light weight tarp over ya in that hammock if it's cool or wet. Always nice to be up off the ground, specially when those crawley things come out. Anybody remember what happened to Lucas McCain when he woke up with a visitor in his fartsack?

I feel your pain. Took a friend of my wife's on a scouting/hunting ride thru a wilderness area with our small group of horsemen. I'm the only one with a rifle and tag. She too slammed the truck doors and yelled several times and when we started our 20 mile loop, kept trotting out ahead of our group, foiling any chance I had of seeing game. Heck she didn't even know where we were going.LOL At one point, even after a couple of lectures, the rest of us stopped and watched her meander nearly 1/4 mile out ahead while singing to herself. We had a good laugh but had to break our own silence and yell at her to come back before she was out of audio range. I can't recall the last time I met someone so keenly unaware. But we all had a good ride thru Gods country, placed some trail cams and that beats any day I've ever spent in town.

Most of the essentials have been mentioned, let me add one. Socks. Dry, clean wool socks. Even if your boots are waterproof, your feet sweat, bring 3 pair minimum and change 'em daily; just like Lt. Dan advised Pvt. Gump.

When I was 13 or 14, dad and I were hunting deer near Hannigan's Meadow. Walking down an old logging road, it was windy out. There was a steep canyon below us and steep hill beside us. Had to take a leak, told my dad so and handed him my rifle. He stepped forward about 30' and kept his back to me as he started glassing the hills ahead. I felt I'd made a big mistake giving dad my rifle when I could have just shouldered it. Suddenly a black bear walked into the road between dad and I. He'd been climbing up the canyon to our right and was now walking between me and pop. I didn't make a sound. The bear walked over to a tree 15' to my left and was sniffing it and circling it. Then he lifted his leg like a dog and began pissing. A couple seconds later his eyes met mine and he realized he wasn't alone. He woofed at me a couple times, then spun around on his heels and shot up the hill. So for an instance, we two strangers met there in the forest, answering natures call as one..

My family was raised on venison, quail, rabbit and squirrel. I was probably 5 or 6 when I was turned loose with a slingshot and told what I could and couldn't shoot. A year later I had a 40# recurve that my uncle had nearly worn out and a pellet gun. By age 10, I was spending a third of the year living with my grandparents on a remote ranch in sw NM. I had a .22 over 20 ga, Savage and 78,000 acres to hunt on. I supplied our dinner table with meat as well as the dinner plates of the many Hispanic migrants on foot that would stop at the ranch looking for work. They were tired from walking and they ate what we ate and they were never sent on their way hungry or thirsty. I have to credit my father and grandfather with teaching me the essentials of hunting and marksmanship, And my dad for making me understand how patience and just being still is rewarding.

The cats on that lionesses hip would have a tough time surviving on their own. They look to me like they could use another 6 month to a year learning from mom. Lions need controlled, not eliminated. There is nothing so thrilling as to get a glimpse of one these creatures while out in the sticks, to humble a man. They live by their wits and fangs and I respect them and hunt them. I'm talking from the point of view of a former rancher whom has lost livestock to them. It's the price we pay sometimes for sharing the top rung in the food ladder.

These pics were taken an hour from the valley. Got pics of the lion coming 2 out 3 nights at almost the exact same time....Must be a local to the water hole. The dates are wrong on the pics, I'm going after this Tom. Is it just me or is that one massive cat?!