Post by Burnston on Dec 30, 2023 20:33:46 GMT -5
Oklahoma has an extended end-of-the-year doe season during which I usually top off the freezer if space still remains. My three year old caught me in the wee hours this morning as I got ready to leave for the woods, and tough as I might sometimes try to come off, I struggle to resist the whole "daddy, please" troupe. He's proven himself as a tough hand in the freezing cold; stalking through the woods quietly, or sitting silently for hours, on the other hand, is an entirely different matter. Having never gone after white tail with me, I could not be sure how the morning would progress, though I had my suspicions.
Packing some age appropriate books, a bag full of homemade venison jerky, an age appropriate pistol (plastic,) and a semi truck or two, we said goodbye to his mother at 4am and off we went. As I suspected, he was no hand at silent woods stalking, so we found us a naturally concealed spot with a back rest adjacent to a trail I had scouted out and there we sat. He lasted a good two hours before the books and looking through the binoculars lost their charm, so I resigned myself to likely going home empty handed. Turns out, it was well worth it.
We walked almost four miles, getting three armadillo with the ol' .35 Remington. He learned to distinguish a deer and hog track, finding an abundance of both. My son wanted a snack, and I obliged with a head shot to a cocky red fox squirrel with the .44spl. While I am very thankful this is not our only option, the company and the atmosphere made the unseasoned meat delightful. A nice bed of coals and some fresh cut green branches served as our grill.
Unable to finish the vast meal in one sitting, he placed it in his pocket and periodically took bites off of it as we travelled. By the end of our jaunt, the bones were 100% clean, making him more legitimate as an outdoorsman than yours truly, as mine still had a bit of meat on it when I tossed it.
We sighted a fourth armadillo, but he requested we catch this one instead of shooting it. He must have been an old hand because the wily dasypodidae made it to his den in short order. My son then suggested we smoke him out, so we built a fire in at the mouth of his den and used my jacket to plug the hole. We walked away with a smoke scented jacket and no armadillo.
Every mile he was rewarded with a rest and a snack, at which point he insisted on roasting his jerky over an open flame. "Cowboys do it this way, dad."
No deer were taken on today's excursion. No tears were shed over this.
Packing some age appropriate books, a bag full of homemade venison jerky, an age appropriate pistol (plastic,) and a semi truck or two, we said goodbye to his mother at 4am and off we went. As I suspected, he was no hand at silent woods stalking, so we found us a naturally concealed spot with a back rest adjacent to a trail I had scouted out and there we sat. He lasted a good two hours before the books and looking through the binoculars lost their charm, so I resigned myself to likely going home empty handed. Turns out, it was well worth it.
We walked almost four miles, getting three armadillo with the ol' .35 Remington. He learned to distinguish a deer and hog track, finding an abundance of both. My son wanted a snack, and I obliged with a head shot to a cocky red fox squirrel with the .44spl. While I am very thankful this is not our only option, the company and the atmosphere made the unseasoned meat delightful. A nice bed of coals and some fresh cut green branches served as our grill.
Unable to finish the vast meal in one sitting, he placed it in his pocket and periodically took bites off of it as we travelled. By the end of our jaunt, the bones were 100% clean, making him more legitimate as an outdoorsman than yours truly, as mine still had a bit of meat on it when I tossed it.
We sighted a fourth armadillo, but he requested we catch this one instead of shooting it. He must have been an old hand because the wily dasypodidae made it to his den in short order. My son then suggested we smoke him out, so we built a fire in at the mouth of his den and used my jacket to plug the hole. We walked away with a smoke scented jacket and no armadillo.
Every mile he was rewarded with a rest and a snack, at which point he insisted on roasting his jerky over an open flame. "Cowboys do it this way, dad."
No deer were taken on today's excursion. No tears were shed over this.