Improving the woodlands

Over the years the higher- grade sawtimber has been harvested from our place, leaving too many large, poor- quality trees. In an effort to begin correcting that situation, we cropped it closely, about 15 years ago. Now that the overstory is again shading out the ground cover, I have begun ringing or removing some of the inferior trees. I plan to continue this in a rotation of small areas scattered through the forest. My intention is to promote growth of the young timber crop, by relieving its competition from the larger, inferior trees. Those old trees have no value as sawtimber, and very little worth as hardwood pulp. That timber will need another 15 to 20 years to mature, so it might not benefit me, but will be valuable to the next generation. Opening the overstory in spots will allow "islands" of undergrowth to develop, providing prime wildlife habitat in addition to timber improvement. I had been waiting for cool weather, and for gun season, so now I have started on another long- procrastinated project.

Gun season opens for deer

This is always something of a disappointment to me. I hunt with “real guns” too, but gun season puts much noise, activity, and hunting pressure into the woods. Generally, gun season lessons my odds of success at bowhunting, detracts from my wildlife watching and diminishes my enjoyment of the overall experience outdoors. Today I did well, however. I saw lots of chipmunks and birds around. Hawks were hunting in the trees nearby, and I saw two light- colored, medium- sized “somethings” run by… maybe those coyotes that have been waking me at night? After legal shooting time ended, I was packing my gear and saw movement that must have been deer feeding, Unfortunately, it had gotten too dark to be sure.

Keep your powder dry!

I took my smoke- pole out again, hunting morning and evening, with a midday work- period. That’s the way to do things: play all day, with a little work thrown in as an afterthought. Nobody saw deer; I guess they just weren’t moving. I hunkered down on the side of Hickory Ridge, watching that flat along the creek. I saw no deer but thought I smelled one, about 5 pm. It was a good weekend for other critters, though. Coyotes howling woke me again last night. I saw quite a bit of armadillo diggin's scattered around. Flights of geese were coming over and I could hear their calls. It thrills me to hear those geese, but I must admit, it gives me a cold and lonesome feeling, too.

Muzzle- loader season

I enjoy shooting black powder, although I have not hunted much with my muzzle- loaders. These are the guns of my ancestors… several generations back. They would be surprised and enthusiastic at some of the advances in their “primitive weapons”, but they wouldn’t even recognize some of the “muzzle- loaders” popular with today’s hunters. This little rifle is billed as a Hawken- type, but it is not very authentic to the guns of the plainsmen. The barrel is not quite as thick and is nearly a foot too short. The lock mechanism has modern coil- springs, instead of the old leaf- type springs. I’m still shooting black powder, but now you can substitute gunpowders which make much less smoke and are less corrosive. These things even come in pre- measured pellets that you just drop into your gun. I’m also still shooting patched round balls, but now you can get a wide variety of projectiles. Most of these don’t need patching, they have thin lead or plastic bases which expand into the rifling. Some of these deliver modern, high- tech bullets downrange. I guess I’m conservative; maybe it’s sentimental. But I just don’t understand the attraction of those bolt- action muzzle- loaders with telescopic sights, propelling saboted soft- point pistol bullets with Pyrodex pellets, ignited by shotgun primers. For me, such things seem to miss the point of a “primitive weapons” hunt. No thanks, not for me, but those guys help to support the wildlife and the hunting opportunities, and I am grateful for the chance to go afield and follow my own whims.

These cold- fronts make me lazy

It rained Wednesday night and was still drizzly Thursday morning; I turned off the alarm and stayed warm in my fart- sack. I puttered around camp, rather than venture onto those slippery hills. The sun finally came out about 8 am and the water ran off, so I braved it to go up Hickory Ridge and check my phone messages. I topped- out at the old wild- plum tree and that East wind was chilly. Taller “mountains” on the place are less exposed, but are more difficult to reach. The plum tree has 194 ft. elevation by GPS

Cold and breezy Friday morning, again. I hiked to the far end of the place. No critters were moving, the ravines have eroded some more back there, and that area has grown quite a thicket of cane and briars. A few birds and chipmunks started bustling around, once it warmed up. I couldn’t stay and play, however, I had to pack up and get back to town.

Acorns falling?

I’m working on marking the property line through the woods. There is some rough territory at the back end of the place. My grandfather said that land’s only use was for holding the world together. I walked up a deer at the far end of Creek Cottage… a fair- sized one, looked like, but I couldn’t tell much with the undergrowth and distance. I noted some deer sign associated with acorns on the ground. Perhaps an acorn- fall is beginning to attract them, now. The mosquitoes have gotten bad, since recent rains and the warming trend. I had been enjoying their absence.

Camp Chores

Happy Halloween

I hunted Tuesday morning in that flat between Hickory Ridge and the creek. A small deer ducked out hurriedly when I had just finished setting up and, later, I thought I smelled one- smelled like a buck. Squirrels were busy, and their activities always entertain me.

Coyotes woke me during the night with their howling and carrying- on… it is Halloween… about midnight… I hope it was coyotes!

It feels like Autumn

I slept in Monday morning. It was cold and pretty this morning, and very pleasant to lie in a sleeping bag and sip coffee. I worked at camp chores, sweeping out mud and leaves, and weeding my little garden plot. The bugs are eating up my mustard greens. I did hunt the field this afternoon; I was forced to the far end, to take advantage of the East wind. They came out about 4 pm. The old doe had two fawns- one had spots that I could still see, but they were almost faded away. The fawns were old enough to be on their own, but I passed on the “momma- deer”. Maybe she was a bit too far, anyway; and this was near that buck’s scrape. I didn’t notice when the three deer left, but they browsed around the clearing at least two hours. After sundown, another deer slipped up on the downwind side of me and snorted; maybe the buck came to check his scrape; I never would have expected him to get into that downwind position where there was only a steep bluff. I guess he knew his business better than I.

Back home in the woods

It was late when I got back to camp on Sunday... near midnight. I woke to a beautiful Monday morning, cool, clear, still. Alexandria weather had it as thirty- seven degrees… geography determines what radio stations you listen to in the Tunica Hills. A buck worked the scrape last night, at the far end of the field. Interesting that a scrape turns up at that exact spot every year. I couldn’t make out a distinct track for size; rubbings nearby were on small saplings, but he really tore them up. It has taken most of a month, but I am finally learning to walk in the woods with these glasses. I had a little trouble with them fogging, so I guess there is a learning curve in dealing with that aspect, also. I found several fresh tracks and droppings of various size under my pecan tree. I’m glad to share the pecans; guess I should fertilize and clear around some more pecan trees.

Headed to the field again in the afternoon and was late getting there, about 4:15, or so. There was a big deer in the clearing, far off, but I think it was a doe. She was pretty, still in her red- colored summer coat. She saw me and ducked into the woods. The sun set about 5:30 and it quickly got dark in the creek- bottom. I heard, but couldn’t see a deer moving in there. When I left my stand, a deer hopped out of the field, between me and the camp; that other one had never come back out.

Nooning on Hickory Ridge

This high spot on Hickory Ridge is the nearest place to my cabin I can get a cell phone signal. The small flat area would make a good campsite for one or two tents, but I've never spent the night in this particular place. There are nice downhill views all around. I often go there to make coffee, check messages, and get a little midday rest.

Papaw’s fence

This little piece of fence brings up fond memories of my grandfather. It’s one of the few vestiges left, but I don’t treat it as a shrine. I just smile at the memories when I see it. That fence post enjoyed its first incarnation as bridge planking. It has a coating of asphalt with gravel imbedded. My grandfather worked for the highway at some point, and occasionally scavenged and recycled such cast- off materials. In those days before the “Stock Law” the whole area was open range, and livestock wandered everywhere. Folks fenced the livestock out of their fields to protect the crops they were growing. Couple of times per year the neighbors would gather with hired help, and have roundups.

A somewhat humorous side note: my grandmother went to her grave, a half- century later, still angry that her husband was required to pay for having that highway job.

More close encounters

It was uncomfortably warm and humid, so I hunted a short time, early, and went on to some chores I needed to do. I continued picking up pecans under my little tree; I’d get another handful every time I passed nearby. I get as much reward from growing things as I do from hunting and fishing. Maybe it’s all in the same primal instinct. I went back to the field in the late afternoon, to see whether that big doe might come back; she might even bring some friends along. I watched the thickets and approaches until sunset, then moved to the edge so I could watch the clearing. There was the doe, feeding in the field again. With a favorable wind, I started a stalk. Unfortunately, that field edge was a tangle of limb, leaves, and vines. It was impossible to get through that stuff quietly, and it was getting too late to go a long way around and approach from another direction. So I just moved to a vantage point at the edge and hunkered down to watch. The doe was still in the clearing and another, smaller doe had joined her. The old doe was suspicious of me; probably had heard my movements in the thick stuff. She kept feeding toward me, occasionally raising her head and swiveling those ears to check out my position. The smaller deer was coming along, too. I sat tight and she fed her way abreast of my hiding spot. It was past legal hunting time and was getting too dark for a reasonable shot, but I didn’t want to alert her by moving out. I hoped to sneak away without giving away my presence. The old doe must have seen me or some freak air current may have taken my scent to her. She snorted once and both deer made a hasty exit down the field. Hiking back to camp, I heard coyotes again; this morning there had been quite a yelping, yowling, howling chorus.

A misty, moisty morning,,,

A rainy day, it finally brightened up some in the late afternoon, but continued to be misty and windy. I went over to pick up a few more pecans and poked around the edges of the field. I found some fresh deer sign and peeked out into the opening to see a good doe feeding in the clearing. She seemed oblivious to the wind and rain. She may have seen or heard me, because she was looking my way. The wind was wrong for me to try stalking closer, so I ducked back into the bushes to sneak away without disturbing her.

A little rain, finally

There was a patter of light rain most of the night on my tin roof. It was drizzly, windy, and overcast, and not much was moving in the woods. The creek was not up; there was barely enough rain to muddy it. My cabin certainly is peaceful when the shift- change traffic is absent from the highway, the camp guests have gone home, and the prison rodeo is over for the week.

Thunder in the woods

There were squirrel hunters all around this morning, so I didn’t go in the thickets, just worked on some trail maintenance and finished sorting my gear. There appears to be a good crop of pecans under that little tree I cleaned up and fertilized in the field.

Armadillo attack

I heard him long before I saw him. It amazes me how much noise an armadillo can make. They are built like a tank and just go crashing their way through life, it seems. Their skeletal structure is heavy and well reinforced, and that tough shell provides a coat of armour. Since the sprinkle of rain yesterday, food may have become more plentiful and he was out foraging. He was plowing along, with his snout and head under the dry leaves, scouring that hillside for something to eat. Eventually, he headed my direction. I was sitting on the ground, watching the squirrels play and hoping to see a deer, and he kept coming directly toward me. It made me nervous, he was way up the hill and making a beeline straight toward me. Well, armadillos don't bite that I know of, but they do have long sharp claws mounted on powerful forelimbs. There also have been some instances of them carrying leprosy. They don't see well and don't respond to shouting, and he kept coming at me. Finally, I reached out with an arrow and tapped him, lightly and then more vigorously... didn't faze him; he just kept coming! So, just before he started rooting against my leg, I put my hand on his back and pinned him down to the ground. He didn't like that treatment very much. He squirmed and wiggled and bucked and arched his back, and when I let up, he reversed directions and hurried off to do his armadillo- things elsewhere.

Simple pleasures for simple minds: playing with caterpillars

Ah, retirement. I found a pretty caterpillar close to the cabin and took the time to look him over.

Death of an old friend

The big old beech tree where I always liked to camp has finally fallen. It was a nice, flat, shady spot, close to water and just off the trail. If it rained, the joke was on me, because all of those beech leaves held enough water, that it continued to drip for hours after the rain had ended. The tree has been dead for some time, with shelf fungi scattered around its trunk. It was damaged somehow in the last logging operations. There was a broken winch cable under the old tree, so I suspect they may have winched or tied off to it and injured the roots. It was not a good timber- quality tree, but I had a sentimental attachment. The old tree held onto life for a long time and now it “lies in state” for passers- by on the trail to view.

Burrowing nymph

I often see these little trails on the creek banks and marvel that something is crawling around in that sand and silt, and making a living at it. One time, I had to dig one out, to see what kind of critter was responsible. I assumed it was a bug and, sure enough, it was an ugly, creepy- looking larva. I guessed it was a dragonfly nymph of some sort.