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…. CAW’S and DAWG’S
By Tom R. Fassbinder
Ark, ark, ark…yippee, ark, ark … yippee, yippeeee ……The coyotes began sounding off just moments before first light. From the various tones and multiple locations of their howls I estimated that there were at least six different dawgs chiming in to announce the impending dawn of a new day and the end to another wild night on the prowl. A chill ran down my spine as for a brief wild moment I envisioned that the coyotes had completely circled my position in a classic predator –vs- prey scenario. The circumstance was bone chilling in an exhilarating kind of way that any real outdoor enthusiast would understand. “Bring it on,†I muttered under my breath hoping that a big alpha male might hear me and venture a bit closer.
Caw…. Caaww… Caaww… Within minutes a large flock of crows had wrestled away the grand outdoor orchestra chores from the coyotes. They had gathered in the burr oak grove a hundred yards from my position. Dozens of crows repeatedly dive-bombed a small flock of turkeys. When the crows were not harassing the turkeys they seemed to be challenging each other to battle in an attempt to determine just who from the flock had superior aerial skills. Watching the crows made me forget about the imagined bar room brawl I had been hoping to have with the coyote pack.
It was the final day of the late archery deer season. I was positioned in a giant oak tree along a faint trail that zig-zagged through the multiflora rose bushes beneath me. In one direction was an 80-acre picked cornfield. In the other direction was a brushy secluded gully that was screaming with big buck sign. I knew the gully was an area that represented the core bedding area of a dandy buck that was a shoe in for the record books.
It was cold. Damn cold. January 10th in Northern Iowa can offer bone-crushing cold to the unprepared. It was beginning to get light out but with the cloud cover the sun was not visible. Not to worry, the steady north wind kept me company. Today was going to be a classic two-on-two match up of perennial powerhouses. Me and all the clothes I owned pitted against the harshness of Mother Nature partnered with a Boone and Crockett non-typical. …. As they say in boxing; Let’s get ready to rumble!
I hunted this buck exclusively since day one. I was always close but never close enough. The non-typical had an uncanny ability to make me look like a rookie bow hunter. I’d seen him at least a dozen times from various stands. Never once was he more than 40 yards away. Never once did he cross that magic 30 yard barrier that I call my effective range.
This time I thought I had him. I first saw him as he was jumping the 4-strand barbed wire fence headed in my direction. The sight of his massive muscular outstretched body in mid air was something worthy of a Larry Zach print. My hunch was correct. He was following the faint, hardly noticeable trail through the multiflora rose. The mental yard markers were still fresh in my mind thanks to the range finder that I had tucked back into my pocket just a half hour ago. 50 yards… 45 yards… 40 yards… I had already stood up and had started preparing to draw my Parker Ultra-Lite 31 back into shooting position. With one eye riveted to the shooting lane a scant 29 yards away and the other eye straining to keep track of the giant buck I awaited the impending moment of truth…. It never came. The buck, with his uncanny survival instincts, took a left turn and slowly blazed a new path through the dense tangle of brush below me, never breaking the plain of the 30-yard force field that apparently surrounded me.
Like the coyote, I’m a pretty persistent predator. My close but no cigar encounter with the buck that morning combined with an antagonizingly long off season that was looming just hours away turned what was originally planned as a morning only hunt into an all day test of my mind, body & soul. I dug deep into my layers of clothing and decided to sit tight and make the last day of archery season last as long as I could. With the effects of winter upon us I hoped to catch Mr. Big if he attempted to stretch his legs during the mid day.
As luck would have it the remainder of the day turned out to be very non-eventful. As the end of the day approached the crows played one last song before handing the baton back to the eerie howling coyotes. The coyotes, not wanting to be out done by the boisterous black crows, announced sundown with a glorious three-minute rendition of howls, bawls and yip’s. I quietly left the woods that evening, dejected but knowing that I had been beaten by the best buck in the woods and knowing full well that I’d be back in the same woods to drown my sorrows a few days later in pursuit of crows and coyotes.
TWO DAWG’S DOWN
A few short days later I was back in the woods for the opening of the late crow season. It was still a good a half hour before sunrise. Dressed in full camo, I positioned myself along a brushy fence line. I was well hidden but I had fairly good visibility in three directions. My weapon of choice was a Harrington & Richardson model SB2 “ULTRA†chambered for .223 Remington. The single shot was topped with a 3.5 x 10 Tasco World Class scope attached with Weaver hardware. The rifle was loaded with American Eagle ammunition made by Federal Cartridge Company. The 50 gr. hollow points shot well from the heavy barreled H&R.
I glassed the field with my range finder and quickly established reference points for 75, 125 and 200 yards. The coyotes were again vocal in their announcement that another night of hunting was winding down. When it was light enough to see the opposite edge of the field some 400 yards away I hit the switch on the electronic call. Within minutes four coy-dogs were heading my direction. When the big yellow color phase male passed my 75 yard reference point on the left side of the field, I carefully squeezed the trigger and drove a .50 gr hollow point into his chest cavity sending him tumbling. He quickly regained his feet, spun around twice and fell over. Dead. I quickly reloaded and drove a second round into a young female that had hung up on the right side of the field just past my 125 yard reference point. She spun 3 or 4 circles, biting at the frosty morning air before running straight away from me and perishing inside the wood line some four hundred yards away. Two “dawgs†down.
CAW’S OF THE WILD
After collecting my two “dawgsâ€, I retreated to the truck and exchanged the H&R .223 for a Benelli 3 ½†12 gauge Super Black Eagle and a couple handfuls of 3 ½†6-shot. Hunting crows is a great way to spend the mid morning on a sunny but cold winter day. Still in full camo, I backed, in a standing position, into the trunk of a large pine and hit the switch on the electronic call sending a wave a crow calls into the surrounding side hills. Within minutes 5 crows were circling overhead. Two crows landed in a treetop some 45 yards up just as the report of the 12 gauge filled the valley. Two quick follow up shots and both birds were tumbling downward. I stuffed 3 more shells into the gun picked up the electronic call and moved down the ridge another 200 yards. This time I attempted to blend in with a giant oak tree and waited for the crows to return to the seductive electronic calling. Within 10 minutes 8 to 10 birds were circling my position and cautiously surveying the crow decoys I had placed in the surrounding trees. Four shots later I had collected two more birds. I packed up my equipment and headed back to the truck. It was just past 8:30 am. My wife and two daughters were probably just rolling out of bed. If I hurried I could be home in time for breakfast.
BACK FOR MORE…
With 2 coyotes and 4 crows to my credit from the morning hunt, I was back in the woods for a late afternoon attempt at any remaining coyotes. I also wanted to see if I could locate just where that non-typical was exiting the brushy gully in the afternoons. If I was lucky I might uncover a clue to help with my late season plan for next year, providing that both me and the big non-typical were both still around.
I placed my call on the ground and climbed into a comfortable API Baby Grand treestand that was positioned in an ironwood tree at the top side of the brushy draw where I had hunted the non-typical buck just three days prior. I had never seen the deer from this particular stand but it provided me with my best vantage point. With the RealTree Hardwoods Camo outer garment I was well hidden yet had a marvelous view of the ridge top. This time I was armed with a Remington model 700 SS in 30’06 and 125 gr. pointed soft point Remington High Velocity ammo. The gun was topped with Leupold 3x9 Vari-X II scope. After ascending the tree using a Cabela’s climbing stick, and attaching my safety belt, I pulled the gun up into the stand with me. I planned to remain quiet and soak up the surrounding sights, sounds and smells for 15 –20 minutes to let the area settle back down before I fired up the electronic coyote call.
Before I had time to survey the area and identify yardage makers with the rangefinder the buck appeared out of nowhere. Like a prize fighter showing off his championship belt, the giant non-typical came strutting up out of the gully and slowly walked a scant 16 yards from my tree. He was a brute. His rack was even bigger than I had previously estimated. The mass of each main beam and overall tine length was incredible. I was in absolute awe of his size. I was helpless. I think he knew it. The buck remained inside my previously impenetrable 30-yard force field for what seemed like an eternity. If this close encounter had only been 3 days earlier when archery season was open and I was carrying my bow the buck would have been in serious trouble. What a marvelous full count, two outs, bottom of the 9th story it would have made. With one well-planned sharp jab to the ribs he would have been down and I would have owned his championship belt. But it was not meant to be. The buck finally traveled up the hill, then proceeded down the ridge and walked out of sight. I climbed down and left without attempting to call for coyotes. Two coyotes, four crows and the sight of such a magnificent buck at such a close range had given me all the excitement I could stand for one off season.
By Tom R. Fassbinder
Ark, ark, ark…yippee, ark, ark … yippee, yippeeee ……The coyotes began sounding off just moments before first light. From the various tones and multiple locations of their howls I estimated that there were at least six different dawgs chiming in to announce the impending dawn of a new day and the end to another wild night on the prowl. A chill ran down my spine as for a brief wild moment I envisioned that the coyotes had completely circled my position in a classic predator –vs- prey scenario. The circumstance was bone chilling in an exhilarating kind of way that any real outdoor enthusiast would understand. “Bring it on,†I muttered under my breath hoping that a big alpha male might hear me and venture a bit closer.
Caw…. Caaww… Caaww… Within minutes a large flock of crows had wrestled away the grand outdoor orchestra chores from the coyotes. They had gathered in the burr oak grove a hundred yards from my position. Dozens of crows repeatedly dive-bombed a small flock of turkeys. When the crows were not harassing the turkeys they seemed to be challenging each other to battle in an attempt to determine just who from the flock had superior aerial skills. Watching the crows made me forget about the imagined bar room brawl I had been hoping to have with the coyote pack.
It was the final day of the late archery deer season. I was positioned in a giant oak tree along a faint trail that zig-zagged through the multiflora rose bushes beneath me. In one direction was an 80-acre picked cornfield. In the other direction was a brushy secluded gully that was screaming with big buck sign. I knew the gully was an area that represented the core bedding area of a dandy buck that was a shoe in for the record books.
It was cold. Damn cold. January 10th in Northern Iowa can offer bone-crushing cold to the unprepared. It was beginning to get light out but with the cloud cover the sun was not visible. Not to worry, the steady north wind kept me company. Today was going to be a classic two-on-two match up of perennial powerhouses. Me and all the clothes I owned pitted against the harshness of Mother Nature partnered with a Boone and Crockett non-typical. …. As they say in boxing; Let’s get ready to rumble!
I hunted this buck exclusively since day one. I was always close but never close enough. The non-typical had an uncanny ability to make me look like a rookie bow hunter. I’d seen him at least a dozen times from various stands. Never once was he more than 40 yards away. Never once did he cross that magic 30 yard barrier that I call my effective range.
This time I thought I had him. I first saw him as he was jumping the 4-strand barbed wire fence headed in my direction. The sight of his massive muscular outstretched body in mid air was something worthy of a Larry Zach print. My hunch was correct. He was following the faint, hardly noticeable trail through the multiflora rose. The mental yard markers were still fresh in my mind thanks to the range finder that I had tucked back into my pocket just a half hour ago. 50 yards… 45 yards… 40 yards… I had already stood up and had started preparing to draw my Parker Ultra-Lite 31 back into shooting position. With one eye riveted to the shooting lane a scant 29 yards away and the other eye straining to keep track of the giant buck I awaited the impending moment of truth…. It never came. The buck, with his uncanny survival instincts, took a left turn and slowly blazed a new path through the dense tangle of brush below me, never breaking the plain of the 30-yard force field that apparently surrounded me.
Like the coyote, I’m a pretty persistent predator. My close but no cigar encounter with the buck that morning combined with an antagonizingly long off season that was looming just hours away turned what was originally planned as a morning only hunt into an all day test of my mind, body & soul. I dug deep into my layers of clothing and decided to sit tight and make the last day of archery season last as long as I could. With the effects of winter upon us I hoped to catch Mr. Big if he attempted to stretch his legs during the mid day.
As luck would have it the remainder of the day turned out to be very non-eventful. As the end of the day approached the crows played one last song before handing the baton back to the eerie howling coyotes. The coyotes, not wanting to be out done by the boisterous black crows, announced sundown with a glorious three-minute rendition of howls, bawls and yip’s. I quietly left the woods that evening, dejected but knowing that I had been beaten by the best buck in the woods and knowing full well that I’d be back in the same woods to drown my sorrows a few days later in pursuit of crows and coyotes.
TWO DAWG’S DOWN
A few short days later I was back in the woods for the opening of the late crow season. It was still a good a half hour before sunrise. Dressed in full camo, I positioned myself along a brushy fence line. I was well hidden but I had fairly good visibility in three directions. My weapon of choice was a Harrington & Richardson model SB2 “ULTRA†chambered for .223 Remington. The single shot was topped with a 3.5 x 10 Tasco World Class scope attached with Weaver hardware. The rifle was loaded with American Eagle ammunition made by Federal Cartridge Company. The 50 gr. hollow points shot well from the heavy barreled H&R.
I glassed the field with my range finder and quickly established reference points for 75, 125 and 200 yards. The coyotes were again vocal in their announcement that another night of hunting was winding down. When it was light enough to see the opposite edge of the field some 400 yards away I hit the switch on the electronic call. Within minutes four coy-dogs were heading my direction. When the big yellow color phase male passed my 75 yard reference point on the left side of the field, I carefully squeezed the trigger and drove a .50 gr hollow point into his chest cavity sending him tumbling. He quickly regained his feet, spun around twice and fell over. Dead. I quickly reloaded and drove a second round into a young female that had hung up on the right side of the field just past my 125 yard reference point. She spun 3 or 4 circles, biting at the frosty morning air before running straight away from me and perishing inside the wood line some four hundred yards away. Two “dawgs†down.
CAW’S OF THE WILD
After collecting my two “dawgsâ€, I retreated to the truck and exchanged the H&R .223 for a Benelli 3 ½†12 gauge Super Black Eagle and a couple handfuls of 3 ½†6-shot. Hunting crows is a great way to spend the mid morning on a sunny but cold winter day. Still in full camo, I backed, in a standing position, into the trunk of a large pine and hit the switch on the electronic call sending a wave a crow calls into the surrounding side hills. Within minutes 5 crows were circling overhead. Two crows landed in a treetop some 45 yards up just as the report of the 12 gauge filled the valley. Two quick follow up shots and both birds were tumbling downward. I stuffed 3 more shells into the gun picked up the electronic call and moved down the ridge another 200 yards. This time I attempted to blend in with a giant oak tree and waited for the crows to return to the seductive electronic calling. Within 10 minutes 8 to 10 birds were circling my position and cautiously surveying the crow decoys I had placed in the surrounding trees. Four shots later I had collected two more birds. I packed up my equipment and headed back to the truck. It was just past 8:30 am. My wife and two daughters were probably just rolling out of bed. If I hurried I could be home in time for breakfast.
BACK FOR MORE…
With 2 coyotes and 4 crows to my credit from the morning hunt, I was back in the woods for a late afternoon attempt at any remaining coyotes. I also wanted to see if I could locate just where that non-typical was exiting the brushy gully in the afternoons. If I was lucky I might uncover a clue to help with my late season plan for next year, providing that both me and the big non-typical were both still around.
I placed my call on the ground and climbed into a comfortable API Baby Grand treestand that was positioned in an ironwood tree at the top side of the brushy draw where I had hunted the non-typical buck just three days prior. I had never seen the deer from this particular stand but it provided me with my best vantage point. With the RealTree Hardwoods Camo outer garment I was well hidden yet had a marvelous view of the ridge top. This time I was armed with a Remington model 700 SS in 30’06 and 125 gr. pointed soft point Remington High Velocity ammo. The gun was topped with Leupold 3x9 Vari-X II scope. After ascending the tree using a Cabela’s climbing stick, and attaching my safety belt, I pulled the gun up into the stand with me. I planned to remain quiet and soak up the surrounding sights, sounds and smells for 15 –20 minutes to let the area settle back down before I fired up the electronic coyote call.
Before I had time to survey the area and identify yardage makers with the rangefinder the buck appeared out of nowhere. Like a prize fighter showing off his championship belt, the giant non-typical came strutting up out of the gully and slowly walked a scant 16 yards from my tree. He was a brute. His rack was even bigger than I had previously estimated. The mass of each main beam and overall tine length was incredible. I was in absolute awe of his size. I was helpless. I think he knew it. The buck remained inside my previously impenetrable 30-yard force field for what seemed like an eternity. If this close encounter had only been 3 days earlier when archery season was open and I was carrying my bow the buck would have been in serious trouble. What a marvelous full count, two outs, bottom of the 9th story it would have made. With one well-planned sharp jab to the ribs he would have been down and I would have owned his championship belt. But it was not meant to be. The buck finally traveled up the hill, then proceeded down the ridge and walked out of sight. I climbed down and left without attempting to call for coyotes. Two coyotes, four crows and the sight of such a magnificent buck at such a close range had given me all the excitement I could stand for one off season.