An Extreme Competition......

 

Remember this: Read the fine print then if your intuition tells you something stinks...it most likely does.

I was perusing the internet looking for hunting when I fell upon the Extreme Huntress Competition. I knew of this from previous searches but each time I always said no and moved on.

This time I looked a little closer.

In my critique, the first thing I looked at was the mission statement:

“Our goal—create positive role models for woman who want to participate in hunting. With 50% divorce rates and kids becoming invested in sports as (web page typo) a younger and younger age, we feel if mom goes hunting, so will her children. “~Extreme Huntress Competition Website~.

This was a poorly thought out mission statement. It needs an over-haul. There is nothing on promoting conservation, diplomacy, policy-making, individuality, family, or any thing definitive that supports this competition.

I was dumbfound. All of these participants were in the hunting arena already; not new-comers. Big truth here, mom going hunting doesn't guarantee or influence whether your child will be a hunter through and through all their lives. Unless the parent takes away his or her right to decision making, individuality, or the fact they have to agree with everything the parent wants them to do. Momma made me do it. I had no choice. Mom going hunting is not going to stop a son from robbing a store, flipping a new car, or having a shoot out with the police. Ergo again, going hunting with Mom is not going to save Mom the anger when her daughter or son finds a unsuitable mate that drags them away to some place where they forget hunting because bills and babies take over. If Mom or Dad is lucky their ideal dreams of a family will come true but the reality in this life time is, under the weight of the world, families are torn asunder. Family members are scattered to the winds.

Some of these women could be mothers eventually but there are some that have kids already. Quite frankly you can't dictate to a woman how she will raise her offspring. Another thought is how an outside entity takes it upon themselves to try and model adults who already have parents that raised them along time ago.

I then thought as Tina Turner would sing, “What does love have to do with it?” Divorce rates have no influence over becoming a hunter. Divorce might facilitate things but its not the one driving factor in break-ups; infidelity, people evolve with different values or ideas, or it shouldn't have been in the first place. What can push you to hunt is the fact you have no money or food and looking at a starving baby with no governmental or community support. You are a lamb tossed to the wolves. You shoot and eat them or they eat you. You either want to hunt or someone introduces you to it, willingly or not.

Mothers are all different. You can't guarantee a mother will be decent. Some women toss their babies in dumpsters. My old Professor of Bones at the technical college was a substitute teacher for the elementary school. She had a really bad kid then went to see his mother. The house had no electricity, food, roaches, and rats while being unlivable. The child in question was left there to fend for himself while the biological mother went out trying to score drugs and food for herself. She called the Child Welfare Agency who later let her adopt the child and he finished school. This substitute teacher wasn't his biological mother. Yet she took him as her own. There are some men that make better mothers than mothers. Having the title mother doesn't mean a thing if you don't do all the things an ideal mother would do (yet we all having human failings).

After I got through with the mission statement, I wondered what exactly in benefits where these applicants getting. I read the rules and regulations. I was concerned these ladies were being taken advantage of. Vanity will open the door for this mishap.

It seemed the Sponsor was the owner of all data. Reading into this I concurred that these women were really being used by the Sponsors because the Sponsors were getting the free advertising over and over for the competition. I bet that people holding it got a fat paycheck. I also went to each site and saw not one whiff of an announcement or even advertisement for what the Sponsor was offering in the way of prizes. As a Sponsor you should be defining what is to be offered to winners and participants because no one should go home empty handed. I gathered this because if you are promoting women in hunting; make it worth their while and don't waste their time or capitalize on their backs. They are not your personal mules for advertising or money; don't white wash taking advantage of someone because you know women want to be taken seriously.

I skipped down to the Finalists.

I see this: This hunt will be filmed for a series of videos called Extreme Huntress Competition. I wondered how much the company makes for these episodes which would be put up on the internet, world wide and television. I then looked at the Grand Prize which is an original award designed by artist Mark James and the fact they will reign as Extreme Huntress  for a period of a year. Any other prize detail will be at the sole discretion of the Sponsor. I guess after this its all merchandising, modeling, and face time to the masses.

Then I see Finalist Expense: All expenses not specified herein are the sole responsibility of the finalist, including without limitation all transportation to and from departure point for hunt competition and awards dinner, award dinner tickets for guest or spouse, award dinner lodging and meals. Texas hunting license, personal expenses, medical insurance packages, trip insurance, trophy prep, taxidermy, and other miscellaneous costs participant chooses to incur.

I thought if you got that far with things the competition Sponsors should foot the bill. Its their contest they made up while sticking the bill to the participants. I am sure the Sponsor will be making a percentage of all earnings off the winner or any of the other participants if they should choose to use them in upcoming competition advertisements, interviews, etc. Trust me, unless they are not financially savvy, someone is making money somewhere. Otherwise ,why do it?

I read the release which makes it sound like the disbursement of the prize is the participation in hunt/skills competition. I wondered if this meant the participants already received their prize in the form of the hunt/competition? I read that the Finalist prize package had a retail value of no less than $5000 per finalist. So there is 20 semi-finalists. I also think I read it changes depending on what you kill. Prized before you compete?

I then see Hunt Cancellation: The Sponsor is not held liable for fees, costs, financial obligations to finalists or Grand Prize winner.

This particular item made me think these people were not people of honor or their word. Here they are willing to walk off with no responsibility for bringing these participants into a game then when things go belly up; walk off and leave the women holding the empty bag.

Really and truly when you read the Conditions and Participation the women have to agree to such terms just to be able to participate. Its not right. They do all the work, one gets some glory but the Sponsor reaps the benefit and moves on to the next face the following year.

My thoughts on this were grave yet appalled. I can't believe some days the lengths people will go to take advantage of people or use a woman for selfish ends.  There must not be much to hunting with these competitions. How can you take another hunter or huntress and put them in a game, knowing they could get hurt or killed then turn your back on them because of a condition the Sponsor and the competition generated? This is sacrificing someone through their desire to be renown for a title that doesn't have much value after a year except to the person who doesn't need it anyway and on top of that there is someone out in the world that could hunt your pants off but they aren't vain or can be manipulated through vanity. I guess the trophy could be melted down, recast and sold as a kudu statue.

My thoughts were this was a sham and a shame. Of course, I could be completely wrong in this but there was no information to dictate the contrary.

I thought instead of a competition, why not review what these women have done over the course of a year because hunting is a life long thing not just X amount of episodes that are under confined conditions for mass consumption and entertainment. Each one of these women could be doing something different and unique unto itself yet they are being defeathered meticulously. Pushing their essays out is one thing but really getting into the grit of a person is another thing. I could probably go a googling on the internet and find someone who really does have a handle on hunting ethic and ideology to bang out a good essay that makes me look like a saint while my true self is questionable.

Instead of telling you who they are and what they are about it the same old thing you can find on the internet, kinda like a telephone monologue at Pizza Hut. "We have thick crust or thin? Which do you prefer?" They will tell you what it takes to get them chosen to win. People lie on job interviews all the time but when it comes time to do the job; you'll be found out.

In the way of competitions, I wondered where were the scholarships, prizes of merit for a mother that would help make her life easier, what groups would this Extreme Huntress be representing, and how much work would she be asked to do to cover ground, or being reimbursed. You can get more done with more than one woman. Who would she be uplifting? What actually are the platforms she would be working from or on? Why make one woman bear that much weight on top of her daily life and trials when she has sisters all over the world? Why weren't these women taken into consideration?

If anyone were going to sign up for something like this you have to question some things. Is it going  to help women who hunt instead of showcase one person with very little or no outstanding of personal ideals on hunting? If this global or national push for showcasing women in hunting can be expressed to the public to uplift anyone or is it really is nothing more than a beauty contest based upon shallow popularity and a short essay?

 

I do suspect there will probably be some anger to my writing this but I am not bashing the competition but I do think the ladies can be treated a little better and with respect; not a commoditity to give a second or third party publicity.

If you are going to expose the world to female hunters find a better way of doing it. The public at large needs to see the forums, the activity, issues being addressed, and average people doing the work. There are faceless people doing astounding things everyday yet we push one or two people because they won a competition that gave them an accolade. A work of art on your mantle does nothing for conservation or hunting. It gathers dust which causes you more work because you spend time cleaning it instead of doing something more productive.   

I read all twenty of the essays. There were several women who I thought of yet I voted for one. The people who quoted work like a resume didn't appeal to me because they were going solely on accolades and accomplishments not personal beliefs or what drove them forward in hunting. 

She was the one that I read her entire essay. The one little girl that admitted being a hardcore huntress didn't look positive. She has thought about how she wants to represent herself and what she is doing. She's honest and tells you she is financially challenged in a humble way. She put in the effort and was offered jobs based on the work she was already doing. Her wording of the conditions of not being taken seriously, how its not about the money its about the experience and the knowledge of learning something in particular. At her age, she understands its not about fame.

Fame doesn't last but it is what you do with fame in the way of hunting and other people being introduced to the sport. The best thing she did was write about her mentality and how she respected hunting as an act. I still liked Sandra Mas and her ballsy-ness at becoming a hunter in Africa, Helga Wimmer, and Nikita Dalke but my favorite was Beka Garris because she vocalized it better. I don't give my vote lightly.

Overall, I could see where this would spotlight women in hunting but it being the best and most well thought out platform; no. Most likely the person who really deserves it will not get it.

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

Here is the link if you would like to vote and give your thoughts. Nothing like free advertising.

http://www.extremehuntress.com/category/current-huntresses/

Turkey Poops On You....Then Laughs.

Click image to Enlarge.
Lean in and take a sniff.

Remember this: It doesn't matter the height one is pooped on. ~Signed: The Pigeons~

You are still pooped on. ~Signed: The Turkeys~

Yesterday was the last day of turkey hunting season. It went out with a heavy rain, a flat tire, a bee hive, and then lots of sunshine. I spent my day down in a pine stand raking straw for my chickens' nesting boxes.

Several days before, I had an interesting encounter with a wild turkey hen and visited the unofficial Turkey Gobbler King of the area. I was out driving the golf cart with Nena Two Feathers; doing some calls in a place I perceived to be vacant of the feathered bird. First, I was down in the pine stand. The tree top fall-out from the previous winter snow storm littered the ground. I piled lite limbs up for housing to whatever wanted to move in. I purred and clucked; purred and cluck. I looked over to see Nena Two Feathers with her head sagging to the side, asleep. Leave it to Nena to nap on the job. I drove down the road like a bandit trying to wake her up without throwing her out; nothing worked.

I came to rest under a great oak tree, calling away, that abutted a wide open field yet untouched by the farmer's disc. I called again, waited, then nothing. I will attest that I was not dressed in camo for the occasion. I wore a red t-shirt with white and black piping and a pair of blue jeans. On reflection, I am sure I looked like a gigantic male turkey head ghosting around on a sea of blue.

I decided to go back down the road. I turned the curve. Up ahead of me was a turkey hen walking out into the road from the pine stand . I stopped hoping the bird wouldn't be spooked. Not wanting to menace wildlife, I watched her slowly walk down the road and into the old dried grass and wild mustard. I drove up and started doing some calls.

The bird was humorous to watch. She reminded me of a small land submarine as she made a semi-circle. Her motions were walk some, up periscope, walk some, down periscope. I followed her movements for about thirty minutes before she finally disappeared. I remembered I watched the movie U-571. Any minute the turkey would send out a torpedo through the dried grass to blow up the golf cart Destroyer.

My suspicions were this particular hen was the one being menaced by a menagerie of little foot-prints up and down the road. When out driving the golf cart, I would look down at the dirt to see canine, feline, opossum, or raccoon prints hot on the heels of the turkey bird. The writing on the clay was a little drama of sorts where the turkey heroine was stalked by all manner of predatory beast. I wasn't sure if those little robbers found her nest and rifled it.

Giving up on this momentary interaction, I put the golf cart in high gear (more of a slow crawl) to bolt down the road like a mad dodger. I drove to the Turkey Gobbler King's house and knocked on the door. A little short man came out with brilliant green eyes. I told him who I was and explained my cell phone was compromised therefore I couldn't call him back on Sunday as promised. He was fine with my explanation. I had my slate call and he told me, “Let's hear it.” I plugged off a couple of different calls. Seeming satisfied I wasn't a total waste of time, we walked down the steps to his truck. He dug inside and pulled out a jacket with his slates inside. He showed me a couple of things then asked did I have any diaphragms. I told him yes but I wasn't comfortable with their use because no one showed me the proper way. He told me which ones he liked and disliked. I think the oral diaphragms I owned were the ones he didn't care for. He began to call and can confirm; he is a boss.

From what I gathered from him, people have him do the calling while they do the shooting. He calls them in under the guise of getting laid only to have their head shot off. All through the conversation he did repeat the lack of birds around the area; behind his house included. He admitted he had stopped hunting because of the lack of quarry. I wondered if it were not because of over utilizing the landscape to acquire birds then not think they would ever disappear. What was there is now gone. He did feel the need to point this out to me: “Its called turkey hunting because you have to call up the bird; not turkey killing.” Here in my state we are not allowed to bait wild turkey but baiting the deer runs rampant. People pour corn out to lure deer on land all year long in some places. This causes very little work on the part of the hunter. Who would turn down a consistent meal? I am sure deer everywhere would be standing in the tree line, not to far from the feeder, like Pavlov’s dog to munch away. Speaking of dinner bells, I remember reading some dated articles where rifle hunting for bigger game in the mid-west wasn't so well received because the bear equated the gun shot with opportunity for easy food.

I then got to thinking about opportunity and forethought. If you have a private land owner who sees turkey breeding on their property, the opportunity to shoot one is there. Whether or not the person has the common sense to avoid taking every male due to opportunity, is a problem source. Going back to the same spot to capitalize on birds without consideration for number of males per females could lead the next season into a labeled “fair” or worse forecast. If you are gunning birds just to show off a kill in a photo or one-upping the Jones, then when there is nothing left, you rightly deserve the deficit. In consideration of predators, disease, natural disasters, nest destruction through farming, or some other malady, not planning into the future doesn't seem so smart. Yet we can not control the future but we can control ourselves.

Watch out for those types that when you bring this up will say under their breathe, "There is nothing to worry about." Or the one that justifies killing off all the jakes and toms because he or she is going to get their bird regardless. People will believe their own lie to justify and act. Some hunters act like there is a magical turkey factory out there in the forest that spits out birds on a regular basis while causing a surplus.

I know the thought does arise, if I don't kill the turkey then someone else will. The travesty of living in a community where everyone has their own ideas of doing things on personal land and in their private time adds to this problem. If not aforementioned, the problem stated exploitation of birds through opportunity with little regard for the following turkey season and lack of rule-of-thumb. I have met people who do not care for the long term propagation of a species. Once they have their turkey, if all of them go extinct, then what do they care. I keep hearing the words, “I got mine” ringing in my ears.

What can be done about this?
Yes, you can educate people with factoids and memberships. Once they get out there in the bushes where no one is watching (bam!); gone is gone and their shifty little eyes look to see if they were discovered. Not that everyone does this but you know who you are. Next comes the “woe is me”. The only way to solve this problem is lead by example and hope for the best.

What good is the NWTF if people go contrary to their work? Not that we need another governing body that dictates rules and regulations while controlling life and resources. The idea is to get as many people on board with the right ideal but amongst those memberships are people that don't follow suit. This is when you have the insertion of control via an outside source because the individual can't tell themselves no on occasion.

Given all of these thoughts I was okay with not getting myself a turkey because I knew that the forecast was “fair” and the weather was atrocious. I have seen other people who are affected by these same conditions but let us hope next year will be a far better score. Pray to the Turkey Gods. If we are lucky, we will not lose one hatchling from a poult.

As hunters we should always go by a rule-of-thumb. If you don't have one then get one. Don't be afraid to seek out people when you need help or a connection. Not all people are nice but try anyway. The ones that didn't give you the time of day will one day wish they had.

One need not be overtly aggressive because patience is everything especially in turkey hunting. I will reiterate while watching or interacting with wildlife, to get the best advantage, do not rush the quarry. You do not want to stress the animal or bring it to flight out of fear if your present intentions are not to harm the beast, bird, insect, or sea urchin. This being a unique situation to observe behavior, I found it quite rewarding.

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

The Water is Rising

Click on images to Enlarge.

 

 

 

Remember this: The water is rising. When a woman says, “Don’t go in there.” Don’t go in there.

 

I decided yesterday that I was going to go turkey hunting in the WMA on Friday. I scouted the area for the water table. The water was rising and spreading. I blamed this situation on the fact the moon is going into its dark nighs then growing. The moon doesn't change shape but affects the water table and tides. Just through the woods to the river you can see the salt water and the fresh water meeting. I knew the Gobbler King told me to call him on Sunday but that would give me three days left to turkey season. Rain killed the first part of the month for me. I didn’t want to count on him because I figured he was going to back out of this anyway then where would I be; empty-handed and not even trying.

The day before I drove the golf cart around for about an hour and a half at a different place; calling for anything. I got no response. That is when I schemed my plan with the help of Nena-Two-Feathers. I decided I would get my mountain bike, assorted hunting necessities and beat back the rising tide of river water. Mountain bike with a metal basket; extreme and hardcore, I know. Wait til you see pictures of me looking like a bag lady pushing a shopping cart in the woods with a buck in it when I am fifty years old. By then I will be a nutter and it won't matter what the game warden is telling me because I will be tone deaf.

I checked my bike for flat tires and loaded her up into the truck. I got all the stuff I needed and drove down to the WMA. I looked down the road and the water had now pooled well onto the road in front of the sign-in box. I pulled in onto the gravel park, got out, walked over and signed the notebook inside. A truck drove up with a Mr. Wilder from Tabor City, NC. He was driving a Z71 but his four-wheel drive was compromised. He asked me did I think he could get in. I told him no. I did ask him did he want to walk  with me up the road but he seemed disgusted at the idea of getting wet.  I offered. He had never been in the area and did not know it. I explained the terrain to him. He relayed stories of other hunters submerging vehicles in the next county near Punch Bowl because they couldn’t see what was before them. Mr. Wilder decided to turn -tail and go back home.

I had sat at the sign-in box the day before talking to the propane driver from the next county. He didn’t think he would be able to go down the road either. He said he stopped going hunting when he got married, took up horses, got divorced, then stopped with the horses. I guess marriage and divorce is a buzz-kill.  

I waved good-bye to him then walked up the middle of the road in my snake boots watching the turtles drift by. I finally got to the second parking area and walked up on a turkey that flew into the woods over the briar bushes. I meandered through the thicket, after hiding my bike in the briars, to see if the water was there too. It was. I passed on this area.  I pushed on through the earthy tea of the swamp.

 

 

 

 

I heard a vehicle coming up behind me as it broke the water. These two men pulled up.  The driver had never been there before. He asked me if I thought he could make it. I told him no but he could make his friend get out with a stick to dip test areas for depth of hole; made sense to me. Once again, Sacajawea was telling Lewis and Clark not to go there but they did.

 I was now the unofficial swamp troll telling hunters if they could pass or not. Somehow, I thought I needed a staff like Gandalf, while proclaiming, “You shall not pass!” The problem with these two guys was the truck. It was one of those low riding Nissan deals. I could see it sinking into the mire while water flooded it.

We talked about turkey because they were there to hunt like me. It was about 10:30 am and the two hunters were trying to find a gobbler after the hens left for nesting.  We discussed the surveys the DNR sends out and how I got one that was a psychological questionnaire. I told the guy, “I am now starting to question my mental status because I am here, knee deep and up to my eyeballs, pushing a mountain bike with a shotgun strapped to the handle bars.” We laughed.

The driver also told me he thought some of the younger men shoot the turkey and drive right out of the WMA without saying a thing so they can reserve their tags for other days. I think this was probably his opinion but I don’t know what people do and don’t do in the WMA once they get dead birds to their truck. I kept in mind he said he had never been to this WMA so I am wondering if he didn’t mean some other where he had seen it. I am not the game warden but people sure do tell me a lot of stuff.  After shooting the breeze a little more these two intrepid souls decided to chance the water and mystery holes on the road horizon while pushing forward to their dreams.

I wondered up the road and came to a small clearing that lead to a grown up road with a gate in disrepair. I thought about going down it because something had stomped down a path. I looked down in the ditch to find an assortment of red shotgun shells floating there. I piddle for a while then realized it was to overgrown. I went across the road and down in the water-filled ditch. I was unceremoniously up to my waist in water but made it across to the dryer part and mounds of dirt. I messed around in that area but it was one of those spots that one step and you are down in it with your head sticking out. I passed on this but while standing on the hill heard a motor coming. A red jeep wrangler appeared pulling the little green Nissan in tow with the driver laughing like Santa Claus and his co-conspirator, riding in the truck bed, laughing it up at me while I cried, “I tooooldddd yoooouuu soooo.” The swamp troll was vindicated. Those two guys looked like they were in their forties but the look on their faces reminded me of two sixteen-year-olds out with new drivers licenses and getting in trouble.  I thought it was hilarious and so did the jeep driver. They were just waving and laughing.

I then went to the trouble of getting me a witch cane and measuring a section of ditch to cross that wasn’t so deep. I barely made it across but I didn’t get my backpack or gun wet. I walked back up the road to get my bike. I then thought this wasn’t going to get better but I remembered back at the sign-in box there was a gate and I saw a turkey. I walked back. At the second park, two men stopped me to tell me that I didn’t have to wear safety orange because someone would shoot me and the game warden couldn’t write me a ticket because it was turkey season. I told him people worried me enough with their drinking and hunting. The one old dodger had a cannula in his nose where he was getting oxygen. I thought he must be a boss because even sickness wasn’t going to hem him down. He was giving my shotgun googley eyes and said, “That is an 870. Best gun ever made for turkey shooting.” I said, “Yes sir.” He looks at me and says, “Go in there girl and get that turkey.” He excused himself and rode away with his friend. He didn’t want to go down the road either and he had a new Jeep Liberty. I wished at that point I had a Jeep Wrangler but all I had was a mountain bike. Yep, good old mountain bike.



 

 

 

 

I watched them go and strolled through the waters. Finally I got to the gate and steered around the post to go inside. Dart frogs were shooting in every direction. This road was previously bush-hogged and I could walk it no problem. I wanted to be far off the road because of the no shooting zone. I came to a bend and went right where I eventually found a little cul-de-sac and nestled in. The only water I had to cross was a small low place with running water. It was dry as a bone and you couldn’t tell from where I was, that not too far in the other direction, it was flooded. I sat giving my calls and listened. I heard purrs and some yelps. I then concluded that I was on the dry spot with the hens, which were nesting because by this time it was mid-day. Every so often I would do some calls. I was so engrossed at one point with practicing my purr-cluck, I didn’t notice the fast moving black racer that came up to three inches of my snake boot to stare at me. It looked to be over six feet long. It scared the bee-jesus out of me to start with because it snuck up on me and I tossed my flex-tone wooden piece to my slate somewhere in the beige straw grass. I yelled and it shot over to do a semi-circle around me. My inner voice said,  “Snake I am not a hen laying an egg. Go away.” I thought about how this was probably adding to my white hairs that I have had since I was twenty.

 

Of course there is the old superstitution that if a black snake crosses your path, someone is trying to do you harm. I don't think so because this snake was just after something to gulp down.

It’s funny how even snakes can hunt eggs and hear or feel a sound that signals a hen is laying and came calling. I decided after sitting for about two hours that I would call it an empty-handed success. I then saw baby ticks on my gun. It wouldn’t be hunting unless the ticks were invited unannounced to the party.

I did want to see where the road leads but half way up it was muddy like a hog parlor. I relented, jumped on my bike and peddled away. I was doing well until I hit the water hole at less than top speed but didn’t sink the boat. I was exhausted but fairly accomplished.

I then snickered that I had found the hens and walked up on a turkey. I was still in the woods making calls when everyone else was giving up over water and not looking for options. I didn’t wait on someone else but went to do my business, whether I failed or succeeded. I laughed at intrepid souls who laughed at themselves and met people, all men who have been hunting longer than I have. I transversed a ditch to get to the other side then went back into that same ditch to come out. I questioned my mental status while knowing I was not insane. I stood on a hill and laughed at people's shenanigans. There were hunters knew to the WMA that didn’t have a clue and I was educating them and giving them advice. I was encouraged by a man that looked like he was two steps from a nursing home bed.

With hunting, it’s as much what you observe people doing and how they deal with situations that arise. It is not just actually scoring a turkey for you. People are amazing, funny, and informative when you get off your computer, out your house, and strike out down a path to a spot in the brambles. I do have new found respect for ancestors that ran with the Swamp Fox through those same swamps. I signed out after four hours while watching people come then giving up. I thought and laughed a lot going home.

After all, I did it on a mountain bike.

 

 

 

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

 

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

 

 

 

Female Hunter; Social Stigma

Remember this: All motives do not end in sex (esp. with un-sexy people) but stupidity runs rampant.

The truck was stopped on the road by the sign-in box at the mouth of the wildlife managed area. I stared down the road at what looked like flooding in two spots; one deeper than the other. The little voice in my head said, “Turn back Lewis and Clarke; turn back.”

I pulled over into the new, rock covered parking area by the sign-in box, got out and walked down the road to the small tea colored stream making its way from one side to the other. River water was everywhere. The first hole didn't look deep but I could tell that second one was a doozie. I later tried the first but backed right up out of there on the second. I wasn't feeling lucky.

I was reading the list of people who were turkey hunting since the first of April. Only two male gobblers where taken over a period of 23 days. The weather has been uncompromising while cold yet today it was extremely hot and humid. As I was perusing this information an SUV came rolling by. It backed up and a younger black man asked me if this was the sign-in station. I told him it was and carried the book over for him to pen their names in. He told me they had been there the year before with no luck. I told him he probably wouldn't have good results because it was so flooded and where he might go to find one. He eyeball rolled me and I could tell he did not believe me. Maybe he thought I was trying to send him on a wild goose chase so I could have all that WMA turkey for myself.

They went into the first hole but backed right back out the second to stop and ask me what they could do. I told them there was another access point but I couldn't guarantee the road would be any better. I gave them directions and off they went. I would later drive down to the other access point and find several crater like holds filled with water and flooding across the area. I doubt they went in.

While at the Sign-in box, I heard the soft sound of what could have been a female turkey. I wondered into the brambles to find the origins of the sound but then realized this pitch-black crow was the culprit. I wasn't sure if the crow was bad news or what. There it was, hanging around, trying to punk me in the swamp. I then left.

I stopped by the grocery store on my way home but met a guy in passing who I was familiar with. I asked him did he go turkey hunting. He told me no, but started to talk about it. He was more of a deer hunter. I asked him did he know where in the WMA people actually hunted. He shrugged no.

A pause in silence while I heard mental crickets because I wasn't sure what to say next. Good fortune for me because this little man pulled up in a kidnapper van and started to talk to the guy. I walked off and went to shopping. Guy was still there with the old dude when I got back. I was about to open my door when he walked to the other side of the truck bed and began talking. He told me of several places where I could find a place not on the WMA that would not be so water logged but on the edge of it. He told me about this man that lived down the street who he proclaimed was a Gobbler Calling King. Of course he did direct me, upon calling this Gobbler Calling King, to excessively compliment him while blowing his head up and giving him the credit for pointing me in the general direction.

I was listening intently when he seemed somewhat nervous. I thought, “Uh oh. Here it comes.”

He then looks me square in the face with nervous hands and said, “The only problem you might have is the fact that you are a single unattached female. If you go with any of the men down here, people will probably say you are having sex with them.” In my mind the snotty voice was thinking, if I set foot on the WMA then I am making out with everyone even the game wardens. Oh happy day! I would be exhausted when I got home.

I told him I already new this to be a true statement. All of the people including relatives  I spoke to were showing me their backs or politely directing me to a dead-end.

My reputation is pretty spotless unless someone were to spread common gossip about me. I can't account for every little comment said or unsaid as to my person. Who does? I don't have time for that. Its emotionally draining and counter-productive to my goals and objectives.

We spoke a little longer but I did get some information from him on the turkey. I excused myself then went home to cook dinner and dial up the Gobbler Calling King. I finally got in touch with him and explained what I was asking for. I also told him what the guy said about people talking and how I wanted to work right past this particular issue. He told me he would have to ask his wife. I said that would be fine. His wife knew me. He will probably come back to say no. They always do.

While on the telephone he did relay to me that he went hunting several times but he wasn't impressed with the low show of turkey. The DNR forecast was listing 'fair'. He thought this was because of predators, people shooting gobblers who were not old enough to even have good spurs, the weather, or some other problem. He did tell me some of the turkey taken were young jakes instead of older birds. We were both in agreement in the past 2 to 3 years the amount of turkey seemed to be slowly dissipating. I felt at times he was discouraging with this information like I should give up but yet he was hunting and it wasn't stopping him. He was going with other people. He complained a lot about younger men shooting underling jakes for the sake of getting a turkey tag filled while not considering emptying out the herd when all that is left is hens with no males to breed with. The two men at the sign-in box had this same attitude through conversation of just getting a turkey regardless of it being too young or gobblers per hens. A lot of people want to get a turkey for turkey sake, a photo, and the experience even if the turkey bird is not mature enough. I have spoken to a lot of people that feel the same way in regards to low turkey numbers and this year if the breeding isn't improving or poults don't survive, next year will be no better. There is always a stand-by answer for this.

All men like to say, “There are turkey everywhere.” This may be true to them in their mind but when you see something dwindling down to nothing and a person who has hunted long before you were born is telling you what you've seen in the past 2 to 3 years is parallel to their observation, then I would think someone needs to rethink their hunting habits or do some research. No wonder turkey season only lasts a month. Most people don't even know turkey here were re-introduced because the population got so low and the DNR does their research through surveys based on hunting participants' observation and honesty to determine what is going on each year due to lack of funds or man power. I guess the turkey biologist has got to be pulling his hair out with tied hands.

After this conversation, I sat on the porch with a long face. Why do people have to think of stupid things and act that way when in reality there is not a lot of people that look that good to want to steal their husband or boyfriend. Men picked their wives and married them; I say suffer thy wife and let me turkey hunt. People's personal suspicions are not my problem. If nameless people have to worry that much maybe divorce is in order.

I then pondered over the questions: Is it more relevant for me to be married to justify hunting? Would this make another married woman or man feel safe if I had a wedding band on my finger?

No. Legal papers and wedding bands do not keep a person from straying. The only thing that would usurp this migration is the person's strong moral compass and the ability to say no because the individual actually loves their significant other. No compromises.

On the other hand after deliberating over crazy mind thought shenanigans; I laughed.

I have solved a problem. Turkey hunting with a single female is the litmus test of whether you are in a bad relationship!! Run, hide your husbands because no sheep is safe tonight. The only beacon of light was the guy was dead honest with me and reaffirmed my suspicions. I wondered how long it would take him before he asked me out? Yes, I chuckle at myself sometimes.

In reflection to this stigma of being a single female who hunts, this impairs your access to opportunity while demeaning the person you really are. The idea of someone making comments in regard to your morals, while constructing some fallacy as to your true reason or nature for going to an area to hunt, is one of the lowest common denominators of humanity I can think of.

There are a lot of under-conditioned men and women in the hunting world. The last time I looked some couldn't even crawl up in a deer stand or the side of a mountain. Thinking bad thoughts of innocent people is wrong. If you have to worry that much over someone else maybe you need cognitive therapy to question all those crazy thought.

Once again in the spirit of informing women not so much in a rant, as to what goes on in the minds of other people, so you'll be aware of things that could impede your hunting; this is one of them. I was planning on going into the WMA later this week whether the people in the community help me or not. I have come thus far without their help and will go on to do whatever it is to reach my goals. Its better to be eaten by hogs otherwise the gossip hounds will drive you into a hole then tear you apart; unfounded rumor by unfounded rumor. Common gossip based in fiction destroys lives and makes the people spreading it appear to be stupid cumquats.

Go do your hunt. If the game warden wants to burn you, it might be better to eat a ticket than be put off because somebody can't control themselves while in the woods with you or their wife doesn't trust their husband.

I will say while everyone was trying to get into the WMA, I drove ten minutes away and found this.  Besides, I did not know I was that much of a temptation.

Click on image to Enlarge.

Written by: W Harley  Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

A Better Informed Female Hunter

Remember this: Everyone has to start somewhere; encouraged or not.

Recently I have been scheming to hunt outside of my state. Hunting within your state is where you cut your teeth. From there you have to branch out.

Of course the reality of this would be casting myself out into the world alone, which is a scary thing to do. Eventually this gypsy-like quality strikes all people for them to migrate and see new places for the excitment, awe, and alas vacationer fatigue (when you go, then come back more tired than what you were when you left).

While entertaining this idea of out-of-state hunting I was plotting to hunt turkey nearby on this tract of land that belonged to the DNR, but being familiar with the property over time, had some questions before I set out to beat the bush. I referred to the rules and regulations book; no answer. This tract of land was fifty miles off the coast in a swampy area.

My questions were on unmarked lanes with gates that were at times locked. Seemed simple enough to answer.

Called up the game warden. Not a nice chap; didn't answer my question. He admitted to me lack of knowledge on his part about the area. Belligerently referring to the rules and regulations book, which did not cover this particular question. Sadly I had to raise my voice which I don't like to do. He made me feel like I was not welcome to go to that place or I was pestering him when he had more important things to do. The most useful thing I got out of him was the problem of bogging down so some of the lanes with locked gates could only be walked down. It would seem previous hunters or woodsy people just tore up the roads. It was the Blood Moon. Maybe he was on his manstruation? (Love you guy!)  I wondered why he didn't take my name and get back to me. Moving on.

What does one do when the game warden is of no help and the possiblity that you could run amuck of the law exist? I stewed then got an idea. I considered people that were new to the sport without a clue. One must get a clue after all.

When a person starts out hunting, fishing, camping, or even hiking there are rules and regulations that you must abide by while utilizing property. If you do not understand or know these regulations and rules could mean a ticket, fine, or jail time. God forbide losing your hunting license for the rest of your life.

If I were to go to this area, get myself in trouble, the game warden is not going to care, then will most likely antagonize me for whatever crime I commited by making me feel stupid; giving me a ticket anyway. I refer back to my conversation with the game warden when saying, "I don't want to go to this area then commit a crime by happenstance and have the game warden say to me, "Ignorance is no excuse" when I am calling you with questions. Made sense to me. I will tell you I love the SCDNR but sometimes it is the individual attitudes within this department that make life problematic.

Sometimes you can't let off-putting people stop you. I can admit there have been up to three different people excluding the game warden that I have asked to clarify or go down to this tract with me so I won't get in trouble. All they do is walk away or ignore you.

Here is what I did. I knew of a retired game warden that lived close by and called him. I explained to him what I was attempting to do. He took 45 minutes of his personal time out to explain to me about the tract of land. After this conversation I felt more empowered to go by myself and sit under a tree to do my business.

I had paid for my license last year for this particular tract that didn't need tagging or special permits. Always thinking of safety, if I were to go inside this place by myself then someone would have to know. I went over to the local DNR office to pick up maps for each game zone. I looked them over. Unfortunately there were no detailed maps of the specific area. What was a girl to do?

I googled Earth. For every one of those little lanes or entry ways, I followed the white line to see exactly where it ended. Most of them looped back to the main road so I was comfortable with the fact I could get back out. I did note the swampy areas where it would not be easily accessed. I then thought I would go down and make my own map with numbers and where it ended so when I went back I could mark the places where I hunted, water holes, game that appeared, general direction of tracks and time of day among other things. As we know some animals do not go back to the same place twice or travel the same path. Overall this endeavor was to pinpoint my location to family members if I were not to come back so it would be easier to find the body. There is the old saying, "Gone and let the hogs eat you". Gone being the southern sounding word in exasperation for "Go on". I could be eaten by wild hogs; it happens.

This is why sometimes you have to consider the way people get into hunting or fishing. Someone else takes them and minus the license probably do not feel responsible for the knowledge because they are temporarily there for the pleasure of the activity.

If you go by yourself it is rather different. As a hunter you have to put some semblance of thought and planning into your trip or else come up empty handed or worse yet in disaster. Your success depends on your knowledge and not someone elses unless you are gathering it from the source that dictates the legal parameters of whatever it is you are doing. I negate guided hunts in this piece because you are still relying on another person for your success.

I know there is a lot of online chatter about how close people are that hunt but when  you are considered the outsider in circles or just starting out while not knowing anyone it can be hard. To some extend it is who you know. You don't know anyone; it gets harder. You might approach people that turn their nose up at you, do not want you to know their hunting spot, or consider you a joke because they don't think you have "the look" or "attitude". Unfortunately for me I don't have "the look" but my attitude I wonder at sometimes. I don't wear camo all the time, sleep in it, cover my truck in it, or whatever else people do with camo. I don't look the part which confuses people. Usually I wear a red plaid shirt, blue jeans and snake boots. Half of the time there are memes that have make-no-sense messages that drive me crazy. Hence, keeping my inflammatory writings relegated to my blogosphere.

When you are a female hunter starting out, as magazines and other people that hunt are tooting their horns while neglecting to educate these women on the details of what life is going to be like, may find moments where things are just unclear or you are going it alone.  A lot of this information you can get from online or at the local Department of Natural Resources. It is always a good idea to check with these departments because when land tracts are exchanged they could have changing legislation, logging companies could be on or off the properties, there might be existing private property within the tract, and  the reality of changing conditions. Moreso what you can, can not do and telling someone when and where you are going, then coming back at what time. You have to consider cell phone reception in case you break a leg, bog down, shoot yourself, or pass out. Some hunters go down in the woods to have a heart attack then where will you be?

There is nothing wrong with asking for help. If whoever doesn't want to help you find someone with character that will. There is always a way, might take you a while to get there, or find a friend or two to get your back, but keep trying and doing. Eventually it will come and they will find out they found a diamond and not a piece of coal; when coal was all that surrounded them.

P.S. So going to get a ticket from the DNR.

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth
                  
 

~Courtesy of the AOFH~