Small Stream Bronze - A Fishing Story

I was dozing comfortably in dream world on the couch at five in the morning when Genz Man gently knocked on my door to alert me that it was time to go fishing.  Genz Man is my friend Bill's user name on some of the web forums that we both frequent.  He knocked loud enough for me to hear, but careful enough as to not wake my wife or daughter.  I was tired because I didn't sleep the night before but for a few hours.  I stayed up and prepared my tackle until about two in the morning. 

I stuffed my fishing vest with bags of my favorite soft plastics, packed my small crankbait and topwater box with as many as I could cram in there, organized my minnow box so that the Rapala Floating Minnows, Countdown Minnows, and various jerkbaits weren't so tangled up that they'd come out in one big pile, and made sure my jig and terminal tackle box was organized and ready to go.  I donned my vest to make sure that everything was within reach, and it was, yet I felt like a well-armed policeman with so much gear around my belt that I had to hold my arms out about a foot from my torso.  After that, I dressed for the wading trip, packed my lunch, and readied a change of clothes. 

It took me a long time to prepare and get everything just right that my efforts robbed me of much needed sleep.  However, the preparation and anticipation of small stream fishing for smallmouth bass is almost as fun as being out there.  If it was for any reason other than for fishing, I might have been grumpy and irritable.  Even though I closed my eyes around two in the morning, I hardly slept because my mind raced with short mental videos of me casting to oversized chunky bronzebacks willing to chomp on my plastic offering and leap out of the water several feet into the air.

I was already fully dressed and ready to go when Bill arrived.  I arose and walked into our bedroom to give my wife a gentle kiss goodbye, then ventured to my daughter's room to do the same.  I grabbed my rod, wading shoes, a change of clothes, my fishing vest and a cooler of water and was on my way.  As I locked my front door, I realized that I’d be free from the daily grind and all that anxiety for an entire day.  Mockingbirds and catbirds sang boldly as if to alert the world to the beauty of their music while Genz Man helped me load his car.  His vehicle, a blue Ford Escort wagon, was a true fishin’ machine in my humble opinion with its hatch back boasting lots of room for rods, tackle and anything else we wanted to bring, like a mini station wagon!  We got in, discussed our wading destination, and we were on our way.

We had about an hour and twenty minute ride to our spot, a tranquil freestone stream scarcely fished by anyone except a few anglers local to that area.  Typical to many small streams, the fishing holes closest to the bridges and parking areas receive the most fishing pressure, but if you put forth the effort and wade a ways you’ll usually find lots of action.  Genz Man, always the pessimist, complained that the water might be as muddy as chocolate milk because of the thunderstorm that hit the area the night before. 

My mind wandered off.  I imagined casting my four inch green pumpkin tube jig up and across the stream into a four foot deep pool full of chunk rock right along a line of foam drifting along the current.   My jig drifts ever so slowly, sensing it tick the rocks with my St. Croix graphite rod.  I lifting my rod tip as the jig crawls over the rocks mimicking the bronzebacks favorite protein packed food source, the crawdad. The lure hangs up on a rock and I quickly jerk the rod tip in an attempt to pop the jig free from the snag.  The jig frees itself and I feel the telltale tap of a chunky smallmouth inhaling the lure.  I reeled up the slack line, dropped the rod tip and with a quick sweep of my rod, drove the hook home.  The king of the stream leapt several times as I finally turned its head and controlled him toward my side of the stream… I marveled at the teleosts size and beauty.   

“Kevin!  Where am I supposed to turn?” yelled Genz man as I snapped out of my daze with a smile on my face.  “Turn left here, Bill.  Go around the bend and make the first right.   The bridge is at the bottom of the hill and we’ll park there.  Pick up the pace, will ya?  Yer drivin’ like an ol’ lady,” I replied in a ridiculous sarcastic attempt to gain fishing time.

We reached the bridge and jumped out of the car like two little kids in a Disneyland parking lot and rushed down to check the stream conditions.  I knew that the water clarity would be crystal clear.  This particular stream seems to be less influenced by erosion than the other streams that we fish.  Of course, before I can comment on the stream conditions, Genz Man jokingly replies, “Chocolate.  We’re gonna get skunked!”  He did that the entire ride to our spot.  When I was a kid there was a cartoon show on the television titled “Gulliver’s Travels” and there was this character named “Glum” who always spoke of gloom and doom, no matter the situation.  Glum’s favorite saying when everyone was in peril was, “We’ll never make it”.  Well, “Glum” should be Bill’s web forum user name instead of the one he uses, because that describes him to a tee! 

We rushed back to the car to get ready.  The temperature on the dash read ninety two degrees and it was humid, but we knew we’d be cool in the stream and we’d tote plenty of water to stay hydrated.  Plus, we knew that we could always remove our gear, place it along the shore, and take a dip in the cool water of a deep pool later to stay cool if we had to.  Next, we put on our wading shoes, made sure that we applied sun screen, and sprayed Deep Woods Off all over us to repel those biting flies that participate in aerial races around your head.  I made sure that I had my lures ready in my vest within easy reach, double checked that I had packed enough water, and made one final check to make sure that Genz man had his car keys on hand before we locked up the vehicle and headed off in pursuit of our quarry, Micropterus dolomieu, commonly known as the smallmouth bass. 

An early morning fog enveloped the area as we approached the clear rock strewn stream and entered the water.  “Whoa!”  Those first few steps into the creek are a sometimes a shock to the system when wet wading a mountain stream.  These shady streams run cooler than the major river systems in our area and at seven in the morning, the chill of the water really wakes you up in a hurry!  We briefly fished the pool below the bridge and each caught a small rock bass. 

“What are you starting out with Bill?” I asked.  He replied, “I’m using a pumpkin worm with a chartreuse tail.  How about you?”  I hesitated to tell him, as if keeping the lure tied on the end of my line a secret would give away my competitive edge.  But, I relinquished and spilled the beans, "I’m starting out with a tube.  Let’s move on to some better pools.”  We had to cross through a deeper pool to the gravel bar on the other side and that meant that we had to get our "you know whats" wet.  “Whoa Nelly that water is cold!” I blurted out.  Genz man cursed me for putting him in such discomfort by making him cross the cold mountain stream so early in the morning.  “Don’t worry Bill, this way you’ll get used to it faster.”  As we both felt the cool water running through our loins, I yelled out the famous Seinfeil episode buzzword, “Shrinkage!”  We both laughed and crossed.

We decided to fish in an upstream direction.  Fishing upstream has its advantages.  Usually, you have a better chance in avoiding spooking the fish because most of them face upstream.  That way you remain unseen for a longer period of time and you can approach for a closer cast.  That's the theory anyway.  Fish orient themselves into the current to ambush unsuspecting prey that might drift with the current into their feeding lane.  Also, you pretty much avoid kicking up silt and clouding the pools that you are approaching and potentially alerting smallmouth of your presence. 

I knew that just ahead of us were a couple really awesome holes that should house some big fat smallies ready to comsume our tempting lures.  Genz Man had never fished this particular spot.  He was outwardly negative as usual, like Glum, but you could tell that he was pretty fired up.  We crossed over to a gravel bar, pushed along a very shallow gravel stretch and made our way upstream to the next pool.  “Bill, just around the corner is a pretty nice pool with lots of chunk rock.  I’ve caught some brutes there. Wade carefully across the stream here so that we can approach from that gravel bar over there.  Be stealthy and careful not to spook them.  They hold tight to the rocks at the head of the riffles, so cast across and down and you should hook up.” 

Genz Man took my advice and hooked into something solid, the type of fish that doesn't budge on your hook set.  The fish zipped across the back of the pool taking line for a few seconds.  Genz Man fought his fish for a minute or so and then eased the bass to his side, lipped him, and bellowed, “Ah, just a twelve incher.”  I corrected him, “Bill, that fish is about fourteen inches long.  Just hold your hand up and spread out your fingers.  Your hands are about the same size as mine.  That’s about nine inches and the fish extends at least five inches past your little finger.  Do you want a picture?”  He replied, “Naw, maybe on a bigger fish, save it for later.”  After that, we each caught a couple dinky smallmouth out of that hole.  They’re good practice for that big one that may hit later on.  I still marvel at how cool even the smaller ones appear.  Their coloration, the red eyes, and how aggressive they are simply amaze me.  For their size they still fight and leap with the heart of their older generation.  “Bill, let’s move on to the next hole.”

After we waded through a shallow unproductive stretch, we approached a nice looking pool where the stream was at first fairly straight and then widened into a deeper pool.  On the left, steep eroded banks lined with fallen trees were scattered by past floods along the shoreline, and on the right side stood a few boulders along a rocky shale cliff.  Heavy spring rains caused the creek to swell over the banks earlier in the year, which created currents that piled up the gravel in the center making it the shallow spot in this pool.  This was the place to wade in this pool as it was about knee deep. 

During the summer, the flow here splits to either side of the gravel bar.  The obvious deeper fish holding locations were on either side of us.  I noticed that the current ahead of us boiled over a huge section of chunk rock in the shallow stretch.  Other than the shoreline cover, it’s the only object submerged that fish could use as ambush cover, so I tossed my tube just upstream past the rock while Bill worked the shoreline cover.  I let the tube sink down into the current so it drifted along the stream bottom adjacent to the rock.  I felt a tap as a smallie inhaled my lure, just like my dream on the ride up, and promptly set the hook.  Instantly a nice smallmouth rocketed out of the water a couple feet in the air and headed downstream. 

Meanwhile, Genz Man had placed a beautiful cast deep into a blow down on the right side of the creek that resulted in a decent fat thirteen inch largemouth bass.  As Bill screamed out the identity of his catch and proudly lipped it up into view, I stood amazed at the power of these stream smallies as I carefully fought my fish.  I love the power of bronze!  Wow, what a good fight.  I finally landed it, a dark fat smallie.  I didn’t have a scale or measuring tape handy because when you wade as far as we do you plan to get wet and you have a limited the amount of space for tackle.  You have to pack light and any extra space is crammed with tackle.  So, once again, I stretched my thumb and index finger as far as it will go (about nine inches) and held my hand up against the snout and tail of the bass.  I estimated that the head extended about seven inches further than my little finger and estimated this bass to be about sixteen inches long.  Genz Man scrambled for his digital camera as I prepared to release the bass. 

I gazed into the smallies mouth and noticed that there was a pair of antennae sticking out of the gullet.  Using my forceps, I carefully pushed back the tissue and revealed the head of a crayfish remarkably close in color to the green pumpkin tube that I was using.  My confidence was at an all-time high for the remainder of the day.  Genz Man snapped off a photo and I gently released the bass to fight another day. 

Here's a nice smallie that hit a tube jig on a small stream.

What a start!  Small streams such as these can’t take much fishing pressure.  Small stream watersheds are a fragile resource, so catch and release helps to ensure that future trips will be just as productive each time that you return.  We caught several smallmouth between eight and twelve inches, a couple red breast sunfish, and a few rock bass and moved to the next hole.

I just love small streams!

The next stretch of stream was about two hundred yards long, and was fairly unproductive but we picked up a few short bass here and there.  Chutes in the rapids along the right bank dipped under some undercut banks that were hidden in streamside root systems.  Those are classic trout spots on many streams.  On streams like this you could encounter a feisty smallmouth instead, and that is exactly where we picked up the bass in this stretch. 

The middle of the stream had lots of gravel and not too many places for bass to hide, so we fished through this area fairly quickly.  I remember the first time that I fished this stretch it seemed that whenever I looked ahead, the pools looked better and better.  Often you’d see some bluffs or cliffs and imagine a deep hole under them only to find that even though it looked deep from far away, when you waded up on the spot it turned out to be shallow and without fish holding cover.  This sometimes results in wading where you should be fishing and fishing where you should be wading.  So, I’ve learned to remember those stretches the next time.  Still, you should approach them stealthily because stream beds change each year from periodic flooding.  It’s amazing how much rock will move during a stream flash flood.

Genz Man with a suprise pickerel on a smallie stream!

We encountered a pool around the creek bend that was deep, rocky, and separated by an island.  A kingfisher perched on a limb overlooking the pool.  If he felt it was a good spot to fish, then we should too.  After all, he’s a master at this sport and makes a living fishing.  There was good flow to the pool from both sides of the island, and off to the right was a slack water pool deep enough to hold fish but just off the main creek.  The pool is roughly four feet deep at its deepest spot but filled with chunk rock.  We planned to fish this pool thoroughly and then take a break for lunch and along with a nice drink of refreshing water. 

One of the things that I like to do is use a rattle in my tube jig and they are great for these deep pools.  I’m not sure if it really attracts them or not, but it doesn’t seem to hurt, and it seems to me that I get more hits using the rattle than if I don’t.  Both Genz Man and I took up our positions on the gravel bar just downstream from the island.  This is a fairly large pool with multiple feeding lanes, and both of us were in prime position to catch fish.  The far shoreline had plenty of shade from the canopy of trees overhead, the undercut bank was lined with chunk rock, and the deep slack area was beyond it. 

Genz Man hooked up immediately on a chunky fourteen inch smallmouth that completely engulfed his plastic worm as soon as it hit the water, and after a few acrobatic leaps, landed the spunky bronze fish.  Meanwhile, before casting, I visualized where the fish hold while using the current as feeding lanes.  Follow the foam.  I figured that Bill was working the far bank so I’d take the deep center section.  Given the depth and amount of current, that choice best suited my lure and presentation anyway.  I didn’t get any hits on that cast, but before I could lift my lure out of the water to make my next cast I see ol’ Genz Man next to me battling yet another feisty bass. 

My next cast gave me that perfect drift right down the foam line.  I could feel the lure ticking the rocks below in front of me and then I had a tap.  I set the hook but felt no weight, and my lure was gone.  Huh?  I blurted out an expletive under my breath.  Either my knot wasn’t up to snuff or this small stream contained toothy critters that previously I didn’t know about.  Meanwhile, Genz Man was in a zone.  He landed four bass in a row all of them exceeded fourteen inches. 

All this happened as I rigged up another tube.  I was Texas rigging my tube that day, first, threading a small bullet weight onto my line.  I tied an extra wide gap worm hook onto the end of my line.  I placed the hook into the head of a new green pumpkin tube and pushed the hook out a half inch or so later.  Then, I pushed a rattle into the tube cavity followed by a drop of worm glue, and then buried the hook back through the tube at the rear near the tentacles and back into the “skin” of the outside of the tube.   

After all that effort, I cast into the pool again only to lose my tube to another bite off.  At that point in time I was fuming!  So, I decided it was time to switch tactics.  I pulled my spare spool of line out of my vest that was filled with Fireline.  Fireline is a fused super line which is stonger than monofilament but not immune to the bite offs of toothy critters.  I eventually pitched my tube back into the pool and landed three decent smallmouth between nine and twelve inches.  None of those bass were the toothy thief that patrolled that hole. 

My frustration continued as I lost my next fish right at my feet, not a huge bass, but a good one.  Next thing I hear is Genz man hooting and hollering downstream from me as he battled a nice chain pickerel.  He landed it and held it up as I took a picture with my digital camera.  It was about twenty inches long.  “Wow, I didn’t realize this stream had pickerel in it”, I remarked.  On my next cast I caught a small pickerel, about twelve inches long.  After that, I had a really nice pick up on the tube and set the hook only to have another bite off.  That was it for the pickerel action on the day, but we did manage to hook a few more bass out of that pool before sitting down to eat lunch.  Time had really escaped us as it was well after two o’clock in the afternoon.  It’s funny how hunger doesn’t affect you while you’re having such good fishing action.  Already on the day we’d combined to catch over forty fish. 

Who'da thunkit?  I've fished this stream for fifteen years and never new that chainsides prowled this body of water!

I sat on a nice flat rock, relaxed, and gazed downstream as a doe and her two fawns crossed the creek at the riffles below about a hundred yards away, absolutely unaware of our presence.  The sun was high overhead but the canopy of trees above us gave us plenty of shady cover while the cool stream cooled our feet. 

As I ate my lunch, I was entertained by the microecosystem right at my feet.  Small johnny darters fed on plankton just a few feet away from me.  A school of black nosed dace and satinfin shiners darted up from the deeper pool at my left into shallow water every now and then to nibble at the hairs on my legs.  A crayfish used its claws to push sediment from under his rock like a tiny bulldozer.  I picked up a flat stream rock and noticed several caddis fly nymphs clinging to the bottom side of the rock.  Mayfly nymphs attempted to find their way to the edge of the rock in search of their watery home.  Tiny young of the year smallmouth seemed to feed in packs against the grass bed to my right on small microscopic prey.  The diminutive bass seem to impose their dominance and their place in the pecking order among the darters.  One smallie no more than an inch long seem to delight in tormenting the bottom dwelling darters.  Every time a darter settled in his territory the tiny bass would shoot out and peck it on the tail, causing it to move and settle again. 

While I ate my lunch and watched the mini ecosystem at my feet, Bill caught a massive rock bass in the deep hole after eating his lunch.  I gulped down some water and finished my lunch as fast as I could chew and swallow.  It was time to get back on ‘em.

Our soft plastics worked well in the next several holes.  One thing that we do to be fair and give each of us “unused” water to fish is to leap frog the holes.  In other words, we’d take turns having first crack at each hole.  No more big smallies were caught during the remainder of the afternoon, but the action was steady.  I noticed a drastic dropoff in the bites as we reached our last hole.  It was time to work our way back if we were to make it back to our vehicle before dark.  Genz Man continued to offer his plastic worm to the fish, this time wading downstream and casting across and down as we trudged along. 

We have to pay particular attention to our silt trail and walk more carefully as to not spook fish in the better pools below.  The across and down presentation changes the lure drift as subsurface lures ride much higher from the resistance of the current.  This difference could trigger strikes from more active fish as the afternoon progresses, but overlooks less active bass that are hunkered down on the bottom.  By this time of day we don’t have time to fish thoroughly, we’re covering a lot of water on the wade back, so it’s run and gun. 

I could have opted for the same drift with my tube, but decided that a different approach was needed, something the fish haven’t seen all day long.  So, I tied on a small 1/8 ounce chartreuse buzzbait and tipped it with a pumpkin/chartreuse tail ringworm as a trailer.  In years past this combination on small streams had been amazing.  Smallies seem to home in on that worm better than just the bright skirt for reasons that I don’t understand.  I discovered it on a Maryland small stream one day when fishing just the ringworm on light line.  It seemed that each time I finished my drift and I reeled the worm back fast to make another cast, I’d get either a fish follow it aggressively or I’d get a hit. 

So I went to the buzzer to call more of them in and maybe get more hook ups, and it paid off.  I had tried the buzzer earlier that day with only a few hits and no fish to show for it.  Adding the worm trailer may have been the difference.  I finished with one bass short of a hundred smallmouth, with all but four bass coming on that buzzbait/worm combination (and plenty of decent fish landed too), so that pattern became etched in my brain forever.  I tossed my newly tied on buzzer at the first piece of cover near deep water that I saw and promptly drew a strike.  I missed that fish, but knew that my pattern would be hot from that point on.  Bill promply followed up my miss with his plastic worm and landed that bass, a nice twelve incher.  

This smallie took a buzzbait toward the end of the day.

As we waded through the pools that we had already fished, I picked up one chunky bass after another that hammered my buzzbait.  It was amazing how aggressive these bass were.  Meanwhile, Bill was still catching a bass here and there, but I don’t know if it was the slower presentation of the worm (not covering as much water) that caused me to catch fish at a faster rate, or if it was that the fish were much more aggressive and on the prowl, or if working the top was getting the attention of the fish better than drifting the bait in front of them or what.  I don’t know, but it was working. 

After landing a dozen more bass, I urged Genz Man to change his tactics and he finally bit the bullet and did (he is stubborn, just like me).  From that point on we both absolutely nailed the bass all afternoon on the buzzers.  Finally, on the last hole of the day, I caught a decent smallie, another fat sixteen inch fish right in the center of a pool where the current was broken by a large rock in front of me.  I tossed my buzzer in there again and had a huge hit.  The bass was much bigger than I’d caught all day and it took my lure straight down under the rock. 

My confidence in landing hooked bass on Fireline had never been a question in my mind.  Once I drive that hook home on the hookset and feel the head shake on the other end I pretty much know that I’m going to land him.  But, not this time, the fish broke my line.  I couldn’t believe it.  I guessed that a sharp edge on the rock must have cut my Fireline like butter.  It was the only buzzer that I had with me that day.  I was so ticked off, not only because I lost that big bass but because I lost my hot bait.  I had another one in the car, but it was two hundred yards away and we only had about ten minutes of daylight remaining! 

I reluctantly tied on a super fluke hoping that bait, normally very productive on this body of water, would produce as well as the buzzer did.  The bass ingnored my soft plastic green pumpkin fluke.  Across the other side of the pool, a nice smallmouth that I estimated at eighteen or nineteen inches leapt from the water with a chartreuse buzzbait visible in its mouth in an attempt to throw the lure.  A couple leaps later and that big stream smallie spit out my lure. 

Meanwhile, Bill was stroking the bass with his buzzer.  I had enough and decided to carefully wade downstream from the pool and around the other side in a hopeless attempt to find my buzzbait where that big bass jumped.  I did this until dark to no avail while upstream from me Genz Man landed yet another bass.  I gave up and just decided to watch him fish.  Bill caught a rock bass and another ten inch smallie and then the action came to a halt as time ran out and became dark.

We had a bit of a drive home so we decided to call it quits and wade back to the car.  We both had a terrific day.  We caught a lot of bass, plenty of wildlife, and we had it all to ourselves.  The entire day was over, gone, like we were in another world altogether.  We had to return to our daily grinds the next day.  On the way home we recapped the day and it seemed to keep both of us lively for the ride home. 

I’d never forget that day, like many that I’ve had on that stream.  I had great fishing, beautiful scenery, and great company with one of my best friends.  What more could one ask for?

Where exactly is this fine small stream that we fished, you say?   It’s the stream just down the road from you!  

Note:  this is a semi-fictional story based on many true events.  It is basically a combination of some of my favorite small stream memories.  It’s how I view my small stream smallmouth bass fishing experiences.  This is NOT a fishing report, but rather just a story for your enjoyment, and my enjoyment each time I relive it by reading it over and over.  The pictures are conveniently similar to the story though!

Please Practice Catch, Photo, and Release on Small Stream Bass.

For more info on fishing small water for smallmouth bass, check out my post titled, "Small Stream Smallies=Big Time Fun" by clicking here:  http://fatboysoutdoors.blogspot.com/2011/06/small-stream-smallies-big-time-fun.html, that is, if you haven't seen that post yet.

Take a Visit to the Miocene

One of the most famous epochs containing formations with abundant shark teeth is the Miocene.  This post is displays pictures and information from the Calvert Formation, Miocene Epoch, approximately 18-25 million years old, and hopefully will give you a better idea what to find from this time period. 

If you find fossils like these, perhaps the pictures and descriptions below will help you in some way to either identify your fossils or perhaps give you some good information about them. 

I'm really blessed to live along the Mid-Atlantic Coast of the U.S.A. because of the rich fossil deposits along our tidal rivers, bays, and the Atlantic coastline.  I will cover several species in this post, but anything I don't get to here will be covered at a later date in future posts.

(Above) Pictured left to right, I think it's a small toothed whale, but could be a large porpoise tooth, both teeth to the right of that is Carcharocles chubutensis (ancestor to the famous megalodon), and the one on the right is Carcharocles megalodon (the "shamer" half tooth is almost 4 1/2 inches long).  These sharks are fossils of extinct giant white sharks, or megatooth sharks. 

Many experts believe that this lineage died out about two million years ago at the end of the Pliocene epoch.  Many theories exist as to why they became extinct, but we may never know.  Others believe that this is the ancestor to the modern great white shark, Carcharodon carcharias.  The evidence in the fossil record seems to point to a different ancestor to our modern great white, which may have been an extinct giant mako shark, Cosmopolitodus hastalis.  The teeth are remarkably similar in size, shape, and jaw position and the only difference appears to be that the extinct mako lacks the serrations of the modern great white shark. 

You can follow the comparisons here:  http://www.elasmo.com/genera/slides/gw_evo/gw_intro.html.  Make sure that if you follow that link to use the drop down menu at the top right to view each part of the article.  It's really fascinating to me.  C. chubutensis grew to over 40 feet long sporting teeth over four inches long, while many believe that C. megalodon grew to 60 feet or more with teeth exceeding a whopping seven inches long!!!!  By the way, the website http://www.elasmo.com/ is a great website that can assist you in identifying your finds.


The chart above suggests the possible evolution of the massive megatooth extinct great white shark, Carcharocles megalodon.  There is one tooth not pictured that may have given rise to Otodus obliquus on the left of the chart called Cretalamna appendiculata from the Cretaceous and lived into the Paleocene.    

(link here:  http://www.elasmo.com/genera/cretaceous/cretalamna.html)  You'll notice that the older sharks, like Otodus obliquus, lack serrations, aren't as pronounced, or only partially cover the blade, and through evolution become more pronounced and completely cover the blade.  Likewise, the older teeth have large cusplets (basically, small blades or points jutting out of the root or blade).  As these sharks evolved, you'll notice the cusplet sizes decreased over time until non-existant in megalodon.  And finally, the blades become more robust and massive, and the teeth increase in size overall size (as the size of these sharks increased).

This is a posterior "meg" (the pet name palaeo types give megalodon).  This tooth position is the furthest from the center of the jaw.  I'm not sure if this is an upper or lower tooth.  Anyway, they aren't very common and always make my day when I find one.

The picture right below is "in situ" (latin for in position), in this case, a ground shot photo of the posterior meg tooth that I found in the previous picture.

Can you spot the tooth in this in-situ photograph?

When collecting shark teeth, often they are just laying on the ground, sometimes out in the open, other times hidden by gravel, shells, or partially covered by sand.  All it takes is a few waves to expose a tooth. 

To find these teeth, you not only need to recognize their shapes, how they glisten when wet or shine in the sun, sometimes their color, but especially when they are partially exposed.  You need to recognize a partial root, or part of a blade sticking out leaving a sharp even edge unlike the shells around it.  As you see in the picture at left, there is a lot of shell material on the beach.  I'd venture to say that about ninety five percent of the shells that you'll find along the Calvert Formation are fossil material.

How do the teeth and other fossils wind up on the beach?  Millions and millions of years ago, much of the Mid-Atlantic coastal plain of today was covered by the ocean.  As animals died they settled on the sea floor and became buried by silt or sand.  Those dead animals became fossilized eventually.  But, most of the shark teeth that you find were simply teeth that sharks lost as they fed.  Sharks shed teeth as they feed at the rate of five to ten thousand per year, per shark, depending on the species.  As prehistoric sharks lost their teeth, they settles into the silt on the sea floor and became buried.  Layer upon layer of silt and animal remains settled on the sea floor for millions and millions of years, eventually becoming clay and rock.  All the while, the fossilization of the animal remains occurred. 

After the oceans receded, what was once ocean floor, became exposed above sea level.  In our region, these exposed fossil deposits were eroded by water and wind eventually forming cliffs showing layers of the clay material.  Over time, as the cliffs eroded, chunks and boulders of clay crashed to the beach below.  Those boulders contained the fossils.  Waves and tidal currents stripped the clay material, and the boulders eroded quickly into small pebbles (like in the picture), or just sand and silt, and left the fossils strewn across the beach.  Waves and currents continually cover and expose the fossils that we're lucky enough to find.


The tooth above is currently unidentified.  I found it in the Calvert Formation.  It's serrated and uniform, and several local amateur paleontologists and collectors believe that it could be a great white shark, Carcharodon carcharias.  But, modern great white teeth are so rare here that I have yet to hear of anyone finding one.  So, more than likely, it's probably a posterior juvenile tooth of Carcharocles  megalodon.  If anyone knows for sure, I'd appreciate a comment.  At any rate, even though it 's quite small, it's one of my coolest teeth from the Calvert Formation.  The root is robust, the blade serrated, and there are no notches.  Edit:  I've since had the tooth identified as a symphyseal megalodon tooth, probably from a smaller adult shark.

The next tooth pictured in the above two photos, is Hemipristis serra, commonly known as the snaggletooth shark.  This is one of my favorite species of shark teeth.  It became extinct after the Miocene about 18 million years ago.  Teeth from this shark sometimes exceed 1 1/4 inches long suggesting that this shark grew to about 15 to 20 feet perhaps.  This must have been quite an opportunistic feeder because it has such a varied array of teeth in the jaw (known as the animals dentition). 

The upper teeth, like the two pictured above, have nasty huge serrations, like a steak knife and are extremely sharp.  The first picture shows an upper anterior (front) tooth.   The second pic, is an upper lateral (toward the side of the jaw) tooth.  These cool looking teeth are designed for cutting.  It's a fairly robust tooth as well with a root as strong as the modern tiger shark. 

The lower anterior (front) teeth, pictured above, resemble those of sand tiger sharks, although they all have serrated edges, some of serrations can be completely worn away and can confuse collectors who may misidentify them as a sand tiger shark.  The lower teeth are needle like (although a bit more robust) and somewhat hooked, which are perfect for grasping and holding prey while the upper teeth do the dirty work.  I imagine that this shark was a formidable predator in it's day. 

There is a modern day relative, Hemipristis elongata that lives off the coast of Africa.  The modern day shark only grows to about eight feet long, yet has a similar dentition, pictured on Elasmo.com here:  http://www.elasmo.com/selachin/slides/dent/pics/h_elongata-dent.jpg.

My brother and I were collecting along this beach years ago.  Not only did we find fossils, but, we enjoyed the peace and solitude, as our minds drifted back to the Miocene.

The scenery is quite beautiful along the Chesapeake Bay.  Sometimes you may find solitude while collecting, drifting back in prehistoric time, as the gentle slap of waves along the shore act as a sorting machine of the material on the beach. 

There are many techniques that people employ to find fossils, and I'll save that for a future blog post, but sometimes nature will do the work for you.  Each wave can expose something new to find.  Please note that it's illegal to dig into the cliffs.  Anything that you find here must come from the beach deposits.

Now, before we move on, let me clarify that the megalodon and chubutensis teeth above are not very common.  I may only find a few each year.  The teeth pictured at above are more of a typical mix of what you'd find on an average trip. The top left tooth is a sand tiger shark tooth. 

Notice the long, slender, needle like shape perfect for grasping prey, especially fish.  The lower anterior teeth of Hemipristis serra resemble these in shape.  Directly below that tooth is a cow shark tooth, Notorynchus primigenius, which has many cusplets.  These shark teeth also are some of my favorite finds and are very cool. To the right of those are mako teeth, more Hemipristis serra teeth, and below those are two species of extinct tiger sharks, and below that are lemon shark teeth and various requiem shark teeth that are extinct relatives of todays bull sharks. 

Anyway, you get a feel of how many shark teeth and different species that are likely to be found when conditions are right.  I'll get into more detail later about some of the species in that picture.






























The above picture shows two very special finds.  The left tooth is cow shark, or sevengill shark, Notorynchus primigenius, a tooth that is fairly rare because of it's position in the jaw.  It's known as a symphyseal tooth, which is a fancy scientific word describing the center of the jaw.  This symphyseal tooth is from the cow sharks lower jaw.   As mentioned above, cow shark teeth really get me fired up when I find them.  They are not very common and just are very cool indeed. 

The tooth on the right is from a crow shark, Squalicorax kaupi, which became extinct long before the sharks of the Miocene.  It was a special find simply because it's from another time period, the Cretaceous, or the time of the dinosaurs, probably about a hundred million years old or so.  So what's so special about that?  Well, that formation is not near the Calvert Formation.  It's normally found about 50 miles away on the other side of the bay.  So, how did it get there?  We can only speculate.  Perhaps it was deposited during a flood millions of years ago after the Cretaceous period when the oceans receded.  Perhaps a collector that had been exploring Cretaceous deposits had one stuck in a sifter and accidentally dropped it.  More than likely, though, it was "reworked", which means that some other force of nature, perhaps and animal, like a shrimp, or crab, created a burrow and pushed the tooth from a deeper layer up into the Calvert Formation.  This could have even occurred from modern day animals burrowing, like ground hogs.  I've found two of these speces at this location.

Back to cow sharks.  In the picture above, there is a tooth from the upper anterior of a cow shark jaw. It's the right most tooth in the picture. You'll notice that it has less cusplets than the symphyseal tooth shown earlier.  In case you're wondering, the tooth on the left is a snaggletooth shark, and the center tooth is a C. chubutensis, or extinct great white.

The most impressive cow shark teeth are the lower anterior and lateral teeth.  The picture at left shows one of these teeth in situ.  In this particular species, you can have as many as seven cusplets.  There's another species, Hexanchus gigas that can have as many as a dozen cusplets!  That species is quite rare.  Both of these species are extinct, but both have very close relatives that are nearly identical from a tooth morphology standpoint.  Most of the teeth that you find from these sharks are broken.  You'll find segments of cusps, or perhaps a complete number of cusps but the root may have been broken off.  It's pretty rare to find a complete tooth. 

The main cusp was damaged on the one in the in situ photo.  But, on a different trip, I found a real nice one, above.  It was complete and perfect.  Notice the serrations ahead of the main cusp on the right edge of the blade.  The root is thin and fragile, but deep.  Cow shark teeth are not the primary goal of the collector.  In fact, most everyone leaves their house for a hunt hoping to find the elusive megalodon.  If you don't find a "meg" on your trip but come home with a cow shark tooth, then that's a real nice consolation prize if you ask me.  Always remember though, that no collection is complete unless you have representative specimens of each species of shark.  The tooth on the right is a porpoise tooth.

A riker mount full of teeth like this makes for a very impressive display, one that would cause jealousy among many fossil hunters around the world.

The next tooth that I'll show you is a mako shark Isurus desori (pictured above).  There are three types of extinct mako sharks that you can find in the Calvert Formation.  Isurus desori, or shortfin mako, and Isurus retroflexus, or longfin mako, are very similar to the shortfin and longfin makos of today.  The only difference is probably that the size of the mako teeth from the Miocene are slightly larger than their modern relatives.

Cosmopolitodus hastalis, is the third species found in the Calvert Formation. Many palaeontologists think that C. hastalis was the direct ancestor to our modern day great white shark.  I'll have pictures of those teeth in future fossil updates.

The right most tooth in the picture above is from a Bigeye Thresher shark Alopias superciliosus.  These teeth are not common at the cliffs.  The teeth are always less than an inch long, but have robust roots and blades, and are unserrated.  There are two species of thresher sharks that lived around here millions of years ago.  Thresher sharks, it's believed, use the upper lobe of the tail, which is extremely long, to herd baitfish in huge baitballs, and the sharks gorge themselves while feeding on the bait ball.  Some people think that they can actually use their tails to maim prey, like fish.

There are several types of commonly found teeth, but I'll post about those at a later date.  Hopefully, for a while, this will be enough for you to absorb!

While you're waiting for the next update, check out these great fossil websites and forums:  http://www.thefossilforum.com/ and http://www.blackriverfossils.org/.

There's a lot of information on those sites in addition some knowledgeable and friendly people.

New Blog Layout

I hope you like the new blog layout.  I organize the topics and posted links to all of the blog posts on the pages linked to the right.  Some of the titles have remained the same, but each page is now an index to the posts in that category.  The original stories are now individual blog posts, but they're still available by clicking the link on the applicable category page.

The new pages include:

A Tribute to My Brother Kyle

Let's Go Fishing

How About Some Hunting Stories

Sharks Teeth and Other Fossils Page

Outdoors Features

And one page is still the original fishing story titled, "Small Stream Bronze - A Fishing Story."

The Thirty Minute Eight Point Whitetail Buck

It was the Tuesday before thanksgiving, and with firearms season approaching in Maryland the following Saturday, I wanted to get in the woods with my bow for a shot at a rutting whitetail buck.  The previous day, I informed my boss that I wouldn't be at work the next day.  November is a busy time in my business, but I made sure that my schedule was clear and that all due dates were met or would easily be met.  When I take a day off to hunt, I want my mind to be free from the worries of work, so I can lose myself and be at peace with the woods.

I really enjoy bowhunting for many reasons.  Obviously, it's a challenge.  Scouting, stand placement, preparation, and shooting accuracy are all things that need to fall into place prior to your hunt which contribute to the success of a good bow hunt.  But most of all, I enjoy blending in with nature, having creatures do their thing as if I'm not even there.  I once had a Carolina wren land on my nocked arrow while in a tree stand.  It's common for grey squirrels to climb trees that your sitting in. On another occasion when I first took up bowhunting, while hunting on the ground, seated in a folding stool, I had a groundhog actually walk between my legs.  But the best aspect of blending in is obviously to be invisible in every way to the quarry that you seek, and in my case, it's whitetail deer.

Prior to bow season, if I'm hunting an unfamilar area, I scout the property seeking out potential hot spots.  Hot spots to me include areas of much deer activity, plenty of sign, and obviously a good tree for my tree stand.  You may need to find multiple spots that would be best given the time of day you'll be hunting.  Some locations are better morning spots, others are better in the evening, and some work all day long.  I also look for areas that may be hot spots later in the season.  You have to imagine what deer would be doing in the future.  For example, areas that intercept deer on their travel routes to and from bedding and feeding areas can be hot.  Stands close or in bedding areas can be hot morning spots if you get in the woods early enough.  Likewise, stands near feeding areas are productive in the late afternoon hunts.

Of course, scouting never stops for me.  I'm always looking for a better spot.  Sometimes, it may not be obvious based on deer sign.  It could be simply a place where you've spotted deer repeatedly, almost predictably.  Many of my successful hunts were spots where I remembered kicking out deer while either scouting or hunting in the past.  Often, places like those are bedding areas.

The previous night, it rained pretty hard.  I expected the woods to be quiet despite the fact that almost all of the leaves had fallen.  On days like that, usually you can often sneak into the woods quietly, and I had a spot in mind that I knew was a bedding area.  I've hunted this spot before in years past, and had yet to see a deer before nine in the morning.  This particular plot of land is on public property.  In my state, it's illegal to hang or build permanent stands or leave temporary ones in the woods unattended.  So, I have to get in the woods early enough to set up my portable tree stand and climb.  I was very optimistic that I could get to this area before the deer arrived and be undetected.  The problem with this spot is that they feed fairly close by, so when the leaves are dry and crunchy, it's impossible to sneak in and get close enough to hang your stand.

I awoke knowing that I took plenty of pre-hunt preparation to be scent free.  If  you're going to blend in as a bow hunter, it takes more than just camo clothing to be successful at it.  You can't smell like a skunk and be noisy, and properly preparing yourself includes being clean and scent free.  As illustrated in previous posts, I take a shower with scent free soap and shampoo.  I wash my clothes in scent free detergent and store them in plastic bags.  I wear scent free hunters deodorant, and brush my teeth with baking soda.  When I get to my spot, I don an outer layer from head to toe with Scent-Lok clothing.  And finally, I spray my equipment and boots with scent eliminator spray.

When I arrived to the hunting property, I had about a half mile walk to the spot that I had scouted back in August.  Because of the rains the previous night, figuring the forest floor would be quiet, I planned my arrival right before first light.  Often, when you can see where you're going and sneak in without a flashlight, and the woods is quiet, you can set up before the deer return to their bedding area.  The added light actually gives you visibility to more effectively sneak, a few steps at a time, watching to avoid stepping on and snapping sticks, and watching for movement ahead.  My tree was right smack in a place where they like to bed, about two hundred yards from the edge of a field, which during this year grew a crop of soy beans.

This property has trails intersecting the land that are popular with the horseback riding community.  The ground was still damp from the previous nights rain, at least on the horse trail that I was walking on.  The horse trail meanders beside a medium sized freestone stream that has a good population of wild brown trout, some of them that are real brutes.  I followed the horse trail until I arrived to the section of woods, passing a small pond along the way.  My spot is about half way up the side of a hill, along side a stand of pine trees.  I don't leave reflective pins along the horse trail to find my spot so that others don't catch my spot.  Instead, I remember natural landmarks to clue me as to when I should cut into the woods.  I leave on reflective pin in my tree, that's all, and it's far enough away from the trail that a passing flashlight won't see it.

Everything seemed right until I took four steps off the horse trail, and the leaves were still crunchy.  Two more steps, crunch, crunch, and the woods erupted.   White tails danced away in all directions about two hundred yards away, with snorts sounding from all directions.  I was busted.  I was dejected.  The woods weren't as quiet as I had hoped, and the crunchy leaves were like an alarm to the deer feeding in the distance.  I was so ticked off that I didn't even feel like hunting any more, so I left.  I know, I should have just moved and set up somewhere else, but I wasn't thinking rationally at the time.  I let me emotions get to me.

Upon my arrival back home, I took a nap then woke up around lunch time and, while eating lunch, started watching a movie that was on TV.  It was one of my favorite movies, Barbarosa, with Willie Nelson and Gary Busey, about two outlaw legends that resemble 1800's Robin Hood types except that they're a bit greedier.  Half way through the movie, I thought to myself, "Kevin, what the heck are you doing?  You dummy, you have a day off to hunt and you're wasting it on television?  What are you thinking?"

By that time it was about 2:30 PM, and if I hurried, I could be back in the woods in time to salvage my day.  I had another spot in mind that I found earlier in the season, like a bench along a hill side hidden by another stand of pine trees on one side, and another small rise in the hill, with a ravine on the other side, all well away from the horse trail.  It was a nice funnel, where I imagined deer using the ravine like a road, right to my tree.  I threw my Scent-Lok outer layers in the dryer to activate the carbone lining, and quickly jumped in the shower.  Twenty minutes elapsed and I was finally ready.  I had to hurry as I still had a half hour drive to the propery.

I arrived at the property at about 3:40 PM, and still had a twenty minute hike to my tree.  I followed the horse trail up and down several hills, along the river to my left.  Normally, if I have time, there are a couple spots along the river that I like to take a peek at the big brown trout that live in there.  And also, normally, I'll really take my time to be as quiet as possible even on the horse trail.  But on this afternoon, I didn't have time.  I had to hurry.

When I reached the point where I had to leave the horse trail, I really slowed my pace down.  I didn't want to make too much noise, and the sun came out earlier today and along with the wind, really dried things out.  The leaves were really crunchy.  I was careful not to crack sticks, and eventually made my way to my tree.  The time on my watch said 4:00 PM and I still had to set my stand up and climb the tree.

Back then, I used a stand up sit down type of climbing tree, called the Old Man tree stand.  It has a large platform and, at that time, innovative rubber coated heavy wire bands to attache the stand to the tree.  It's easy and fast to set up, and I had it on the tree ready to climb in less that a few minutes.  I attached my backpack and bow to my pull line (a cord used to pull your stuff up into a tree), crawled into my stand, attached my safety harness, and began to climb.

A few minutes later, at 4:10 PM and I was twenty feet up in my tree.  I attached my gear hook, a hanger that I can strap around the tree, kind of a hook with a belt that attaches to the tree.  I use that to hang my gear, like my backpack.  The tree had a huge pine tree behind it, providing a great background to prevent deer from looking up and seeing my silhouette highlighted against the sky.  I had great shooting lanes to my left at about ten o'clock, straight ahead, and at two o'clock toward the ravine.  I pulled up my backpack and bow, and hung both of them on the hanger.

I was in the process of getting my Scent-Lok gloves and head cover out, when I heard something moving through the crunchy forest floor coming from behind me from on top of the hill.  Wouldn't you know it?  This deer was moving down the steepest part of the hill right toward me, about fifty yards away and closing.  It was a nice eight point buck, not huge, but nice.  For me, that was a shooter.  The only problem was, my bow and gear were hanging on the tree over my right shoulder, and the deer was heading right to me at walking pace, just above eye level to my stand.

How was I going to get a shot when I didn't even have my gear and bow in hand?  Every time the buck went behind a tree in this mature woodland forest, I made a move, one at a time, to get my stuff.  First, I unzipped my bag, then after the next tree, I grabbed my release.  Then, strapped it to my wrist as the deer moved behind another tree.  Then, when the deer moved behind a large oak about thirty yards away, it stopped, now eye level with me.

I was able to grab my bow and quickly nock an arrow.  The buck moved again, still unaware of my presence.  There was one more large tree about twenty yards away from me before the deer would reach my first shooting lane, and that was my last chance to position my body for a shot and draw.  The buck moved a bit quicker than I had hoped, and even though my body was now in a position to shoot, I hadn't drawn, and the deer was already in my shooting lane, about fifteen yards away.

The buck worked its way out of that lane and stopped behind a medium sized oak, which perfectly hid me from its vision.  I drew back my bow, and waited for the deer to move out from the tree.  If the buck took two more steps, then I'd have a small window for a shot if the deer would stop, otherwise, I'd have to wait for it to pass through a thicket and into the next shooting lane.  As you know, they don't always do what you want, and I didn't want to risk that buck changing direction.  I had to take a shot.

I drew back my Matthews Z-Max bow, and waited for what seemed like an eternity.  I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold my 70 pound draw without shaking before having to let off.  But the buck stepped out from the tree and stopped, just in time, giving me a quartering away twelve yard shot with a window between the oak and saplings about three feet wide.  I placed my pin on where I thought it's heart would be, and gently squeezed the trigger on my release.  My arrow flew true, and struck the buck with what looked like a well placed shot.  The buck didn't even flinch.  It acted like nothing happened.

Huh?  I heard the sound of the arrow striking the deer.  Did I miss?  I thought for sure that I hit that buck right where my sight pin was zeroed in on its heart.  The deer walked away in the ravine with it's nose down, as if still looking for acorns, and then moved around the corner, and out of site.  I heard a big thud, and, in my mind, knew that was my buck falling down.

Still, my mind raced as I worried about missing.  I couldn't have missed.  I knew it was a good shot, but now I'm confused, and a bit neurotic.  I wanted to climb down so badly to check my arrow.  But, experience taught me to be patient, to wait at least thirty minutes before tracking my game.  I looked at my watch, 4:25 PM.  I hadn't been in my tree for fifteen minutes and I had a shot.  I almost felt ripped off, not being able to blend in and see all the birds, squirrels and other wildlife that normally pass by.  I like that relaxation, the wait, the anticipation, and then the excitement.  This was anything but that.  It was frantic, it was exciting.  So, at the same time, I was pumped.  Adrenaline flowed through my veins and was telling me to get down.

I checked my watch, thinking that time was ticking away in my favor.  4:30 PM.  Oh my gosh!  I can't wait up here!!!!!  I tried to just calm down and rest a bit.  I closed my eyes, trying to relax, and all I heard was rustling leaves in the distance.  Was that my buck trying to get up?  Or, was it those pesky squirrels chasing each other in a nut gathering competition.  It was the latter, but my neurosis kept telling me otherwise.

4:40 PM.  I couldn't stand it any longer.  Maybe I could just climb down and get my arrow.  After all, it couldn't be that far away.  Then, I could get my orange tape out and begin to mark the blood trail, not track the deer mind you, but just get the trail marked.  So, I gathered my gear up, lowered my bow and backpack, and climbed down.

Now on the ground, I was still worried about kicking out my buck, but decided to at least prepare for the track.  I wanted to see my arrow, to confirm the hit, and get an idea how much longer to wait.  I took a little time to get my knife, my orange tape, and get my bone saw out of my backpack.  I put on my backpack, grabbed my bow, and nocked an arrow, and was ready for tracking my deer. 

To track a deer shot with an arrow, you need something to mark your trail.  I use orange tape.  Just make sure that when you're done tracking that you go back and gather up your tape to prevent littering the woods.  I always carry enough water in my backpack to drink, but it also comes in handy when you dress out your deer.

I moved to where the deer was when I took my shot, and looked beyond that spot a bit, and there was my arrow a few yards away.  I picked it up and it was soaked with bright red blood, a good sign that it was a good shot.  I found spot of blood and the blood trail within seconds, and tied a piece of orange tape to a tree to mark the beginning of the trail.  I moved a few feet, another spot.  Then a few feet more, and a few bigger spots.  Then, the spots grew and became more frequent.  I was now at the beginning of the ravine, and the blood trail took a right turn.  As I looked into the ravine, it looked as if the woods was painted red, and thirty yards away, there was my buck.  It was almost five o'clock now, and daylight was just about over.  I had a lot of work to do, and about a half mile drag back to my truck.  I tagged my deer and dressed out my buck and dragged it back, taking nearly and hour to get it out of the woods.

I couldn't believe that had just happened.  I blew my morning hunt.  Then, I almost gave up and became a couch potato.  Then hurried into an afternoon hunt and, within thirty minutes of getting to my spot, shot a decent eight point buck.  I learned a valuable lesson that day, and that was to not give up when you know it's prime time for bowhunting.  Get off the couch and get into the woods!!!!!!

Note:  Picture of this buck forthcoming...

Sometimes It Pays to be Lucky!

Again, this story takes place in Ohio.  The timing was several years after my missed opportunity.  I had dreams about that buck, that spot, that hunt.  On this particular trip, the logistics didn't fare well for us.  We had three days to hunt, and we had a late start heading out from Maryland to Ohio.  It was kind of a last second affair.  A couple weeks prior, I prodded my buddy Bob about heading West to "hump the hills" again.  My persistance paid off, and he agreed to go albeit at the last minute.  But, we both couldn't get off work early as we had in the past, and I hadn't yet purchased a license.  With a multi-hour road trip ahead of us, and a late eleven o'clock PM start, we were looking at an arrival of about 4 AM in his home town. 

My best hope to obtain a license for the morning hunt the next day was to stop at the local Wally World, and if traffic was OK, maybe...just maybe...get a couple hours of shut eye before climbing the hills behind his house.  With the late start, heading back to the "bowl" wasn't an option.  I'd be the only one up, so I was on my own.  The best spot for me to bag a nice buck was to head behind his house and scamper up and down a couple steep hills to get away from everyone in a world where big antlered whitetails felt more comfortable.  That was my plan, anyway.

After purching my license, we arrived at his Mom's house at nearly five AM.  I was dog tired to say the least, but at that time, I still had the plan to climb the next morning.  We unpacked his truck and I organized my gear for the next morning.  I double checked and triple checked my backpack and my possibles bag to make sure that everything that I needed for modern muzzleloading was in order.  My gun was clean and oiled, and I had a new upgrade to prevent the problem that I had a few years prior.  I replaced the nipple to accept shotgun primers.  No longer would I have to worry about having enough fire reaching my charge as long as I kept my gun clean, and clean it was. 

My treestand was in order, with all of the straps in place, fitted, and checked for strengh and safety.  My safety harness was laid out in a way that all I had to do was to slip it on and buckle up without trying to figure out how to put it on.  My Scent-Lok outerwear clothing was outside in a plastic bag, cleaned with scent free laundry detergent while back in Maryland days before the trip.  My scent free toiletries were at the ready.  And my backpack had everything that I needed for an all day hunt.  My plan, to sit again all day in a tree. 

Now I was ready for bed.  Gary's new puppie dog wouldn't leave me alone, and I was sleeping on the couch downstairs in the rec-room.  I wasn't sure if it would let me sleep.  I set my alarm, laid back with the dog licking my face for what seemed an eternity (probably less than five minutes), and tried to dream about what might happen the next day.

I dreamt about getting ready.  What was my to do list?  I'd have to make sure to not forget anything.  I only had about an hour to get some shut eye, and I'm stressing about getting ready after waking up.  I dreamt about climbing that tall hill, stopping every so often to keep from sweating too much.  The weather forecast was for warmer temperatures over the weekend, maybe reaching eighty degrees Fahrenheit.  I had to carry my outerwear parka with me up the hill, hoist it up with my stuff into my tree stand, and dress in the stand.  That was the plan anyway. 

I stressed a bit about finding a good tree to climb.  I'd been up there a few times and hunted off the ground.  I seemed to remember some nice trees, but when you're short on time, those may be hard to find in the dark.  After all, how many times have you found what you thought to be a good tree, climbed up, only to find too many branches from neighboring trees blocking your view, or while trying to reach your ideal climbing height, only to find a branch that you didn't see blocking your stand.  I carry a saw for such times, but still, it makes noise and wastes time.  Ideally, I'd prefer to arrive the evening before, get into the woods and set my stand for the next day, but, on this trip, the timing wasn't right.  I had a hard time falling asleep.  Worries about being ready, about being organized, about forgetting something, and about anything else you could worry about seemed to collide with pre-REM patterned visions about those massive bucks of the past walking right up to me.  Talk about luck!  Would I have that again?

Just as it seemed that I reached REM sleep mode, my alarm went off.  I struggled to find the off switch, hoping to not wake anyone in the house.  Bob had planned to play golf later that morning and hunt the afternoon.  Gary wasn't into waking that early, so it was just me...and the puppy!  That little dog just wouldn't leave me alone.  At 5:30 AM, it wanted to play, of course!  I took my shower and became as scent free as possible, but that puppy did everything it could do to prevent that from happening short of marking me as his territory!  I couldn't wait to get outside to at least get a scent free outlayer over me!

After getting ready and gathering my gear, I looked down at the stand, thought of humping the hill with daylight fast approaching, and wondered just how late I'd be getting up in a tree in a good spot.  I had a forty minute trek ahead of me, with just about that amount of time before first light.  I had to adapt my plan.  I was really tired, so the thought of climbing those hills didn't appeal to me, and neither did climbing a tree or hauling that stand up the hill either.  I was just too tired...dog tired, if you will!

So, I had a backup plan.  I had permission to hunt the neighbor's land just across the road.  It was an old logging road just across the creek, that ran parallel to the creek, with steep cliffs on one side creating an awesome funnel.  The only drawback is that a lot of folks hunt there, and they all walk that road.  After all, it's level and easy.  A few years prior, I shot a doe there while walking back from a morning hunt.  That's a future intersesting story to be told later, but forgive me if I don't follow chronologically.  I figured I'd bag me another doe.  That was my back up plan, and as tired as I was, it was a good one. 

So, I set off to hunt off the ground this time, and I was going to settle for putting some meat in the freezer, which is actually always the goal.  To me, there's nothing better than some grilled venison tenderloins or back straps, seasoned with a little Montreal Steak Seasoning along side some onions and green peppers.  And let me tell you, venison sausage, bologna, ground venison, and roasts for my chili are simply delicious.  Over the years, I've found some great recipes shared by other hunters, found on the internet, of just plain made up on the fly.  My friend Perry from Alabama taught me the merits of lime juice on venison, seasoned lightly with salt, pepper, and fresh garlic, especially when smoked over some hickory.  Talk about tasty!  It's not about the rack, it's about food, pleasing my palate, and pleasing the palates of others.  After I have my meat, it's about the rack, and more meat!  I'm a carnivore to the nth degree, no doubt, and venison tops the list to occupy space on my grill or in my crock pot.

Daylight was approaching as walked over the old green steel bridge that crossed the wide meandering deep creek that eventually would find its way into the mighty Ohio River.  I turned left on the logging road.  Tracks and ruts from ATVs and four wheel drive trucks were full of water from recent rains.  I had to step around them and muddy areas about every twenty feet or so to avoid having muddy slippery boots and also that slurping sound while walking through mud and muck.  While approaching a hunting spot, being quiet is as important as being scent free.  The spot where the does moved through a couple years prior was a small break in the cliff, a door to the low land along the creek, where they could escape hunters moving through the crop fields above the cliff.  It was a funnel along a funnel.  I found that spot about three hundred yards down the road, turned right away from the creek, and quietly found a place against the cliffs that seemed like a comfortable place to sit.  I had reasonable shooting lanes for being on the ground, and was out of sight from the logging road.  All I had to do was sit and wait, and hopefully not fall asleep.

Daylight was upon me quickly.  My senses were keen, honing in on the squirrels frolicking around me, tormenting me with their chatter as they chased each other for territorial rights to the acorns littering the woodland ground.  A pileated woodpecker landed along a deadfall and presumably fed on grubs, beetles, and other insects.  What a beautiful bird, reminding me of the cartoon character that I watched as a kid on TV, Woody Woodpecker.  At about eight in the morning, the sun was a bit brighter, and not much was happening as I fought the urge to close my eyes.  Just ten minutes sleep, I thought, but I resisted.  A fox trotted by but spotted me instantly even though I was extremely still.  That wasn't good for my confidence.

Two more hours went by and the temperatures were climbing.  The sun bore down through a hole in the canopy of trees above and shone down on my like a spotlight on a stage comedian.  With my outer Scent-Lok layer, I was downright hot.  I began to sweat and I wasn't even doing anything.  I watched some cows moving through the brushy creek shoreline on the other side, thinking about a good breakfast at Bob's house.  Gary probably was cooking up some bacon and I could almost smell it from there.  I closed my eyes briefly to enjoy my imaginary bacon.  Just then, I heard a snap.

My eyes popped open so fast I could swear that I startled a bright red cardinal from the brushy cover next to me.  Off to my left, I heard something coming, heading my way, following the path that I took.  I might get my doe after all!  But no, through the brush I could see what looked like a decent rack bobbing back and forth.  It was a buck!  I had never seen a buck in this area, but they had to be there.  Just about every sapling around me was stripped of bark where one or more bucks may have marked their territory with glands at the base of their antlers as they rubbed the trees.  I didn't know it in the morning darkness, but there was a line of buck rubs leading right to me!  And this buck was following them.  I raised my gun in anticipation of where he'd show himself.

He appeared from the brush about twenty yards away and I was sure that he'd see me just like that fox did earlier.  But, he didn't.  He actually turned toward the cliff, maybe to feed on the briars around me, giving me a nice broad side shot.  I squeezed the trigger and the gun went off.  Fire shot out of my Remington blackpowder rifle and a thick cloud of smoke filled the air.  I saw the buck drop right there.  I couldn't believe it!  A back up plan, my plan to bag a doe, resulted in a very nice buck!  I was so happy!  And, I didn't have to drag it very far.  In fact, I could drag him all the way to Bob's house! 

Another nice Ohio buck, shot at my back up "bag me a doe" spot!

It took me a while, but just as I arrived with my buck, Bob was returning from his round of golf!  Gary gave me a hard time, saying that I shot his buck.  Later, he bragged about driving the buck to me earlier in the morning.  He cracks me up.  Regardless, the buck was mine!

This buck was a pleasant surprise, totally unexpected, and I didn't have to climb multiple Southeast Ohio type hills to find a decent buck!

Lesson Learned?  Solve equipment problems during the off season for future success.  In this case, my gun was much more reliable after I upgraded to using shotgun primers.  Another lesson?  No matter how tired you are, sleeping in and not being in the woods won't bag a buck.  You have to be in the woods, but do it safely.



Here's my buck after being mounted.  Tim and Christy Martin do
 some of the best work that I've ever seen.  I highly recommend them.
Not only are they professionals, and they're good, but they are also
some of the nicest people that you'd ever want to meet.  Visit their
website at http://martinstaxidermy.homestead.com/Index.html
and make sure that you check out their beautiful photo galleries!