I had to admit, the plan had definite appeal.  The old logging road would provide a high ground vantage point overlooking the dense forests of southeast Lane County.   A fifty yard section of road provided several viewpoints from which a number of grass-covered openings could be glassed.  Suffering from perpetual sleep deprivation (as most who work graveyard shift do), I was happy to hear Scott utter, “We don’t have to be out there too early.”  Perfect.

South Lane Vantages

The plan was simple.   We would park the truck at the top of the road.  Packing binoculars, we would walk a stretch of the road, pausing to glass the various openings for signs of feeding bruins. 

Easy Going

In the event a decent bear was spotted, Scott and I would drop down the opposite side of the bluff and blaze a trail to an old, gated logging road which wound back up the center of the opposite face.  As luck would have it, this same road would provide ease of access to any of the openings in which a bear might be glassed.

Scott's Diligence

We hit the landing a bit after dawn.  Visibility, unlike the previous trip, was excellent.  The haze customary to the area had burned off with the last remnants of darkness.  Scott and I spent the better part of the morning hours glassing, moving, and glassing some more.   Scott proved to be a bit more patient than I and maintained strict adherence to the plan.  My self-diagnosed ADHD manifested by 10AM, resulting in a pause from glassing and a bit of pyromania.

Scott was the first to sound the alarm, hoarsely whispering, “I’ve got one.”  He did indeed.  My Leupold 8×32 Gold Ring binoculars brought the bruin into closer scrutiny, but they were far from necessary.  Even across the vast expanse, it was clearly a big bear. 

As the bear slowly fed through one of the open clearings, old problems were replaced with new.  While we were relatively sure we knew how to get to the bruin, a work meeting scheduled later the same day was likely to cut into much needed hiking, shooting, skinning, and packing time.  However, being loathe to pass a rare opportunity at a great bear, the dice were rolled and quickly Scott and I found ourselves racing downhill toward that old logging road and chance at a bragging rights, a nice rug, and a punched tag. 

Southern Lane Skyline

A combination of misfortunes resulted an all-for-naught effort.  The view of the logging road afforded from our perch kept hidden more than a couple of forks.  As a result, a fair amount of time and boot leather was burned retracing our steps from unfamiliar road to the right track.  A completely uphill climb out of the area promised a much longer hike out than in.  And while Scott and I were able to get within stalking distance of the clearing in which the bear meandered, lack of time finally caught up with us.  Common sense was afforded its weighted opinion and, given the likelihood of finding the same bear in relative proximity the next time, we opted to begin the track out rather than rush the stalk and possibly spook the bruin away.

A long, hurried (and sweaty) hike out and a quiet drive back brought us out of hunting country and back to daily life.  Though most of our hunts involve half-day drives, miles of burned boot leather, and trailers full of camping gear, it was still a welcome respite to spend even a half-day away from the grind.  Time spent afield is time well spent, regardless of its duration.

As one ages, certain aspects and altruisms of life become more abundantly clear.  As an example, there is an inverse relationship between the enjoyment found in a given activity and the free time in which to indulge in same.  No man ever lamented about spending too much time shooting ducks, though most of us can relate to the feeling of having spent far too much time at our places of employment. 

This blog (and the activities found therein) falls within the above mentioned absolute truth.  And given there is only so much time in a day, the predominant amount of mine has recently been spent at work.   I am thankful to be gainfully employed, but as most will understand, find myself wishing for much more time to spend in outdoor endeavours.  Such as life, I suppose.

And so, in the absence of any new outdoor experiences with which to regale the reader, I submit my plans and ideas for blogs to come.

In the weeks to follow, there will be several hunts to recount.  Spring bear season in Oregon has started and both Scott and I possess tags for the Southwestern portion of the State.  As such, the next few weeks to come will involve time spent glassing clear cuts and drainages in search for a couple of bruins upon which to hang our tags.  Additionally, the spring thaws will also bring newborn deer and elk and, as a result, some prime coyote hunting.  As the snows completely melt away in the Central and Eastern portions of the State, sage rats will be found (and dispatched) in the myriad agricultural fields.  More than a couple of hunts to chase “squeaks” will undoubtedly be enjoyed.

As a compliment to Spring hunting opportunities, I will also be completing a few articles regarding firearms, both in practice and material.  Articles on reloading for maximum hunting round accuracy and my personal method for selecting reloading components will be penned (or typed, as the case is).  Reviews of the Badlands 2200 pack, Leupold binoculars, Danner boots, and some really great products from North American Rescue will also be presented.  Other topics will include concealed carry tips, range practice suggestions, and training specifically for the sport of hunting. 

And so, I’d encourage you to check back frequently.  Be assured, as I’m able to eke out more time afield, you will undoubtedly be reading about it.

Stay safe.

Thompson/Center Northwest Explorer

The following day met us with fair skies and low winds.  Scott and I were accompanied to the range by his sons Kraig and Michael, as well as his son-in-law John.  John’s presence also served as a mentoring force, as he was the only one of us who was familiar with muzzleloading rifles.  Indeed, John owns the same model of muzzleloader as Scott had recently acquired.  Therein lies a good firearm altruism:  If you aren’t familiar with a specific model of rifle, allow yourself to be taught by someone who is.  Manuals are a weak crutch for hands-on experience.

Scott’s particular muzzleloader was a Thompson/Center Northwest Explorer (Model #8797).  This offering from T/C is specifically designed to comply with the unique muzzleloading requirements found in several of the northwestern states (Oregon et al).   It features a full length, checkered composite stock with a Monte Carlo type butt.  The standard stock comes in black, though Scott’s model included Realtree Hardwoods HD coloring. 

WeatherShield Finish

The finish on the barrel is T/C’s Weather Shield.   Resembling muted or brushed stainless in appearance, this finish is designed to resist rust and repel the moisture so often experienced in the Pacific Northwest.  The .50 caliber barrels are 28″ in length and feature 1-in-48″ twist rates. 

Exposed Breech Design

The Northwest Explorer’s exposed breech design uses No. 11 caps to initiate detonation on its powder charge.  This design is compatible, again, with the current muzzleloading hunting rules in Oregon, Washington, and Idaho. 

Adjustable Rear Sights

Its rear sights were plain, black, adjustable, and impressive, in that they were nicer and appeared better machined than those I generally find on centerfire rifles.  I suspect this is, in part, due to the fact current rules do not allow optics on these rifles.  When open sights are the only option, they generally tend to be a bit better engineered. 

Front Sight

The Northwest Explorer’s front sight is secured to the end of the muzzle via a flathead screw.  The white bead is easy to pick up, though fiber optic sights are available and it would appear front sight replacement is as simple as turning a screw. 

After the requisite initial examination was concluded, it was time to get down to shooting.  With John’s help, Scott was walked through the individual loading steps.

Measuring Powder

First, seventy grains of Hodgdon Triple7 are meted out using a measure, then transferred to either the muzzle-up pointed weapon or stored in a speed loading device. 

Maxi-Hunter 275gr .50cal

The powder charge is followed into the bore by whatever projectile you chose to shoot.  Scott was using Maxi-Hunter .50 caliber, 275gr lead projectiles.  These feature lubricated belts which allow for easier loading and negate the use of a patch.

Seated Maxi

Once the projectiles is seated in the bore, it is pushed back into the powder charge using T/C’s full length aluminum ramrod.

Open Breech and No.11 cap

The breech is then opened and a No.11 percussion cap is placed on the nipple of the breech plug.  The breech is closed and the weapon is ready to fire.

Shooting the T/C Northwest Explorer

Ready for its first round downrange, we took the T/C Northwest Explorer to the twenty-five yard line.  With hammer cocked and forend supported, Scott pressed the trigger.  Through the cloud of blue-black smoke, we could see the hit.  More clearly, however, I immediately became aware of one aspect of muzzleloading which sometimes doesn’t make it into to the glossy magazine ads or smartly decorated shipping packages:  Shooting muzzleloading rifles is fun.  Lots of fun. 

My Turn with the T/C

The loading process was repeated several more times during the course of our range day, with each participant getting his turn at the trigger.  With each press of the trigger, the allure of muzzleloading became more apparent to me.  It is equal parts history, modern science, and unadulterated fun.  And with the features offered in the Thompson/Center Northwest Explorer, it also represents a viable, lawful, and alternative method by which hunters can harvest wild game. 

If you’ve ever been curious about muzzleloading in general or the T/C Northwest Explorer in particular, give them both a try.  I challenge you to get through your first trigger squeeze without cracking a smile.

The look pasted upon both of our faces was nearly identical.  The appearance of comfortable contentment was, in a flash, replaced with mild panic.  And the cause of the transition between the two states should have been obvious and expected, as clues had been present all throughout the trip.  Cold. 

Scott and I had planned a day trip on the east side of the mountains, intent upon chasing coyotes and getting some time outdoors.  At 4AM, the temperature at our homes in the valley was a balmy twenty-six degrees.  Signs of a reduction in this number were evident even as we climbed out of Oakridge and continued up the Willamette Pass.  Small snow drifts bordering the road soon gave way to packed snow on the road and occasional patches of ice. 

As we turned onto the Cascade Lakes Highway, even more insidious signs presented.  The temperature inside the truck began to take a noticeable dive.   The afterburner-like blast from the heater slowly began to reduce in intensity until only lukewarm air trickled out.  Unsure if the problem was outside temperature or a mechanical failure, we proceeded on. 

But as we headed south through Fort Rock, the most obvious sign emerged.  Ice.  And it was not found in its standard presentations, covering the roadway or obscuring my vision on the exterior of the windshield.  Rather, ice formed an opaque sheet across the inside of the driver and passenger windows.  “Pass me the scraper,” Scott said.

We reached Silver Lake as the sun was fully up.  The roads were covered with a skiff of dry, powdery snow and the surrounding hills were a mix of snow-covered sage and Ponderosa pines.  Pulling to a stop, we both jumped out to ready our equipment for the day’s hunt.  It was then we were both stopped in our tracks.  Cold.  The mid-twenties of the valley had surrendered to obviously below zero temps.   Moments in the Silver Lake air caused painful fingers and full body shivering.  Clearly, more clothing would be the order of the day.

Silver Lake Snow

The plan of action for the day would involve first driving a sixteen mile stretch of roadway.  This reconnaissance would provide us information in the way of tracks.  Upon finding areas containing fresh sign, we would pack from the roadway out to a spot from which we would be able to visually cover a good amount of property.   A series of calling and some time in waiting would reveal whether the given location would produce potential targets. 

The roadway was littered with myriad fresh animal tracks.  In the powdery snow, they were easily read.  Deer, snowshoe hare, chipmunk, elk, cattle, and ample amounts of coyote tracks were observed winding zig-zag patterns across the snow covered blacktop. 

Fresh Tracks

Scott and I hiked through the foot deep snow to our first blind location.  After clearing a bit of snow from the ground and hunkering down against a scrubby Juniper tree, I began a series of calling.   While an electronic call would be more suited to my skill level (or lack thereof), I had settled on a mouth call which mimicked the dying screams of an injured rabbit. 

A word on predator calls in general and dying rabbit calls in particular:  They are the most horrible noise you will likely ever hear in all of your life.  While it is explained the calls evoke a predatory response in carnivores, I would submit it is equally as likely anything hearing this call would come in just to stomp its source flat.  They are simply awful on the ears.

Predator Combo: Bolt Gun and Mouth Call

The plan was simple.  Scott and I sat facing opposite directions, covering as much area with our eyes and guns as possible.  I was using a Remington M700 Police in .308 Winchester.  Topped with a Leupold Mark IV scope and loaded with Federal Gold Medal Match ammunition, this combo was better suited for longer shots taken from a seated or kneeling position.  In addition to his Winchester Featherweight in .270 Winchester, Scott also had a short-barreled Mossberg 500 in 12-gauge handy.  Coyotes and other predators are famous for sneaking in very close to the calling location.  The scattergun would, hopefully, be the right tool for this scenario.

Calling Stand

The first calling sequence came and went without tangible results.   After a half-hour of calling, we decided to vacate the spot and try another.  The sun had risen high into the central Oregon sky and, as such, comfortable temps were now enjoyed. 

The second calling location presented as the first.  Another half-hour calling sequence came and went without any appearance by Wiley and company. 

Scott's Stand

After a third repeat of the first two performances, both Scott and I were ready for a heated truck and a warm meal.  Luckily, a short drive out of the hunt area was all the more effort needed for a great meal at the Silver Lake Cafe.   With a double cheeseburger in my belly and a four hour drive ahead, Scott and I loaded our gear and headed west back over the mountain. 

Failing to connect (in the ballistic sense) with a coyote or two in no way diminished the trip.  In reality, neither of us really expected success in this regard.  Trips like this often serve as a tool of decompression and any time spent outside is a blessing.  Perhaps next time will yield the added bonus of a pelt or two.

I am a rabid fan and user of Benchmade blades.  Though I almost exclusively use Gene Ingram fixed blades for breaking big critters down into more convenient, portable sizes, you will never catch me without some form or fashion of Benchmade clipped inside my pants pocket or sheathed on most any piece of tactical gear I currently use.  In fact, if you subtract gutting, quartering, and skinning from the list of blade tasks in which I engage, pretty much any other one you can think of is completed with a Benchmade.

Every Day Carry (EDC) Benchmades

You can imagine the smile my face wore when Jeremy Henricks from Pursue the Outdoors (www.pursuetheoutdoors.com) called to advise me that he had received a package from Benchmade.  Immediately, visions of Griptillians, CQC7′s, and Nimravus’ danced through my head.  Rushing to his house, I was presented with a choice of four new knives for being a valued contributor to the Pursue The Outdoors Field Staff program.  Perusing the choices, I quickly noticed an eye-catching box.  

Bone Collector & Benchmade

I immediately recognized the Bone Collector brand as the trademark of Michael Waddell.  The star of multiple hunting television shows, hunting videos and DVD’s, and a former turkey calling champion, I recognized Waddell’s Bone Collector brand from his popular television show and line of clothing.  Giving the reader a completely comprehensive background on Michael Waddell would fill an article entirely unto itself, so I’ll encourage the reader instead to check out his website (http://www.michaelwaddell.com/) for more details on the man himself.

Benchmade 15000-1 Bone Collector

 Now, a word on “caping” knives.  I am generally loathe to drop considerable cash on a tool or item of which the use thereof is limited in scope.  Simply, I won’t buy a tool with which I can’t multi-task.  Caping knives are far more useful than their name would imply, however.  In addition to serving duty in delicate caping and skinning chores, a well-designed caping knife is also great for breaking down birds, fish, and small game.  It is also useful, though not ideal, for gutting larger game as well.  

This particular model of Bone Collector / Benchmade knife gets its 4″ long, .125″ thick blade fashioned from D2 tool steel.  Its overall length is 8″ and it weighs in (sans sheath) at about 3.5 ounces.  This particular model has a plain edge, which I find most useful for most animal-related tasks. 

G10 Handles

 The handles, which are .590″ in thickness, are made from G10 and have a rib-cage pattern which aids in maintaining grip. My model’s G10 is colored with layered green and black material and has both an attractive look as well as functional feel.  The shape of the handle feels lithe and agile in the hand and its guard (just rear of the cutting edge of the blade) would likely help the user stay on the handle-side of the knife. 

Handle Ribs

 The handle also has metal ribs machined into its full length shaft.  While aesthetic, these ribs also give the handle a more secure feel in the hand and, I suspect, are added insurance against slippage.  

Blade

 In addition to sporting a razor edge and the requisite Benchmade / Bone Collector brand markings, I noticed this particular model also offers ribs on the spine of the blade immediately rear of its point.  These would serve as an index point for one’s forefinger, aiding in controlling the blade during very delicate caping tasks, such as working around the eyes, ears, or nose. 

Bone Collector Brand

 The sheath is made from decent black leather and is imprinted with the Bone Collector logo.  It does not have the wear and feel of a custom leather sheath, but I found it to be a bit nicer than the leather sheaths which generally come with other, similarly priced offerings.  

Another Benchmade in the Collection

 All in all, I’m relatively impressed with this particular offering from Benchmade.  I’ll admit, I’m between seasons and, as such, did not have a critter on the ground with which I could give this knife the workout it (and the reader) deserves.  Given the blade material is tried and true D2, I have no doubt this knife would serve any outdoorsman well.  And given its $100 price tag and Benchmade pedigree, I’d highly recommend this knife to anyone who does not have the money or desire to own and use an Ingram blade.   Plus, all the Bone Collector markings (and the origins thereof) give this blade a high CDI factor.  

Oh yeah. . .CDI?  Chicks dig it.  

Stay safe. 

As is often the case, it is tragedy which makes us revisit those fundamental rules designed to, ideally, prevent it.  Sadly, it is the untimely, accidental passing of a Brother Warrior that motivates me to pen (or type, as the case may be) some thoughts on firearms safety. 

Accidental discharges rarely are.  Rather, they are almost exclusively representative of a break-down in the application of one or more of the four most basic firearms safety rules. 

1) Treat every firearm as if it was loaded.

Simple and concise, this is the mother of all firearms safety dictums.  How many people have been negligently shot with a weapon thought to be unloaded?  Were it the only firearms safety rule, treating each and every firearm as though it was loaded could still prevent the vast majority of negligent injuries and deaths caused by unintentional firearms discharges.  No rational person is going to point a firearm at anything they don’t want to shoot if they believe there is the potential for discharge. 

Simply, if you wouldn’t handle it in a particular fashion with a round in the chamber, you shouldn’t handle it in the same fashion ever. 

2) Never point a firearm at anything you don’t intend to shoot.

Muzzle awareness and control is crucial to firearms safety.  If the muzzle never covers anything you don’t intend to shoot, you’ll generally be safe.  Even in the event of a negligent discharge (see Rule #1), controlling the direction of the muzzle will often drastically reduce the risk of injury to self or others. 

3) Keep your finger and all other items out of the trigger guard until you are on target and ready to fire.

A firearm, in its designed or correctly altered form, is a system designed to take input and execute an action.  With a round in the chamber, a firearm is designed to execute a series of mechanical actions to cause a detonated primer to ignite the powder within the case to propel a bullet down the barrel and toward a target.  This series of actions, barring an unforeseen mechanical error, will not occur if the trigger is not pressed.   And so, if you do not intend to discharge a round at any given moment, keep your finger out of the trigger guard and off of the trigger.  Period. 

In addition to preventing a negligent discharge due to flinch or startle response, keeping your trigger finger off of the trigger until you intend to discharge the weapon allows the brain time to identify a given target, confirm it is appropriate to receive a bullet, and execute the actions which allow the brain to tell the finger to get to work.  SWAT cops and Soldiers alike train in this fashion.  Responsible firearms owners do as well.

4) Know your backstop and what is beyond.

Bullets do not have discriminatory faculties.  Rather, they execute an action based solely on physics, flying in a relatively straight line and only diverting from same when gravity and wind act on the projectile.  They do not care if the target is missed or hit and will continue their path of flight until stopped by a lack of energy, a bullet resistant object, or both. 

As such, one needs to be aware of the entirety of the flight path.  A bullet fired at a target will continue on its path until, again, it hits something.  Whether “something” is the intended target, the ground, a dirt berm, a target backer, or some other unintentional object (read: person), is the responsibility of the shooter to control. 

Firearms safety is the responsibility of each and every gun owner and operator.  It is incumbent on you to refrain from becoming complacent and cutting corners when it comes to handling and firing weapons.  Make it a habit to observe each of these rules each and every time you handle a firearm.  You may get away with violating one or a combination of these dictums one thousand times without harm befalling you or someone else.  It is the nature of firearms, however, to be unforgiving when mistakes are made.  As such, it only takes one oversight, one moment of complacency, one bad decision, to result in punishment, however undeserved or unintentional, to be meted out.

The consequences of a negligent discharge can be final.  Please take the time to observe these rules each and every time you handle a firearm.  Impart them on your children, friends, and fellow hunters and shooters.  Help keep hunting and shooting safe and enjoyable.

I’ll admit this is not generally the most popular topic to broach.  Most people seek out blogs for their flowery presentation or the benignly informative content therein.  They are looking to be regaled with stories of fantastic hunts past or how to plan same.  And while product reviews are popular, they generally gravitate toward items of comfort or those which increase hunting productivity or enjoyment. 

When an article does drift into the uncomfortable area of survival, it generally has more of a Davy Crockett feel to it.  That is, it generally touches upon what the reader should do and not do in the event they become lost or receive a minor injury.  And while these articles are both necessary and informative, they do the reader a disservice by presenting unrealistic worse case scenarios.  I would submit receiving a sprained ankle or becoming temporarily misplaced is not as bad as it can get.

It seems to me the likelyhood and gravity of an injury exponentially increases the farther one gets from an established Emergency Room.  Murphy (along with being a cop) was most assuredly a hunter.  Along those lines, it would behoove the reader to prepare accordingly.

One would be remiss if they did not pack a basic first aid kit in their pack.  A more comprehensive pack in a vehicle or back at camp is also an excellent idea.  In reality, though, first aid kits only treat injuries of annoyance or pain:  slivers, blisters, headaches, sprains, and perhaps (if well equipped) a broken bone or minor laceration.  But really, are these the types of injuries likely to kill us afield?  Remember, if you are rifle hunting, there is always someone there with a firearm:  You.  Same goes for the arrow-slingers out there as well.  Does it not make good sense, then, to prepare accordingly?

As a member of a local law enforcement agency’s SWAT Team, I was exposed to the differences between first aid and trauma kits.  One treats that which annoys or pains.  The other treats that which kills.  When I spent a bit of time overseas in the capacity of a contractor in a high threat area, I was further exposed to combat trauma treatment and the tools used in same.  And in my training and through my experience, I came to understand the types of injuries experienced by those types of people are also those which kill hunters.  As a medic buddy of mine once said, “The air goes in and out.  The blood goes round and round.  Any deviation from this cycle needs immediate attention.” 

My point (and I do have one) is each hunter would be well-served to carry an individual trauma kit on their person while afield.  A comprehensive kit can be assembled by yourself if you have the know-how and the access to the right products.  Often, a prepared kit makes more sense.  

North American Rescue

I current use and highly recommend the Individual Kit (Product #80-0005) from North American Rescue.  NA Rescue (www.narescue.com) has been putting together these types of kits for about ten years.  They are very good at working with both those in the medical profession as well as the Warriors out on the tip of the spear who have firsthand experience with those types of injuries which NA Rescue provides products to intervene.  As a result, the company has won several military and law enforcement contracts and currently provides trauma kits to several individual specialized units within same. 

My personal choice for my own use is their Individual Kit.  The kit comes in a CORDURA nylon pouch, which can be had in several muted colors.  I purchased mine in foliage green.  The pouches measure 8.5″x8.75″x4.5″ and weigh approximately 1.75 pounds.  The zippers are self-repairing and feature pulls made from 550 cord. 

Individual Kit (Rear)

The rear of the pouch offers a few methods by which the pouch can be secured to your person or gear.  In addition to two MOLLE-type straps for securing the pouch to any appropriately equipped vests or packs, the pouch comes with a removable belt hanger and leg straps which allow it to be carried on the thigh.  Belted carry is also an option, though I personally just throw mine in the top of my pack. 

Front Glove Pouch

The front pocket on the Individual Kit is secured using Velcro.  It contains a two pairs of Black Talon Nitrile protective gloves.  These are important both to prevent the transmission of blood borne pathogens as well as providing a modicum of sterility.

The pouch opens with the pull of the zippers and reveals an elastic loop interior which allows for the organization of the individual products. 

Front Tray

The front of the pouch contains a HyFin chest seal, an ARS needle decompression kit, and a nasopharyngeal tool with lubricant. 

Trauma Info

The front tray of the pouch also contains combat casualty and triage cards.  The combat casualty card provides information on assessing and treating trauma.  The triage card provides a platform by which information can be passed from first responder to transporting medical personnel.

Inner Tray

The inner tray of the pouch contains two rolls of gauze, one 6″ emergency combat dressing, and a Combat Application Tourniquet (CAT).   While I am aware there are still some common misconceptions regarding the use of a tourniquet, they are heavily used in military and law enforcement settings.  Tourniquets save lives and do not, as was once believed, cause the loss of a given limb. 

The Individual Kit by North American Rescue is certainly not the most comprehensive on the market.  If the reader was willing to carry twenty or so more pounds, one could tromp around the countryside as well equipped as some EMS personnel.  Practically speaking, however, this kit comprises the best compromise between function and portability. 

This article’s focus was to provide the reader with a resource and some points upon which to think.  It is incumbent upon anyone who purchases and carries this type of product to know and understand the proper use of each and every one of its tools.  To my mind, there is no replacement for hands-on experience.  At a minimum, get online and find some videos regarding each product and its proper use.  NA Rescue offers these types of resources online in 3D video format. 

A calm, collected head will make the best of a bad situation when each decision and the speed with which it is reached can mean the difference between life and death.  Proper tools and training are the manner in which this mindset is gained.  You owe it to yourself and anyone who loves you to give this topic the appropriate thought and action it deserves.

I am not sure I was able to wipe the smile from my face during the entirety of the trip home.  After one day afield with a rifle chambered in Hornady’s .17HMR, I was sold.

I am generally a purist when it comes to taking game.  That is, I’m much less about extreme wound ballistics than I am about a humane kill.  There is one game species in which I deviate from this dictum: Sage rats.  When using firearms to reduce damaging populations of sage rats (formally known as Belding’s Ground Squirrel), I’m equal parts function and fun.  And dramatic effect on target is fun.

Klamath County Sage Rat Shooting

I starting shooting sage rats, as many do, with a rifle chambered in .22LR.  On a calm day and with a decent rest, I am routinely able to make one-shot hits on squeaks at about one hundred yards.  Rarely, though, do you find such a day in the areas I hunt.  Wind is generally on order to some degree and, as many of you know, it can wreak havoc on the accuracy of the diminuitive .22LR. 

My initial answer to the problem was stepping up to a larger caliber.  The rifle pictured above is chambered in .223 Remington.  Topped with an excellent Leupold Mark IV scope and loaded with match ammo, the hits were stretched out to the four to five hundred yard range.  Sacrifices for shooting centerfire rifles on sage rats exist however.  In addition to much more expensive ammo bills, the shooter is subjected to more felt recoil and muzzle blast.  Both will wear on you after an entire day afield.  Longevity, too, is sacrificed.  While I have a general idea as to the number of rounds a .223 Remington or most any other .22-caliber centerfire will allow down its bore before accuracy becomes suspect, I’ve never known anyone to “shoot out” a .22LR barrel. 

Enter the .17 Hornady Magnum Rimfire.  Released in 2002 and based on the .22 Magnum rimfire case, the initial .17HMR offering was topped with a seventeen grain bullet which sped along at approximately 2500 feet per second.  Light bullet construction and screaming speeds resulted in almost-nauseating wound ballistics when flesh was met.  The combination of speed, low recoil and muzzle blast, and effect on target made the round both highly functional and a lot of fun.  And for sage rats, it was almost more fun than a man should be allowed.

My first .17HMR-chambered rifle was a Savage 93R17 FV.  Even with a tupperware-like stock, the rifle shot very well when topped with a Tasco varmint scope.  On one of our following trips east, my wife had the opportunity to “try” my rifle on rats.  I say “try”, as once she got her hands on it I was relegated to spend the remaining portion of the day behind an alternative .22LR.  Did I mention .17HMR is addicting?

In short order, it was decided a second .17HMR was due for my wife.  I decided, however, this would not be an over-the-counter, out-of-the-box gift.  I’ll admit, once the project got started it took little time at all to get completely away from me.  The end result, though, was epic.

The Girlie Gun

I can remember getting the call from my gunsmith to let me know the rifle had been completed.  Laughing, he told me, “You might want to bring something to put this in.  I doubt you’ll want to be seen in public with it without a girl nearby.”  Upon receiving the finished product, I tended to agree.  As a rifle for my wife, it was perfect.

The project began with the purchase of a new donor rifle.  As I’d had great luck with my previous Savage, the brand was a quick decision.  I knew my wife would appreciate the look of stainless steel, so a new Savage 93R17 BVSS was purchased.  This model had the added benefit of a great donor stock in grey laminate, which quickly replaced the tupperware offering on my .17HMR. 

Richards Microfit Stock

I knew I wanted to stock the rifle with something really special.  While I generally do not like laminate stocks for hunting rifles due to their heft, they are perfect for static, stationary shooting sports.  Laminated stocks are highly stable, relatively impervious to the elements, and can be had in a vast multitude of color combinations.  A quick perusing of the Richards Microfit Stocks website and an order was placed for one of their Cascade Classic models.  The color’s name said it all: Psychedelic.

Sexy Underwear

I knew I did not want to use the same sheet-type bottom metal on the new rifle, so I picked up a trigger guard for a Remington ADL.  The magazine well was a custom piece completed by a friend with excellent machining skills.  After a ride on the buffing wheel, both were ready for the ‘smith.

I dropped off all of the parts at my local gunsmith Michael Hill (Eugene, OR).  Mike has done work on several projects for me, both repairs and complete builds.  He is meticulous with his work, which is a quality required of good ‘smiths.  When he asked me how I wanted the stock finished, I replied, “I want it to look wet and a foot thick.” 

The finished product was a work of art.  Mike finished the inletting of the stock to allow it to accept the barreled donor action.  A complete bedding job was completed as well to allow the rifle to squeeze out every drop of potential accuracy. 

Full Bedding Job

After all of the interior work was done on the stock, Mike set to work on the finish.  After all of the sanding was completed, Mike sealed the stock with multiple coats of automotive clear coat.  The effect is evident.

Clear Coat Finish

After receiving the rifle, I took it home and topped it with a set of aluminum, one-piece Leupold rings and a Tasco 3-9×40 scope with a silver finish.  While I know she loved the finished product, I’m not sure which of us was more enamored with Mike’s work.  I suspect it was me. 

Finishing Touch

It wasn’t until the following day I realized Mike had snuck one last touch of class into the finished product.  The product engravings on both strong and support sides of the barreled action had an off look to them.  Where I remembered only a cold, stainless finish now existed a gold accent.  A quick call to Mike confirmed my suspicion.  Having a bit of extra gold leaf just lying around the shop, Mike had accented all of the rifle’s lettering with a touch of gold. 

The finished rifle shoots well and looks amazing.  That said, I generally have to build up the courage to take it to the range without my wife present.  People might talk. . .

As Scott and I looked out over the sunny marsh, I knew the season was over.  The season had been ended by neither the predetermined end date set forth by the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife nor by the closing of the given area in which we hunt.  As we sat in our waders and watched the decoys rock against the light, wind-driven waves, it was evident there was little reason to return during the remaining week of the season.

It was a disappointing end to a season with which I had held such hope.  The 2010 / 2011 waterfowl season was my first since returning from spending a bit of time overseas.  I had missed the previous season in its entirety and had relied on Scott’s accounts to tide myself through the torture of knowing duck hunting was afoot absent me.  But as October came and the months trailed through to January, it became clear that while I would be blessed just to be afield, I would not have the banner year for which I’d so very much hoped.

Cycles, I suppose, are a natural (albeit maddening) aspect of hunting.  As one needs true darkness to put light into perspective, seasons without remark are necessary evils to truly allow us to know, understand, and revel in those seasons which are truly astounding.  Rather than lament about my present situation, I instead chose to reflect on the truly memorable seasons past.

Fern Ridge Success

The first memory which came to mind was the first year we (Scott, Dad, and I) truly figured out how to hunt our now-favorite area.  After a few years of randomly wandering from dike to pond to marshy point, I finally had the patience and common sense to stop, look around, and take into account my surroundings and the manner in which the birds interacted with same.  The result?  The very next hunt ended with smoking barrels, a dog-tired retriever, and smiles all around.  I suspect we offset our loss of packing weight in shells with the added weight of several harvested birds.

Michael and Levi

The benefit of having patterned our given area wasn’t truly realized until the following season.  The same hunt location was augmented by three new additions to the group: Michael (Scott’s son), Levi (present-day PTO field staffer), and a canoe.  When the shooting at our given location slowed, the boys would load up in the S.S. Cootslayer and madly paddle toward the various sloughs and marshy inlets surrounding the hunt area.  The benefits were multifaceted.  The boys worked off the excess of energy kids their age generally possess and they were able to get into pockets of birds untouched by their landlocked competition.  In addition, the birds they stirred up usually worked their way back to our decoys, adding to the already excellent action we’d come to expect.

The laughs, too, were worth the price of admission.  We would see the boys disappear in the distance, invariably rounding some marshy pocket into which they would find birds.  Shortly, the sounds of rapid, frantic shooting would drift across the marsh.  This progression would repeat itself several times until both boys, sweaty from paddling, would return to the island for more ammunition, water, and food.  Often, even after volley after volley of offensive cover fire was laid down, the boys would still only have a coot or two to show for it.  The smiles, however, were totally worth the cost of shells.

Tri-Cities Goose Hunt

The following season was also worthy of reflection.  In addition to several local hunts, Dad and I wandered north for a couple of days afield in Richland, Washington.  The first day ended one bird shy of our two-man limit of corn-fed mallards, though I almost strangled Gunny for his shenanigans in the blind.  The second day, though, was textbook.  Hunting out of layout blinds in the sage brush bordering a grass field, Dad and I hammered honker after honker as they lit among dozens of dozens of Dave Smith decoys.  I had never experienced allowing a flock of twenty to land in order to avoid busting the hundred-strong flock on their heels.  It was easily the most memorable honker hunt I’ve experienced to date.

A Slight Miscalculation

Not every hunt is memorable for its barrel-warping rapid fire sessions or repetitive demonstrations of exhibition-level shooting prowess.  Indeed, it would seem mishaps also lend themselves to humorous reflection.  One such hunt involved a trip to an Eastern Oregon reservoir.  The plan was simple:  As Scott had to coach football the previous evening, Gunny and I would take all of the requisite goose gear to the campsite the previous afternoon.  Scott would head our way after practice, likely arriving late in the evening.

As with many plans, this one took a drastic deviation relatively quickly.  Upon arriving at the camp site, I hopped on Scott’s quad and motored around the reservoir scouting for birds and potential blind locations.  The water had receded and, in its absence, the ground had been reduced to a boot-sucking mire hidden under the freshly-sprouted grasses.  In an instant, the quad was buried to its fenders.  Rescue by manpower alone was not an option.

I’ve been told idle hands are the Devil’s workshop.  And indeed, the saying is true.  With nothing but time on my hands prior to Scott’s arrival, a recovery plan for the quad was hatched.  I would ease my pickup out toward the quad, attempting to get close enough to attach recovery line and pull it to safety.  As you can see from the picture above, the plan had a glitch.  The result?  Two stuck vehicles.

Thankfully, whether by divine intervention or a stroke of pure luck, I was able to raise Scott via cell phone in an area otherwise known to be seven miles from the most faint of cellular service.  He had initially planned to drive a car to the camp site.  Obviously, my current situation required a more robust selection of vehicles, requiring Scott to turn around, return home, and trade car for truck.

My truck was recovered late in the evening.  The quad was pulled to safety the following day.  No birds fell to our guns.  Comedy is as easily remembered as triumph.

Klamath Speck Success

The gang has also had great success in southern Oregon.  Two years in a row resulted in phenomenal hunting for late season specks in the Klamath Falls area.  Darren Roe of Roe Outfitters (www.roeoutfitters.com) showed us a great time and, as the birds cooperated, we were able to put Scott’s dad, Bud, and his youngest boy, Kraig, in layouts for some amazing goose hunting.

Klamath Specks: Round Two

Both the hunting and the company were so good, in fact, we returned the following year.  The results were the same.  Darren showed us a great time, the birds worked as they should, and Scott, Dad, Bud, and I experienced yet another memorable couple of days afield.

And so, while the passing of a sub par waterfowl season saddens me, my melancholy is greatly offset by the memories of hunts past and the promise of more amazing hunts to come.

Spend any amount of time around me afield and you’ll likely hear me exclaim, “I like my dogs better than I like most people.”  And there is a fair amount of truth in the statement.  Even as nothing more than unpurposed pets, dogs are readily capable and willing to give you love in a manner so unconditional as they are often better examples of Biblical love than most any person living or dead.  I would submit, however, the manner of bond between man and dog is even more magnified when the dog is of the hunting persuasion. 

Opening Day with Gunny

Hunting with a dog, whether across the grasslands for pheasant or through the marsh in pursuit of ducks, adds an element to both the human/dog relationship as well as the hunt itself.  Though I’m a devout waterfowler, I can remember skipping an entire season in mourning for a hunting dog I lost in a separation.  If you have hunted over dogs, you know the enjoyment to be had.  If you’ve ever hunted over your own dogs, little in this article will be new to you. 

Remington in the Sunny Marsh

Though the majority of my articles are purpose driven and focused, I feel any endeavour in which I was involved would be incomplete without a commentary on my own hunting dog experiences.  To an extent, I feel I would be remiss in my duty as master (though the term is often laughable) of my favorite, four-legged hunting pals if their exploits were not at least touched upon.

My first experience as a gun dog trainer came almost accidentally.  Fresh into a new relationship, a black Labrador female was given by my then-girlfriend to her seven year old son.  As Morgan came to the age appropriate for training, I began to take her to a local pond to impart the various aspects of the job of gun dog.  Thankfully, I had enough common sense to realize how very naive I was regarding training dogs.  The first time I threw a bumper for Morgan, she patiently and without guidance sat motionless on the shore.  At the “okay”, Morgan launched herself out over the water in a “Big Air Dog” type of exhibition.  A short swim and a quick retrieve solidified my love of gun dogs and my understanding of one simple dog training altruism: Often, it is better to just let the natural ability of the dog come through. 

Sadly, while I hunted pheasants, ducks, geese, and quail over Morgan for five years, I was forced to leave her behind with the boy who had grown to love her as much or more than I.  To this day, she is the most talented gun dog with whom I’ve ever shared a home.  

Remington's Cover Shot

It was a few years later when my wife (then girlfriend) and I decided to bring a hunting dog into our home.  We had already been blessed with a great mutt named Zeke, but I yearned for a dog to take afield.  Admittedly, Remington was purchased on impulse after we made a random stop to admire the puppies at a local pet shop.  The smallest of three litter mates, Remi showed a fair amount of prey drive, chasing a small toy around the floor of the pet shop.  He was comical, sensitive, and completely biddable. 

The month my wife and I were married, Remington went off to live with a local trainer for some “basic training” type work.  Upon returning and inquiring regarding his progress, my trainer smiled in a way only he could.  An education was to follow.  You see, hunting dogs generally fall somewhere on an imaginary scale.  On one side, you have biddability.  That is, the dog’s desire to obediently comply with his master’s will and commands.  A biddable dog will do what you want, how you want it, immediately upon your command.  On the other side of the scale, you have instinctive or ingrained drive.  Picture a dog in a frozen marsh, icicles clinging to his chest, launching himself into freezing water to drive ahead for yet another retrieve. 

Great dogs generally rank somewhere toward the center of the scale, embodying an owner-compatible mix of drive and biddability.  Stack the scale hard to the drive end and you generally end up with an uncontrollable, ill-mannered critter who, though beautiful to watch at work, will drive your blindmates crazy and likely cause you to grey prematurely.

Remi was to fall on the other end of the scale.  He so very much wanted to do as he was told.  The sacrifice therein was drive.  Remi did not like cold water and had no interest in retrieving a bird from same.  He was, however, perfectly content to hang out on shore with the other hunters, occasionally enjoying a strip of bacon or the crust from whatever sandwich he was offered.  As one of my closest friends once said, “Remi is a hunting buddy, not a hunting dog.”  And so, while his company is still enjoyed immensely at home, Remi rarely ever accompanies me afield.  And I suspect he likes this arrangement immensely.

Belle's First Pheasant

Shortly after Remi (who still occupies a place on the communal dog rug) came Belle.  Technically my wife’s dog, “Thomsen’s Little Tinkerbelle” had the drive absent in Remi.  Training a driven dog, of course, comes with its own set of unique and maddening idiosyncrasies.  By the time Belle had reached hunting age, I had exhausted my own set of gun dog training skills.  While the drive to find and retrieve birds was both natural and steady, Belle had a few issues.  First, she was dog-aggressive.  Not only would she make a direct beeline toward any other dog within a half-mile with hackles raised and tail erect, but she could not stay on a pheasant’s scent trail if any other dog had left their mark anywhere in the immediate vicinity.  To compound an already substantial problem, Belle was so hard-mouthed each bird brought back had already been pre-tenderized.  The look on her face was clear and easily read:  You weren’t gonna eat this, were you?  I’m no full-time gun dog trainer and, at the time, hadn’t the time or energy to fully work through all of Belle’s issues.  As such, she’s still a treasured member of our family, but hasn’t followed me afield for years. 

CCR Thomsen's Gunnery Sergeant

With a home full of wonderful and loved pets, I was still without a true hunting dog.  With no small bit of luck, I received a call from Jim Fulks at Coyote Creek Retrievers (Eugene, Oregon).  Jim had given Remi a month of basic training a few years prior and had helped me along in continuing his training through a few sessions monthly.  Jim let me know he had one pup unspoken for from a Harley / Annie litter.  With a Master Hunter title behind Harley’s name and a Senior Hunter title affixed to Annie, the odds of drawing a great dog out of a litter between the two was better than any you’ll find in Vegas. 

My wife and I headed out to CCR to visit with the four week old pups.  It was remarkable, even then, how much smaller “Gunny” (the runt) was compared to his litter mates.  I wasn’t bother at all, as I prefer a smaller dog. 

Four week old Gunny

There is something about the promise found in a gun dog pup.  Of course, it doesn’t hurt Lab pups are the cutest organisms on the face of this great Earth. 

Gunny, now five, turned into a par duck dog.  His drive takes considerable patience to control afield, even with four months of world class training from Jim and his wife, Maxine, under his belt.  His true calling, though, is in the pheasant fields, where he routinely finds and flushes birds passed by high-brow pointers and spaniels.  On one such hunt, Gunny actually brought more non-shot birds to my hand than the entire party managed to scratch out of the sky.  There are few places in this world I’d rather spend time than following my runt of a gun dog from sage brush to juniper tree to fence row.  He is truly remarkable to watch.

Several dogs share the home of my wife and I and while I love each of them unwaveringly, I must admit there is something truly special about my relationships with dogs who have brought birds to hand.  You’ll likely never find a human hunting companion who will dive naked into a frozen pond for a wing-shot mallard, nor will you likely meet anyone who will hunt with possessed fervor for running pheasants after running face-first into a barbed wire fence.  Stitches?  Nah, Dad. .  .just put me back on the ground and let me run.  

May you be graced, at least once in your life, to know the feeling lived while watching your dog bring back his first bird.