Wilson Post Blogs

By JOHN L. SLOAN, This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it
I am continually amazed at how few deer hunters do any post-season scouting. I do not know of a single successful hunter who keys on mature bucks or has to struggle to find deer who does not count post-season scouting among his most valuable tools.

Back in the days when I was serious about deer hunting and hunted for bucks that would make record books, I started my post season scouting a week after the season ended. Some years I would be on the road, scouting in other states for two to three weeks. It is the number one time to find stand sites on new ground.

Why is this period so important? Well to start with, you are able find deer travel patterns that are in use when the deer are being hunted. They are not just leisurely meandering about. They are doing what they do during the time you hunt them. That is critical because that is what they are going to do next year unless one of four factors change.

By JOHN L. SLOAN This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it
The yellow finch/warbler kept me company as the sun started to slide behind the pines. One would think after all the years I would know what kind of bird it is that visits with deer hunters.

I was watching the little bird so much I almost missed seeing the doe. She was over 200-yards away and halfway across the opening before I decided to shoot. I have supreme confidence in the Parker-Hale from a steady rest. Young, fat and exactly the right age for the table. The vintage .308 cracked and she dropped in the edge of the woods. I didn’t realize it right then, but as far as shooting went, my season was over.

We were in Alabama the guests of the Robert and Hilda Pitman at White Oak plantation, my longtime retreat. The “Big Bird” was with me and he was busy passing up does, waiting for a shooter buck. The two hunters who were leaving as we arrived had killed beautiful bucks, a high-racked 8 and a dandy 10. They said all the action was in the mornings.

The next morning it was 22-degrees. I felt it was a great morning to sleep in and study for a calculus test. Maybe just, sleep in. So being of relatively sound mind, that is what I did. After it warmed up a bit, I did a tad of scouting for a good stand for Sunday afternoon. Sunday I had a special guest that I really wanted to kill or at least see a deer. In a bit, you will meet young Ryan Donald.

Long about good warm up Matt Pitman and I went to pick up the hunters, Matt’s brother Joe and Mark “Big Bird” Campbell (pictured right). Joe had a pretty eight-point and Mark had his twin. I guess I should have gone hunting but I needed the rest.

That afternoon I watched six different does come to a greenfield I hunted years ago. My hanging stand was still in the tree, I could see it from my blind. I killed a nice eight from that stand with a bow some years ago. No bucks today, just the ladies and it was getting cold. I had a feeling it was going to be another sleep in morning. It was and I thoroughly enjoyed it while everyone else shivered and passed on various deer.

Bird went fishing after lunch and Ryan and company arrived. In all, I guess there were about 40 of them, people everywhere. There were probably only six or eight and at my age, I’ll not try to remember who they all were or their names. Ryan has cerebral palsy and is in a wheelchair. An outfit called Mountaintop Outdoors is in the business of finding youngsters with severe problems and making special outdoor experiences come true. So, the Pitmans were hosting, I was guiding, and we  were trying to get Ryan a chance at a deer.

Ryan is a delightful young man with a great sense of humor. The cerebral palsy has him unable to control his arms or legs but with some heavy lifting done by the strong young men like Matt Pitman and Kent Horton, President of the foundation, we were able to get Ryan up in the shooting house and in a stable chair.

The house overlooks an intersection of three fields and has been a great place to kill a deer for several years. I positioned Ryan facing a sloping point coming in from the left and a long field road coming in straight ahead. The two met in a one-acre greenfield with spots of fresh clover coming in from the recent warm weather.

I explained that I expected the deer to come from the left where a thicket formed by an old clearcut met a stretch of hardwoods. It was a perfect transition area to the greenfield. We settled in to wait. Kent manned the video camera to record the event and we talked in whispers about how deer move and such.

Mountaintop Outdoors is completely supported by contributions and holds fundraisers during the year such as golf tournaments and this year, a pigeon shoot is planned. Donations are more than welcome. You can learn all about the organization through at www.mountaintopexperiences.org.

It started with the realization that there are so many young people and wounded warriors with the desire to hunt and fish, but physical limitations and illnesses prevented their opportunities. If you know someone in a situation like that, you can apply online at the website.

Ryan is from Gilbertstown, AL and is a big Auburn fan. The night before our hunt, it had been arranged for him to attend the Auburn basketball game, meet all the cheerleaders, and sit with some of the football players. It was obvious he seeing enjoyed himself on the jumbotron and probably would have liked to have a couple of the cheerleaders in the shooting house with us. Unfortunately, there was not enough room so he had to put up with Brent and me.

I predicted we would not see a deer before 4 p.m. I was off by 20 minutes. The first little doe crept out from the left at 3:40 and started feeding 200-yards from us. At that distance we could talk quietly while she fed unaware of our presence. I had Ryan practice aiming at here. After a bit, one joined her then another young doe and they slowly fed out of sight.

I told Ryan not to be concerned that I felt sure more deer would come out as it got later. Sure enough, a few minutes, those three were back and were then three more joined them. Ryan had been practicing aiming the single shot, .243 at clumps of dirt and as the deer now began to feed toward us, I could see he was getting just a tad nervous.

Both Brent and I whispered for him to relax and I readied the rifle. Slowly one deer worked out from the bunch and started feeding right toward us. I got the rifle lined up and helped Ryan get in position and at 65-yards, whispered for him to take the shot whenever he was ready. The rifle belched and for dirt kicked up close to the deer’s body. I have missed deer at that range before and he did not miss by much.

As it got dark, two lone deer came out for just a few seconds to bid us goodbye and that was it.

For me it was a super hunt and a great end to my season. I believe Ryan enjoyed it as well. Back at the lodge, we took some pictures of the entire group and replayed the story of a great afternoon and a great end to my season.

By JOHN L. SLOAN,
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It will work on just about any body of water. That is what Richard Simms told me and he should know. His specialty is catfish on Lake Chickamauga. He catches tons of them…literally.

However, he is no slouch at putting a cooler full of slab crappie in the boat. We were talking about trolling for crappie, about the least work an angler can do and still be fishing. It is a perfect tactic for cold weather fishing.

Richard’s method is so simple I believe Judge Durham could do it. From what I could tell, the key elements are just use a GPS if you have one, go slow and use light line and lures. It also helps to have several rods going at one time.

Some time ago, I had the opportunity to start writing the back page story for South Pacific Bowhunter, a quality, slick publication of over 200 pages, devoted to bowhunting in an area about which we seldom go to or read hunting stories. The magazine is published in Australia.

From what I gather; the bowhunting there is something else. After all, they have six species of just deer! The latest issue had 19 hunting articles! So I queried Antonio Lara, the editor/publisher and gleaned some facts about hunting down there.

To start with, imagine a place with no bag limits, almost no hunting seasons and a wide variety of what to us would be exotic animals. Now before you start drooling, understand right up front, this is not a hunt you do on the cheap or without doing some homework.

Remember, their seasons are upside down. Spring here is fall there. That is a starting point. However, for sure, you want to have a local contact before you jump on a plane for Oz. And the cost to jump on that plane is not small. I suspect you can bowhunt Australia for about the gelt of a good African trip.

Okay, let us talk about available species and we can discuss where they are and then how to get there and kill one. Keep in mind, I am as lost as you are when it comes to where is what in the Land Down Under. All I know for sure is you cannot hunt any of the native species. So what? Six species of dad gum deer! And that is just a start.

Those kinda elk looking things that roars. Most of us call them Red Stag. Correctly, they are Red Deer imported to Australia a century ago. Big suckers and if I am right, they live mostly in places that are beautiful beyond belief and rather up and down. I am told Queensland is the place to start for them. They have been in the Brisbane and Mary Valleys over 100 years. That should give them a good start and judging from the pictures, they get bragging size big. I have always wanted to hunt them.

Want to kill a water buffalo? They get big in the Northwest Territories and I am told the herds are vast. I don’t know that area but Antonio tells me they are found in large numbers throughout Arnhem Land and on down to the Gulf of Carpentaria. (Don’t look at me. I have no idea. Look it up.) They get big, these buffs, up to a ton. Gonna need some good draw weight and a heavy arrow. Leave your soda straws at home for the target range. I understand there are plenty of guides in the area that can tailor a hunt to your needs.

I have heard of Banteng but admit I have no idea what they are. Turns out, they are a wild cattle and quite the desired game animal. I recall reading of a hunt Mr. Fred Bear went on that turned out to be a bit more challenging than he expected. You can find them in the Coburg Peninsula and are a guide only type hunt. Antonio says they are a real trophy due the difficulty in killing one with a bow. I take it they are not like Holsteins.

I have never had the least desire to kill a camel. Never even crossed my mind. Heck, I never even wanted to smoke one. I suppose if one spit on me, I might reconsider. However, if you have such a bent, they have them in the land of dingoes, which you can also hunt. I have killed a dingo. That is another story. Camels are found in the interior of Oz. Their numbers have become so out of control, the government is now culling them to prevent damage to the ecology. Probably be easy to arrange a hunt. If you are old enough, you might appreciate the fact that in Oz, it may not be necessary to walk a mile for Camel. Just couldn’t resist.

I have killed an axis deer with a bow. That doesn’t mean I would not like to loose the string on a bigger one. They can make for a thrilling hunt in an area such as the land around the Great Basalt Wall. That area is central Queensland and there are large herds there. Maybe that is why they are known as the Ghosts of the Basalt. The area is one that most certainly will require a guide and there are some good ones, just do some research or email Antonio at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it . I doubt that he will mind and he might even send you a copy of the magazine if you ask nicely.

Even though there are some pigs in the area, Cape York is the place to go for the really big bruisers. I mean huge hogs. I have seen the pictures. Again, you will want a guide and they are available.

I don’t know what a Rusa deer is. I have heard of them and I understand the stags make a heck of a noise when spooked. I tend to do the same. They have long tines and that is just about all I know and all I can tell you. I do know they are rewriting the record books with heads from this area. They look to me to be a cross between an elk and a whitetail. I believe I would like to stalk one. I also have no idea what the rare Hog Deer is or looks like. I looked them up. Small with high antlers, weighs about 50,000 grams, (just convert 50 Kg to pounds). They run with their heads down so their antlers can clear the brush. Hence, the name hog. You figure it out, I could not.

Okay. So in that large continent you can hunt a bunch of stuff from Sambar to Banteg to fallow deer to wide horned goats to dingoes and feral cats and all manner of things in between. The Top End of Australia, the northern portion, is a true wilderness.

It is the sort of area I daydream about hunting. In the dream, I am 45 years younger and I have two months to hunt. The only concern animal-wise is the saltwater crocodile. Care must be taken around water holes. However, don’t forget your fishing rod. Remember, they are upside down. Prime hunting time is June to October. Now doesn’t that just work out perfect?

I’ll tell you straight. If I was young again and could still ride bucking horses and bulls, I would head for the buckjumping, (that is what they call a rodeo down there.) and I believe I could make enough to stay and hunt.

Jimmy Dix, a bareback rider from some place called West Collie, tried to get me to come, back in the 60’s. I wish I had gone. But I didn’t so I am content reading the pages of the magazine and dreaming.

How about you? Fancy a Sambar stalk or perhaps a boar hunt for a gagger of boar? Allow a year to plan and an understanding wife and off you go, mate.

By JOHN L. SLOAN, This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

By JOHN L. SLOAN, This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it
I have walked the woods and fields of this country and others for quite a few years. I started out hunting with a single shot, Winchester, 20-gauge and some olive drab coveralls for camouflage. I progressed from doves, squirrels, rabbits and waterfowl to deer and on to elk, bear and caribou, and just about everything that roamed.

I have a closet full of hunting equipment. To say I have watched, even studied hunting and the concept and feelings about hunting change would be a great understatement. In brief, a quick way of explaining what I have seen and feel follows.

1950’s: Almost no posted land. Just about, anyone could hunt anywhere there was land. Some hunters asked some did not. Except for the old, traditional hunting clubs with huge acreage tied up, there was almost no leasing except in Texas. Dogs were a standard way of hunting deer and hogs in the south. On occasion, fences were run over, livestock escaped and fields were rutted. Landowners sadly shook their heads and posted property.

1960’s: More posted land, permission usually granted by asking. Some hunters did, some did not. Some hunters left gates as they found them some did not. Some abused the land some did not. More posted signs and more leasing to those with the money to afford it was the way it was becoming. More attention was given by wildlife agencies to securing land and managing it for wildlife and non-game species.

1970’s: Much more posted land and the posted signs were backed up with legal action. When asked sometimes permission was granted, sometimes not. Some hunters observed the rules some did not. More land went into leases, usually for private use.

As the deer herd grew, much more utilization of WMA’s. Poaching increased, trespassing increased. The “My daddy always hunted here and I will too.”

Attitude replaced respect for the posted signs and understanding regarding  leased land in many areas.

Deer and turkeys began to proliferate and hunters gave more attention to them. Trophy hunting, hunting for big antlers began to grow and become big business. The support industry-products to help hunters be successful-started to boom.

Manufacturers hit the market with products that had little or no field testing and there were plenty of willing hands with open checkbooks. Magic potions and can’t miss calls replaced woodcraft and experience and the hunting industry exploded.

1980’s: The deer herd now approached 500,000 in Tennessee and deer hunting began to grow steadily as some small game hunting began to seriously decline. Hunters, wanting to insure a place to hunt and try to manage the deer they wanted to hunt, began to lease more land and in larger tracts and post it and enforce the posting. Trespassing got even worse and poaching grew. Now we had a muzzleloader season. Bag limits increased.

Traditional bowhunters ramped up their feud with the compound shooters and bowhunting technology began to spiral upward, causing even more controversy. Compound shooters lobbied hard against crossbows. In-line mzl’s would cause the end of the world as would lighted sights, expanding broadheads and a strong north wind. A chasm began to widen between various forms of hunting, each group certain the others were wrong and detrimental to hunting. Trophy hunters looked down on meat hunters. Bowhunters objected to rifle hunters having a longer season. The petty objections became almost endless.

Through all of this, the numbers of hunters remained relatively steady and even grew in some aspects as the quest for a monster animal grew. Attention was given to Quality Deer Management and an organization was in place just for that. However, in the vast majority of cases, QDM simply meant an effort to grow bigger antlers.

1990’s: The proliferation of leasing began to cost many hunters their “old hunting grounds”. Some could notunderstand why they could not hunt that big tract of hardwoods they had always hunted.

Just because some rich city guys leased it and the landowner made some money was no reason to keep them out. “In fact, by God they wasn gonna keep me out!”

To add fuel to the flames, more states began to allow crossbows during the regular archery season and for sure, that was the end of the world. I t mattered not that the deer herd in those states continued to grow and throve.

Instead of banding together for a common cause, “let’s by God split up some more and argue with each other.”

An offshoot was the push by the minority to regulate what bucks could be killed by the majority.

The minority feeling was, “We want antler restrictions and a reduced bag limit on bucks. You should give it to us even though the majority of hunters are opposed to it.”

Little or no thought was given to sound biological management and that there was no need for antler restrictions or a reduced buck bag limit. Only older deer with larger antlers counted as far as the minority was concerned.

Landowners, seeing the dollars in leasing hunting rights, started actually seeking hunters to lease their land.

Some just charged to hunt and took as many hunters as they could with no regard to the effect on the game. As the habitat for wildlife shrank, so did the habitat for hunters.

Guiding and outfitting for big game animals became a major industry in some states that had never before seen guides for deer in their state.

As the demand for big antlers increased so did the demand for hunting land to lease.  Hunting replaced corn and beans as the cash crop in the Midwest. Family farms that barely scraped by now could command big money for their 200 acres of prime deer land. That farm was no longer open for the neighbors to hunt.

2000: So far, everything is right on schedule. I am quite confident we are going to see more and more leasing and closing of lands to hunters and we are approaching European style hunting. And in that approach, I am sure we are going to see hunting, as we know it, lost all together. I don’t mean next year or 2050.

However, the future of hunting is starting to look shaky for my grandchildren and for sure, their children. That concerns me far more than can I hog hunt or can I shoot a young deer. In the past 11 years, I have seen tremendous emphasis put upon huge antlered deer and less and less put upon enjoying nature and learning the ways of wildlife. It has become far easier to bait them or buy a spot on one of the high-fence operations. Thankfully there is little of that in Tennessee.

Yet.

Last September made 57 years I have been hunting and watching hunting. Each decade I have seen a just a little less of the pie available to Joe Hunter. Many in the industry, in either the equipment end or the writing end have been warning of this for several years. Few hunters listened. Want to kill a hog? It costs X amount of dollars.

Want to come hunt deer? X amount of dollars. European hunting and the end of hunting as I/we know it. I won’t see it. None of you will.

But it is coming. However, you can kill a world class, monster buck for a mere $30,000. You can even look at pictures of him first.

I sincerely hope I am wrong. Each year, I have seen what I predicted come to pass. Each year, I see more emphasis put trophy antlers and less concern for simply enjoying the hours in the outdoors. We, none of us, have to hunt for subsistence.

We can buy food far less expensively that we can kill it. Certainly many of us eat what we kill and enjoy it. We share with others. The meat is utilized. That is not always the case.

Perhaps it is time all of us who enjoy outdoor sports started taking a hard look at not what is best for us but what is best for hunting.

Good. Now I have that off my chest.

These experienced and seasoned hunters discuss what it takes for a buck to have antlers this size. The deer on the wall prove they know where to find them and it is not behind a high fence. They were all killed fair chase and with archery equipment on public land.

By JOHN L. SLOAN, This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it
It closed for business two years ago. The door slammed shut to the public. Over 25 years of tradition was over. White Oak Plantation as we all knew it was no more. Gone. However, you cannot close a reputation for excellence.

The boots of 16,000 hunters had trod the wood steps leading to the big lodge and the bedrooms and dining hall. Lord, the lies told and the memories created in the great room. Mounted heads looked down in amazement, antiques begged to be admired, all gone, now.

I worked and played at White Oak for some 25-years. I was part of the start of the largest bowhunt for women only. What a success that was. For 13-years Does and Bows was one of the highlights of the season. I helped with the first hunt for juveniles. Both those hunts started with conversations between Robert Pitman and me on the front porch.

I killed a few deer at White oak, too, including the biggest one ever killed there with a bow. I killed a turkey or two and Lord at the fish I caught, bass and bream. Over the year, I spent a lot of time down there. It was where I went to recover when I was sick. It was a place I could kick back and refill my swerve.

I watched the sunrises and sunsets from the large front and back porches. I swapped lies and facts and enjoyed the camaraderie of the hunters and especially Robert and Hilda Pitman, the owners. The doors are shut to the public, now. No more groups of 30 hunters creating a din of stories in the dining hall. The vast acres chopped up and sold.

Gone.

Maybe not all gone. There are still 1,200 acres surrounding the home place. The main lodge and out buildings are intact. Robert and Hilda still live there and Matt, their son and his family, wife Mary, and their two kids. Matt put in some green fields this year and made sure some stands were up just in case a few old friends stopped by to hunt. There are some stands back in the swamp where a creek I can neither pronounce or spell runs through the thick cypress, tupelo, hardwoods and pines. There are still a few fish left in the home lake…some big ones, too. Course, the drought this year hasn’t helped.

Mark Campbell, known locally as Big Bird and I will be visiting January 13-16. It will be a bit of a homecoming for me. We will fool with the deer some because there are some big bucks that haven’t been hunted for two years. See, it is the peak of the rut down there, prime time to hunt. There are plenty of does that need thinning. If one of those cussed hogs steps out, he is toast. We might fish a little, too. I have been saving a special backstrap from a dry doe I killed here for at least one meal.

The afternoon hunt on January 15 will be a special one for me. I have been asked to guide one Ryan Donald on special hunt for deer. Ryan, age 23, has a severe form of cerebral palsy. This may be his last hunt. Robert, Hilda, and them, are going all out to make it special. Matt built a stand to accommodate his wheel chair. Various companies have outfitted him in the latest hunting clothes and equipment. I am honored that he asked me to guide him and more than happy to oblige. I’ll try hard to get that young man a deer.

I know, there will be some porch activity complete with big glasses of the best grapefruit juice I have ever had and a lie or so punctuated with some “I told you so’s”. We will recall years past, going back over the special memories from special hunts, the great meals.

The bucks will be trailing if not actually chasing the does. Since the entire place was under a strict management plan for a quarter century, the buck/doe ratio is great and the age strata are about the best around. Therefore, the chances for a mature whitetail buck are better that average.

The Bird might have a chance for the biggest buck of his life. Won’t take much. For years, this week has been known as the premiere hunt of the year. Many families reserved this week for their hunt. I wonder how many young people have killed their first or maybe biggest buck on this week.

White Oak is closed to the public. No more 500-600 hunters a year. Those days are gone. The big lakes are sold, gone. No more racket from hunters messing with their turkey calls. Those days are gone. Walking in a straight line all day and never, leave the property will not happen again. Much of that property is gone.

White Oak is mostly no more. What is left, excluding the memories, is for sale, too and one day it will be gone. But not quite yet. Right now, it is not quite…

Gone.

You just had to be there -- Picture it. Jeanne in the kitchen with pots and pans everywhere. The ham just ready for glazing. So, Jeanne goes to take her shower, leaving the ham on the edge of the counter. My good dog Libby, can easily reach the edge of the counter.

I have to giver her credit, Jeanne; she did not melt down as she might have a few years ago.

There was enough left that with careful trimming, it was okay.  In fact, it was downright hilarious.

By JOHN L. SLOAN, This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it
It happens every year,

Christmas.

If it were not for the grandkids, I would just about prefer to skip Christmas. I am not anti-Christmas, Rather enjoy the feeling, just tired of all the commerciality. Besides, through the years, I have had some miserable ones. But I won’t go into that.

Jeanne and I pretty much buy whatever we want or need during the year so there is not a lot of anticipation over the box of socks or underwear or the new jogging suit. All are pretty much standard fare. I enjoy watching the GK’s destroy the pretty paper. However, I did think of something I would like.

Some weeks ago, via email, Jimmy Holt, Larry Woody and I kicked something around. We mused around about a fishing trip to Center Hill, the three of us. The fact we all either currently or formerly worked or are working in the same field together does not pose a problem. Jimmy and I were on television together for four years and fished the Hill a lot. Larry and I have shared a boat on a few occasions and he worked at the Nashville paper with Jimmy. I think it would be fun for all three of us to go fish the Hill for a couple days. The fact that we are all also getting a little long in the tooth also figures in.

I know my newspapers, The Wilson Post, Gallatin News and the Hendersonville Standard would not object to Larry and me writing about it. Larry, you see, tries to write for the other paper in Lebanon. I hope that would not be a problem for him. I think it would make a good column, one our readers would enjoy. It would give Jimmy something to lie about.

If we can get some water this spring as we did last spring, the lake would be primo. I am thinking-take Jimmy’s big ole deep breathing boat and spend a night in one of the cabins at  Edgar Evins State park. We would fish an afternoon and a morning, not beating ourselves to death, just easing down some of our old favorite banks, lying about the fish we caught there in years past.

We would start on the long, rocky bank leading into the deep cove straight across from Holmes Creek. Dave Ramsey has a shack built on the bluff overlooking that fine cove. I doubt it cost much over a million. Then, we would just whip around the corner to the second cove, the one I have always called, strangely enough, “Second Cove”. That is a great place to catch spotted bass in the spring and sometimes a crappie will hit a minnow jigged deep.

From there, we might try the left-hand bank coming out of Indian Creek. What a super bank to fish with a medium crankbait in the spring. Lots of rock and mud mix to make it warm a little quicker that some other banks.  Porter Waggoner loved to fish that bank, wrote the song, “Indian Creek” there. My uncle Lester caught his first Center Hill bass there, a largemouth.

Of course, we would have to fish the bank straight across from that. It is called the Jimmy Holt bank. I have no idea why but I do recall a good brown fish I stuck there one late spring afternoon. Mickey Pope and I both estimated her at well over seven pounds. I released her in great shape. I had one explode on a floating worm there, fishing with the Holt one spring morning. Missed the hook set.

That night, I would grill to perfection some superbly marinated deer backstrap. Some garlic mashed potatoes and green beans would fit nicely along side. I’d have to have some of Big Bird’s fantastic squash relish and perhaps a tossed salad. Maybe some butter pecan ice cream for desert. I no longer drink but the “boys” might enjoy a cocktail before dinner.

I am sure the night will be interesting. I can’t speak for Woody but I’m sure Jimmy and I sleep poorly. We would have to get our bathroom trips coordinated to fit our prostate schedules.

In the morning, we would start on the right bank of the second cove on the right as you come out of Cove Hollow. That use to be one of Dave Hughes’ favorite banks and Harold Dotson liked it, too. Those were two of the best smallmouth anglers to ever come out of Hendersonville. I have started my day well there on several occasions. The smallmouth seem to really like both my dark green GitZit and a brown/black hair fly with pork trailer. Early morning with a floating Rapala can be exciting as well. The water jumps up from 90 feet to 18 and is filled with big rocks.

It is a quick jump to the round at the front of the cove straight across from the number two ramp at the park. Boy, that place can be exciting. However, it can be a cold sumbuck before the sun gets to it. I watched Foster Butt shiver the rivets out of my old jon boat many years ago. I thought he was going to freeze to death before we got a fire started. I still laugh about that. We had a ton of fish that morning. I believe it was in early April.

Plenty of good banks to fish and plenty of memories among the three of us. I think it would make a great column. Can you just imagine the stories that would be told? I think I’ll get started working on it.

But first, I have a trip back to Alabama with Big Bird for one last try at a bragging size buck. Right now, G-kids will be here soon. I need to get my Ho-Ho on.

Merry Christmas everyone and remember, not all the good presents come wrapped in shiny paper.

By JOHN L. SLOAN
I guess after 57 years of hunting deer, one would expect that I would learn a few things. I think I have. I know for sure I have learned some things about stand placement and positioning. No, they are not the same thing. Placement is where you put the stand. Positioning is how you place it. Maybe there is something I here that will help as you hunt next year.

Scouting and experience is how you learn to place a stand, where it should go. The type of stand-hanging, climbing, ladder or ground blind-will dictate a great deal about placement. Experience will dictate positioning. There is no substitute. You have to lay eyes on the entire situation.

I have two stands that are less than 100 yards apart. Too close you ask? I have killed 38 deer from those stands, 25 from one, 13 from the other. They are in the right places and both places are ones many hunters would pass up. To add to the mix, I park my truck or ATV within sight of both stands. That is stand placement. Now about positioning.

One thing I always try to take into consideration is the time of day I intend to hunt the stand. That is important because it will often dictate how I am going to position it. It often dictates the direction the deer will come from and that concerns the sun. See, many hunters never consider the angle of the sun. If possible, I always want the sun behind me. And yes, it does, to some degree, tend to silhouette me. However, it gives me a much greater advantage in two ways. They are important ways.

First, it puts the sun in the game’s eyes instead of mine. Have you ever tried to look through a riflescope when shooting directly into the sun? A man can starve down to a slim shadow trying that.

Secondly. It tends to make an animal travel with their head down and with a reluctance to look up. I have learned that many hunters never considered that. Just something to keep in mind.

While I am talking about the angle of the sun, let me mention that when I hang  a stand with the early morning or late evening sun as a consideration, I also try to put the stand on the side of the tree away from the direction I expect the game to come. That way, I have the tree between the game and me. Sounds crazy to have to look behind you all the time, doesn’t it. It may be but it is one heck of an advantage to have a tree silhouetted against the sun and you peeking around it. That single tactic has probably accounted for me killing well over 100 deer that I would not have killed had I been on the other side of the tree. I want the deer in the sun and looking into the sun. I want the sun behind me and a tree between me and the deer.

Just something over a half-century of deer hunting taught me.

Moving. Let’s talk about moving. I mean moving the whole dang thing. Say you are hunting a stand for the first or maybe second time and you notice most of the deer are using (an old timers term for traveling), just out of range or in an area, you cannot shoot.

Move right then. Do not plan to come back tomorrow and move the stand, do it right then. I don’t care if a deer is watching you, climb down and move. Several times, I have done that, climbed right back up and killed a deer. You cost yourself by waiting…every time. Often, the biggest buck will come through last. Move the stand, climb up and maybe kill him. Remember, if they can’t see or hear you move, it didn’t happen.

Just something else I learned.

Build a highway. Deer do not like briars and thick weeds anymore than we do. I cannot count the number of times I have actually made deer walk within shooting distance of my stand simply by creating a highway for them to travel. The latest instance was just a few weeks ago.

I was not able to hunt much last year, just not healthy enough. As a result, one of my stands went unhunted and the weeds grew shoulder high on the trail going to it. To hunt it this year, I had to use a sling-blade and actually cut a trail three feet wide and 75 yards long to it. Within three days, the trail was beaten down with deer tracks.

The first time I hunted it, September 28, late in the afternoon deer just poured down the trail and right past my stand. I killed two, a doe and a buck, within three minutes of each other. I was shooting the TenPoint crossbow.

So use that knowledge and look for places you can do the same. Make a highway through tall weeds and grass. If you have a bushog, make one pass in a place you want deer to travel -- don’t make it wide. They still like cover, just wide enough to walk. Then place a stand in a good ambush spot.

Just something, I learned from experience.

You learn, after watching a few thousand deer, to read body language. You begin to understand what is about to happen seconds before it happens. You come to understand that deer “crouch” before running. That mean their entire body lowers by as much as 18 inches. Why is this important? If you are a bowhunter, it is very important because it tells you where to aim. Over 60% the deer that are missed with a bow and arrow are missed because the arrow goes high. If you aim low-at the lower part of the vitals-quite often, the deer ducks into the arrow.

Just something, I learned from experience.

Bowhunting makes you a better hunter or at least it should. Over half the deer, I have killed in five decades and change of deer hunting I killed with a bow or crossbow. For 30 some years it has been almost a passion and for many of those years a part of my profession.

Sitting in trees, waiting for deer to come within 35 yards of me forced me to watch and learn. With a rifle, you do not usually have a lot of waiting and watching. You shoot. Being forced to watch deer, you learn how they move and why they do things.

You learn to decipher  head-bobs, foot-stomps, snorts, and “blowing”. You learn to read the language of the tail. A deer, especially a mature doe, communicates a great deal with her tail. Watch it enough and you learn to understand that communication. Learn from your own experience. Don’t depend on what some, even me, tell you. They could be wrong.

Just something, I learned from experience.

I urge all hunters to study deer, don’t just hunt them. It will make your hunting experience more enjoyable. Watch a deer do something strange, say stand with one leg raised and tail twitching from side to side and ask yourself, what is that all about? Then keep watching and see if you can figure it out. Watch an old doe stomp, flick her tail, and stare a hole through something. What did the foot stomp mean? She  was communicating. Was she trying to elicit movement? What did she say? (BTW- The answer is yes to both.)

There is a lot more “fun” in the deer woods than just killing. Go to school and study. You will be surprised how much you will learn. I have learned far more sitting in a tree than I have sitting in a classroom. Pretty good education to share and pass on to the button bucks in your family, too.

By JOHN L. SLOAN
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I remember Thanksgiving 1957. I was 13 and the proud owner of a beautiful, 16-gauge double barrel. It was a mint condition L. C. Smith. I later traded it for a 12-gauge but at the time, it was my prize possession. It was drizzly and cold in the Saline swamp and the afternoon before we had hunted ducks. I killed four.

Thanksgiving morning we would deer hunt for a few hours, make just one drive, and then head to camp to start the hog roast. The fire was already burning and coming to cooking coals. For one of the first times, I had the duty of handling the dogs. That meant I had scant chance at seeing a deer but I thought the job held great responsibility.

Uncles Lloyd, Lester, and Alphus dropped the dogs and I off on the Muddy bayou road and I sat shivering in the dark waiting for the first light to start. It would be a foggy morning, clear with patchy fog laying close to the ground, spooky in a way but I liked it, made the swamp mysterious. I would drive through the swamp about two miles until I hit the Alligator Bayou swamp road, just a mud track.

In a drive, you walk quickly, directing the dogs.

By JOHN L. SLOAN
November is dead. The river is almost frozen. There is skim ice out three feet in some places. Brown brittle leaves scud across the hard ground. Just to make it more miserable, the wind is from the north and gusting. A flock of mallards whistles by. I blow my nose and use my left sleeve as intended. I check the scope one more time. Four power is enough.

I have come to this bleak part of Nebraska on a whim. When I was here, shooting a video during the October bow season, a much more hospitable time, I saw evidence of one, possibly two large deer. One rub on a tree larger than my cameraman’s leg got me excited. The rub got me excited,  not his leg. When one of the local hunters killed a Pope and Young class buck near here.  I did some scouting and determined where the river crossing was.

The deer feed over in the Iowa during the night and cross back into Nebraska at dawn. Since gun season is not open in Iowa, I was waiting for them to make their nightly pilgrimage. I intend to catch them on the Nebraska side before they cross into Iowa. My only chance was on the river bank. The brush was too thick leading to the bank and I had no way of knowing where in the hills and thickets they bedded. I had to take my stand just as they reached the clear river bank.

They must come soon or both November and my hunt will be over. The does, three of them, come with head bobs and ear flicking. Earlier, I had seen one pause in the scrub before entering the bottom. The last rays of weak sun seemed to warm her. She was young, an early fawn.

That was an hour ago. Now this trio moves down the bank. They look stuffed in their winter coats. They tiptoe across the ice and enter the water. Somewhere a fire is going in a house. I can smell the smoke. Across the river, a light begins to wink in a house over a mile away. The grain train at the elevator blows its’ whistle, preparing to pull out for somewhere. I sniff the smoke again.

A fox trips through the bottom, walking large fallen logs and investigating mice burrows. He provides color in drab afternoon. I stretch my legs and wiggle my cold toes. I have been semi-hidden behind the log, a big piece of driftwood, for an hour. The river bottom is full of blow-down trees and driftwood. It is a maze, treacherous to walk. One more hour until dark. He I remember an afternoon when I was young. I can’t recall the exact age but it was a cold afternoon for Louisiana and I am walking down Colony Road, heading home. It is twilight and I can smell wood smoke from a stove. Perhaps it was Audrey Edwards’ house. How or why do I remember her name? I doubt it was her eyes.

Again I scan the river bank. I think of the old camp on Back Camp Slough. The smoke would come through the walls and make your eyes water.

We called it the Smoke House. We used it mostly to duck hunt and sometimes to run the big swamp rabbits with beagles. We would pack in like sardines, Lloyd, Lester, Alphus, Flytrap Wakefield and old Frank Chatelein.

It was always my job to start the morning fire to knock off the chill. That reminds me of the chill-X2, I am currently fighting. I check the riverbank again. Cold and still, just wisp of smoke, barren…almost.

He is dim in the gathering dusk. Even through the scope I can’t clearly see his antlers, just that he has some. He is not the buck I am hunting. In scant minutes it will be too dark to shoot, hunt over. I know the big, bent cottonwood tree he is approaching. It is just about 200 yards away. I let the .308 rest on my big, left-hand glove on top the log. The crosshairs hold rock steady. I take a deep breath and let half of it out. One inch low at 200-yards so I hold one inch high and gently squeeze the trigger.

The rifle jumps and the sound echoes up and down the river, bouncing off the big trees. I do not know if I hit or missed. He just vanished.

I am assuming a hit. Unless you know for sure otherwise, you always assume so. A raft of small ducks signal the end of daylight and the clouds curtain out what little is left. It is dark.

Walking the drift detritus is too hazardous in the dark. The river, when at flood, dumps everything on the banks. To walk it in the dark is to ask for a broken leg. It is below freezing. A dead deer will keep well until daylight. November and my hunt are over. Tomorrow I will know how it went.

Tomorrow I will bundle again in my warmest and perhaps the sun will shine. We will find out the truth, not a memory on the wind yet, but one day soon. Then I will head home, 713 miles south and east of the log, I lean against.  

Again, I smell the smoke. As I gather up my equipment, I have no choice but to think of other smokes I have smelled through the years. Campfires and  fireplaces and stoves. November is gone, the happiness of Thanksgiving just another memory on the wind.

Many memories on the wind tonight.

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By JOHN L. SLOAN
Assuming you have killed a deer or maybe someone gave you a deer roast. Maybe you have never cooked a deer roast you liked.
Maybe you want something different for Thanksgiving. If you have four people or less to feed, try this. I got this recipe from two top-notch deer cooks in the Midwest.
Tommy Linguine and Strogh Beefenough turned me on to this.

Step one -- Thaw meat to room temperature and pat with paper towel. Sprinkle liberally with Worcestershire sauce. Season well with Tony Chachere Cajun Seasoning and plenty of meat tenderizer. Do both sides. Then seal in ZipLoc bag and place in refrigerator for 12 hours. Repeat meat tenderizer, rubbing in well, at six hours.

Step two -- Remove from bag and stab a bunch of times with a long-tine fork, (tenderizes it more) and wrap completely in bacon, securing bacon with toothpicks. Place in Dutch oven or Crockpot. Cover with sliced red onions and one tablespoon of minced roasted garlic or fresh garlic, crushed.  Pour one can of cream of mushroom soup, blended with 1/2 can of water over top and spread around. I like to cover mine with a selection of diced mild peppers. Place in oven at 325-350 degrees for 1-1.5 hours. Check internal temperature of meat, 155-159 degrees is perfect. Internal temperature is the best guide.

Step three -- Remove bacon and slice in ¾-inch cuts against the grain and serve over bed of long grain and wild rice. Ladle pot drippings on top. Serve with corn on the cob and stove-top sautéed asparagus, Add whatever else you want to go with it. It is fit to eat. Warning: Do not overcook. If it is well done, the dog won’t eat it. Medium rare-good pink to red center-is perfect. Call me when done.

By JOHN L. SLOAN
I sat in the graying, waiting for the first boom of a rifle or shotgun to float through the moss-shrouded arms of the giant cypress. The big trees lined the edge of Belle’s Beak in the vast Saline Swamp. I hoped the boom would come from my L.C. Smith 12 gauge. It was the opening day of the Louisiana deer season, 1957.

It was not the Saturday before Thanksgiving.

There have been many opening days in many places since then. Much has changed. One thing that has not changed here in Tennessee is our opening day of rifle deer season. It opens the Saturday before Thanksgiving, this Saturday, November 19. There have been some changes to our deer seasons this year however, the opening day is not one of them.

It will open Saturday November 19 and continue through January 1, 2012. You may use a centerfire rifle, a muzzleloader or archery equipment. Here in Unit L, you may kill three does a day and one buck a day, not to exceed three bucks for the entire year. Contrary to some rumors, baiting is not legal. Among the changes in the seasons is the continuous rifle season. There are no breaks. That keeps it more simple.

Weather and health permitting, I’ll be among the army of orange. I will don my vest and hat of blaze orange and just before good daylight, I’ll make my way to a ground blind I built in a huge blow down I know about. One of the big winds we had back in the spring must have had me in mind when it blew the huge red oak down. The fork in the main trunk, now lying on the ground, makes a perfect ground blind. My folding camp chair, complete with back and arms, fits perfectly in that crotch. Even better is the fact that it is on a ridge splitting two large bowls. The deer travel the edges of the bowl and down the spine of the ridge to get from point A to point B. None of those trails is more than 50 yards from my natural ground blind.

I found the spot a couple weeks before our archery season opened and have been saving it. The tracks in the trails tell me it is getting plenty of use. I am banking a buck, immersed in the throes of passion, we call it the rut, will either chase or trail a doe by my blow-down. If/when he does, I shall plant a .308, 165-grain, silver tip behind his shoulder and anchor him in place. He will then be converted into dinner packages.

On that morning so many years ago, I sat squirming on a cypress log, straining to hear the first cry of a deer dog or the boom of a gun. My toes were cold in the black, solid rubber hip boots and I feel sure my nose was running. Some woodies buffeted through the trees of the break and splashed down in the shallow water. A Pileated woodpecker tried to beat his brains out on a hollow tree and something made me look behind me.

A fat spike with new antlers about five inches long was 20 yards behind me, looking right at me. As he turned to run, the bronze bead on my shotgun shook and shimmied and finally settled somewhere behind his shoulder and I pulled the first trigger. He made a high jump and I pulled the second trigger. He jumped again and fell over backwards. I had my buck. My deer season was over.

Since then, there have been many changes. For one thing, I have learned there is no such thing as my buck. Unless I am hunting behind a high-fenced deer farm enclosure, I do not own any deer. They are our deer. We all own them equally.

In the early days of deer hunting, does were not legal. A true hunter would not shoot a doe. A real man only killed bucks. We preached that and now we have to convince some of the older hunters that is no longer true. A real hunter, one who cares about the game, will indeed, even should kill a doe.

As our deer were restocked and restored they survived so well it became a problem to maintain a healthy herd population and balance. To do so, we need to kill some does.

In this area, designated as Unit L, the L standing for liberal, we have so many deer we are allowed three does per day. However, if a hunter will just kill as many does as he does bucks, we will be okay.

In addition, although there have been some whiners who want a reduction in the three buck limit, that too is sound management. Since such a small percentage of TN hunters kill two or three bucks a reduction in the buck limit would prove useless. Our age strata are among the best in the country if you go by solid facts and not rumor.

In short, our deer herd is healthy and doing well in most parts of Tennessee. So venture forth with your equipment of choice and enjoy a safe and productive deer season.

I have had many opening days. There was one when I used a boat and braved hot weather to kill a nice little buck on an island in AL. One in the Midwest when I killed two good bucks in two states in one morning and one that I recall as being just a little cold. However, barring an unforeseen something, I’ll be there this Saturday, rifle in hand. Join me won’t you?

Hunt safe and good luck. 

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By JOHN L. SLOAN, This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it
It creeps across the prairie at a speed that is deceiving. It is both beautiful and dangerous. Hoar frost is nothing but frozen fog and it can happen in the blink of a frozen eyelid. It started that morning as fog, a dense fog laying over and along the Assiniboine River. Disconcerting but harmless if you wait it out. The sun will burn it off sooner or later. Now, it was something more.

The rustling in the frozen leaves behind me came again. Bear?

I did not have a bear permit and knew how much damage a bear could do to a bow hunter even shot in the heart with a bow. The bear shuffled on, if it was indeed a bear and I believe it was. At last, I could hear it no more. I have killed a few bears, maybe several. I am not unduly afraid of them. However, the bears of the Manitoba prairie have an attitude. They don’t like humans.

I will admit to a mild case of the gollywobbles as I sat back down in the treestand. Truth is I was shaking like a dog trying to pass a peach pit. Damn fog. I hate not being able to see. I hate hoar frost even more. A raven scolded me for interfering in his morning routine. Ravens often follow bears, dining on their leftovers.

Again, something moved to my right. Again, I lifted the bow from the holder and tried to slice the fog. Something was rustling the fallen, frozen birch leaves in the fencerow that split the prairie.

I had driven to Manitoba for this late season bow hunt. I had to stop in Thief River Falls and pick up my new Arctic Cat ATV. They wanted to talk with me about a promotion they had in mind and figured they could save shipping money. Therefore, I had a 3,600 mile roundtrip.

I met the Shebaylo Brothers, Bob and Jeff in Winnipeg and we drove to their hunting camp, actually a nice, three-bedroom house, in the Assiniboine River Valley.

We arrived just at dark, after getting settled, put some steaks on the grill, and kicked back. Since I was not on any real timeline, we slept in the next morning. I got up late, almost daylight and jumped on the ATV to scout some fields from the roads and fence rows. At the edge of one field, I saw a better than average buck. I watched him through binoculars and planned a hunt.

After breakfast, we placed a ladder stand in the fencerow, a 100-yard wide band of birch trees that stood out on the prairie 400 yards from the river. I then spent the morning flinging practice arrows. That afternoon I hunted a stand on the edge of an alfalfa field. I saw several deer but nothing big enough to shoot. With one tag, I get selective.

For November, the weather was nice. Cold mornings, warming to 50’s in the day and not the usual, biting north wind. I had expected the same for today. Overnight the mercury had dropped to 16 degrees. There was a skim of ice on the shallow river. It would warm as the sun bathed the brown grasses. But that would be quite a few shivering minutes away. Say 380 minutes. Then add the fog.

Daylight brought the fog that had me shivering in the newly placed ladder stand, 12-feet off the ground and 22-yards from a narrow road through the trees. Rubs and tracks were all around me. I had parked the Arctic Cat 300-yards away and the walk to the stand had warmed me. Now, the fog, turning to hoar frost, and the bear had me shaky.

I tried to cut through the fog and see the source of the rustling. I hoped the bear had not decided to return and check me out. I saw something and then a light breeze swirled the fog just enough to give me one clear look. The bow came up and the string came back. The 125-grain Thunderhead glistened with drops of frost. In one, slow, fluid motion, the single sight pin settled and I opened my fingers. The arrow was gone and I heard a solid thump, hooves pounding and then silence. In those days, I could shoot with the best of them when it came to live game.

Now I really had the gollywobbles!

Instead of waiting my usual 30-40 seconds before getting down, locked in the fog, I just sat in the stand and tried to get some semblance of a normal heartbeat and breathing restored. The facts are these: I had just shot what I thought to be a better than average deer, perhaps even a big deer. The sound of the arrow strike was good. I was locked in ground fog, now hoar frost and could not now even see said ground. I was also cold. It was cold enough I figured the fog was freezing on the trees along the river.

I lowered all the various and sundry equipment to the ground and slowly made my way down the slippery ladder steps. Then I did calisthenics. Since I could not see anything, I gripped the ladder and did 50 deep knee bends then 50 jumping jacks and finished with 25 vertical pushups, warm again at last.

I knew where the Arctic Cat was. I also knew how easy it is to get lost in ground fog on the prairie having done it once. You can lose your way in six easy steps. In hoar frost, you can die.

So I waited and shuffled and stomped my feet. I listened for the bear. I agonized over my shot. I replayed it several times in my mind. It was a good shot. Since I didn’t own a cell phone, I had little choice but to wait.

One single beam. A shaft of sunlight slender as a tendril of fettuccini touched the ground. The sun was out. The fog/frost began to dissipate like your breath on a cold morning. Inch by inch I could see the ground. Then I could see the break of the river with the fog frozen to the tree limbs. I smiled and imagined I was even warmer. Twenty minutes later I see could well enough to start the search.

First, I found the arrow. It was half-buried in the prairie grass and covered in blood. A few feet away, still glistening with frozen fog crystals was a drop of blood the size of a Canadian Looney, (their quarter). I looked out across the grassland. Something was sticking up above the tough grass.

An antler.

I retrieved the ATV complete with camera and spotting scope tri-pods and various equipment and after four tries got the buck loaded. I was younger, healthy and strong then. I grinned as I thought of the pile of great food in the form of offal, I left for the bear and coyotes and the ravens. Nothing goes to waste on the prairie. The sun shone warmly and I shed some clothes. It was a great day even in the fog.

This memory came to me the other day. The next year, about the same time, I got sick. I came quite close to dying. I have not been back to the Assiniboine Valley but if my health continues to improve, I just may go next year. Bob Shebaylo called 10 days ago and we talked about it. He urged me to plan on it. Crossbows are legal there and I just might have a chance to send and arrow flying across the prairie and let the raven scold me for interfering in his morning routine.

There are some good bucks up there in the fog.

My Manitoba buck after it warmed enough to shed some clothes. That was my last trip up there.

By JOHN L. SLOAN
With the muzzle loading season just about to open, this Saturday in fact and it runs through November 18, I started thinking about some things most deer hunters should know. With an archery season full of opportunities mostly under our belts and now all sorts of options with firearms approaching, here are about a dozen little facts about deer all deer hunters should know. These are facts, scientifically based facts, not myths. See how you do.

You know of course, 20-25 percent of twin fawns have different fathers. Maybe that accounts for more than one buck following a doe even if she is with another buck. Sometimes the bucks are together and sometimes they are separated by several seconds or even minutes. Might make you want to hold off on shooting that first buck. Might also make you want to sit very still if you pop that doe. Best deer decoy in the world is a freshly killed doe. But you knew that.

During their entire life, most bucks sire less than five fawns that survive to six months of age. They fall to disease, predators, cars, and of course, hunters. Think about that. Fewer than five fawns per buck make it to a year old. Hard to fathom is it not?

How many spots do you think the average fawn has? Now I don’t know how many fawns some poor grad student somewhere had to count but the average they came up with was 300. Yep, 300 white spots on the average fawn. Why is this important? You may be on Jeopardy some day.

When is a fawn old enough to have a chance against a hungry coyote? Contrary to the belief of many, fawns do have a scent when born. They can be smelled. However, they spend most of their time separated from mom, I suppose to avoid compounding the scent problem. So what happens when a yote or a loose dog comes along? A few days after birth, a fawn can outrun a man. However, it takes a good six weeks to escape a predator.

Know what bio-stimulating means? It means to stimulate life. We hunters refer to it as the rut.

Most of us figure it is the doe that gets things started and she might. However, buck pheromones left at rubs and scrapes and licking branches may be bio stimulating and have a trigger effect on the rut.

See few rubs in your hunting area but know you have a few young bucks? Reason is an area with more mature bucks will have up to 10 times as many rubs as an area with few or no mature bucks. How old is a mature buck? For general purposes, most of us agree anything over 3.5 years is considered mature. Not a lot of them around most places. Therefore, if you see a lot of rubs, you may wish to rethink your hunting strategy. May want to hold out for the old one. Of course, you do know they are much harder to kill. That is how they got mature.

A mature buck will make 85% more scrapes than a yearling and 50% more rubs. However, don’t let lots of scrapes fool you. They are not very valuable in terms of killing a mature buck. Scrapes are badly misunderstood in terms of usage and hunting tactics. They are good for gathering information but don’t amount to much in terms of killing a mature buck.

Bucks of all ages use scrapes and many individual bucks may use the same scrape. However, they are not used as many think. They have little to do with breeding. The doe does not come along, urinate in the scrape and then walk off to later be followed by the buck and bred. She may well urinate in the scrape though I have never seen one do so. But it is not to attract a buck. Scrapes are communal information centers. I like to compare them to message boards at a local store.

You may find an active scrape, one worked by several individuals, male and female, any time of the year. When I was fooling around with mock scrapes, I often started them during spring turkey season and I used nothing but my own urine. It worked well on several scrapes as long as I had the right location and a good licking branch hanging down.

Human urine works every bit as well as the most expensive bottled product. It is a lot cheaper, easier to carry and easier to refill. No, I’m not kidding. It is about all I have used for over 25 years.

The problem with keying on a scrape to try to kill a buck is that 85% of all scraping activity occurs at night. If we are to be legal, we do not hunt at night.

I might as well drop a little more factual info on you in regards to scrapes. There is no such thing as a scrape line. At least, not as we think of one. You may find scrapes in a line but most of the time; they are made by several different bucks and tended by several different bucks.

The old thinking that one buck came along and made a line of scrapes is myth. Of course, you know does make scrapes, too.

I’m sure you also know that antlers can grow up to one inch a day during formation. In addition, if you get a piece of a pedicel imbedded in another part of the body, an antler may form there, too. The pedicel is the base upon which the antler grows.

All of this is fact, hard, proven fact. It may or may not help you but it sure will not hurt you to know it. There are a lot of myths in deer hunting. Many of them started by someone with something to sell.

Remember, our muzzle-loading season opens Saturday, Nov. 5 and runs through Nov. 18. No break this year. The limit is three does per day and one buck per day, no more than three for the

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By JOHN L. SLOAN
It was a good summer. Hot but not so dry they could not find water. Browse was plentiful and nutritious. On the occasional cool, foggy mornings, they grazed late in the fields. Bucks still in velvet, joined fawns, does and even turkeys enjoying the taste of autumn and the dew on the grasses. In the afternoon, the does and fawns browsed and bedded in the field edges, fleeing only when approached too close. Summer was good and they entered the early fall fat and sleek.

As the first hints of the coming frosts and freezes tinged the mornings, the acorns began to fall. The trees, mostly red oak were scattered but the nuts were big and nutritious and they fed heavily on them. The odd persimmon held a bounty of fruit and they fed on those.

The velvet was now gone from their antlers and they played and sparred often as they moved in their bachelor groups. The does and fawns, now minus most of their spots, fed more widely separated. The does no longer had to watch every move the fawns made and the naturally curious female fawns began to be less trusting and now inherited some of the wariness of their brothers.

The deer moved through woods, tasting the fresh-fallen maple leaves, gold preferred over red and filled their paunches with greenbriar and honey suckle when they could not find acorns. They began to stay more in the woods while the turkeys still made their morning trips to the fields.

Now came the time of parting. The bachelor groups broke up and the dominant bucks began to range farther, not only in their summer territories but also into new territories.     That meant crossing more roads and not always making it safely across. It meant sometimes not so friendly encounters with other bucks. Not serious fighting yet however, behavior that is certainly more aggressive.

As the golden days of October, punctuated by brisk mornings and cold evenings began to change, so did the woods. Mother Nature began to change her clothes from summer to winter dress and so changed the deer herd.

I leave tomorrow for the long anticipated elk hunt in Colorado. Were I not going to the mountains, you can bet I would be somewhere in the deer woods here in Wilson County.

This is the most beautiful time of the year to be in the hardwoods. For we who call ourselves hunters, it may also be the most productive. Late October is my time of year.

We are three to four weeks ahead of the peak of our deer rut. The dynamics of the deer herd have changed. The bucks are at a time that I consider better than the rut. I call it the looking/seeking phase. The bucks are not yet actively chasing does but they are looking for them. They want to know where they will be and more importantly, they want to know where the older, more mature does will be. Those does will come into estrous first.

The smart hunter also wants to know this and now is the time he is most likely to have a chance at the not yet wary mature buck. Often it will be one has never seen before.

Once the guns begin to sound, the bucks will get sneaky and extra smart. Now…right now, is the time to ambush the calm, moving buck and on many days, mid-morning is the prime time to do just that.

Were I not chasing elk through the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, you can bet that every morning around 10, I would still be in my treestand or in a good ground blind.

If that is, I still had any interest in killing a mature whitetail buck. So good luck to you, I have a plane to catch.

UPDATE -- Colorado trip canceled
In last week’s column, I wrote about my upcoming trip to Colorado to hunt elk. I have had to cancel that hunt. As bad as I hate to admit it, I am not physically able to handle that type of hunt.

I made the decision last week after a deer hunt here one morning. It was not a special hunt. So far this year I have killed three deer and gotten along just fine.

However, one day last week, after a couple hours in the stand, I climbed down and decided to take a short walk and just look around. It was nothing strenuous but I found I had to lie down for a few minutes before walking back to the truck.

That told me I have no business fooling around in the mountains chasing elk.

So, the Middle Tennessee deer had better watch out. I am getting serious about now.

Contact the author John L. Sloan at:
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By JOHN L. SLOAN
A Memory -- He is 75 yards out in the big meadow. He has been in the almost dry wallow for ten minutes with his harem of nearly a dozen cows gathered close by. I have tried everything from challenging bugles to plaintive cow calls. He has ignored them all with equal disdain. I cannot shoot 75-yards with the 65-pound Jennings. The camera clicks as he gathers his ladies and heads for Steamboat Springs.

Memories of an elk hunt.

I am going again. I am returning to the mountains. It won’t be long now and I’ll board the plane for Durango, Colorado. I’ll be met at the airport by Bo Pitman, a friend of many years with access to over 7,000 acres of private ranch that is loaded with elk. Robert Pitman, Bo’s father, age 75, will join us. He has not elk hunted in several years, either. Quite likely this will be his last hunt, too. Mostly he is just going for the company. Truth told, so am I.

Bo’s land is just outside Mancos, CO, halfway between Durango and Cortez. It is beautiful country. Robert, and I, despite various ages and infirmities believe we can handle it. The terrain and altitude are moderate and we are shooting rifles. For me, it will be aged and favorite Parker-Hale .308 with 150 grain, Winchester Supreme, silver tips or the venerable savage Model 99 with 165 grain ballistic tips. They are both tack drivers, plenty big enough for elk and I am ready.

JOHN L. SLOAN
Not a tinge of color in the leaves or even much of a chill in the air. It is early October.

An occasional dove bombs the field and somewhere a dog is barking. Over 100 yards away, on the edge of the alfalfa, five bucks are browsing. Two are well deserving of an arrow and a place on my wall. Unfortunately, the arrow that scored was not mine but that of a friend, Bob Shebaylo, who I had placed in one of my stands. I knew I should have hunted that stand.

A huge misconception exists in the realm of deer hunting. Many believe that the only time a hunter can kill a monster trophy buck is during the rut. For us, that  would be mid-November. To subscribe to that theory is to overlook some of the best trophy hunting of the year.

No question about it, bucks may be more visible during the pre-rut and rut. They travel more and spend more daylight hours moving. They are more susceptible to the calls and scents and other gimmicks hunters use to coax one within range.

However, the early season provides a chance at a big buck a hunter can never get later in the year. It provides a shot at the unsuspecting buck, the less wary one, the one that is still, to some small degree, still in a pattern.

I am of the firm opinion mature bucks cannot be patterned. The reason for  that is simple. They have no pattern.  Mature bucks, those over 3.5 years of age follow no pattern 95% of the time. That leaves 5% of the time to pattern one and most of the time, when we try to do that, they pattern us first and avoid contact. There is an exception.

If done carefully and correctly, the hunter does have a chance. Careful observation of a buck during the late summer, just prior to the opening of the archery season can give us a glimmer.

This is best done by non-invasive scouting. That means staying out of their territory. No walking around scouting, leaving our scent in their dining room or bedroom.

A spotting scope mounted  on a car or truck window is my preferred method to scout and open crop fields are what I scout. I look for the buck I want. Usually, at that time of year, he will be in a bachelor group. That is good and bad. The good part is, you have a glimmer of knowledge as to  what order the bucks enter fields and travel. That allows you to be forewarned. The bad part is the number of eyes and noses is increased.

However, armed with some scouting information, i.e. where the bucks enter the field and in what order, the hunter can now place a stand well in advance of hunting it. That allows the deer to become accustomed to it.

Downside: The food source changes and they quit entering the field. That is my  forte. That is where I tend to shine. When it comes to hunting for a mature buck, for me, given the right circumstances, forget the fields and give me some oak trees.

My goal is to find an oak, preferably a white oak that is bearing mast and in a good location. I’ll hang a stand there and leave it alone. By doing my scouting for a food source instead of deer sign, I eliminate the chance of spooking the deer. How can I? I am doing my thing before he even knows he is going to be there. The first time I hunt that stand, providing I have timed it right, is the best chance I have of killing a mature buck.

One sweat-dripping hot morning in Alabama, I let six bucks walk past me before shooting the seventh. That deer was 5.5 years old and one of the biggest ever killed on that property. I had never been in the tree before other than to hang the stand. The deer were coming to a group of five oaks that were raining acorns.

It was cool and crisp, not frosty but a nice morning to be in the tree in Cheatham County. I hung the stand a week before. The fourth buck to come by was a dandy 10-pt by Cheatham County standards. For once, I actually hit where I was aiming and he went less than 100 yards.

Yes, the rut is a great time to hunt. However, for me, when it is bow season, I’ll take October.

Go climb a tree. The time is just right. Contact Sloan at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

By JOHN L. SLOAN
At 13, you can expect your first bow hunt to have some surprises. A big buck, still with velvet-covered antlers, 15-yards in front of you is not usually one of them. Then add having to hold your bow at full draw, waiting for a smaller buck to move and open up a shot at the vitals of the bigger buck and you have the makings of a story that make campfire rounds for many years.

Arial Pasionek is an eighth grader at Knox Doss Middle School in Hendersonville.

She has a cell phone and a boyfriend, Casey Neighbours who is also a hunter. However, maybe she is not your typical 8th grade girl. “I like to do all things outdoors.” Arial said, “I like hunting, fishing, camping, hiking, you know, outdoors things like that.

"When I am not hunting with my dad, Robert Pasionek or step-grandparents, James and Melissa Warren, I hunt with Casey and his dad Paul Neighbours. I also have one girl friend, Dawn Canterbury and her dad Trent is my dad, James’ best friend so I hunt with them a lot.”

Therefore, it happened that the Arial and dawn and their dads were hunting on Arial’s step-grandparents property, a piece of deer heaven near Lynnville, KY on the opening weekend of Kentucky’s deer archery season.

As is often the case with teenagers, the girls probably stayed up a tad late and as a result, could not wake up the next morning. They slept in and missed the morning hunt.

Trent Neighbours killed a doe and that got them wide-awake and ready to go get  the deer from the woods. It also got them amped for the afternoon hunt.

That afternoon, they decided Arial would hunt the “Middle Stand”.

“I wanted to hunt the “North Bottom” stand where we had pictures of deer from the trail cameras,” said Arial.  “Instead, my step-grandmother and I walked to the “Middle Stand” and we were drenched with sweat by the time we got there. It was so hot, 100 degrees and so humid and I was scared that might spook the deer.”

The Warren’s land has become a hunting paradise for the family and friends. Aerial, prior to killing the big buck has killed five other deer with a variety of equipment. Her first buck and doe were killed in October of 2009, with a shotgun and slug. Her second doe was killed with a TenPoint crossbow. Her second buck was killed with a .270 and then another doe with an AR-15. How is that for versatility when you are younger than 13? Obviously, that experience was to help as events played out that afternoon.

“For the first couple hours we just sat and sweated. I was about ready to take a short power nap when my step-grandmother whispered, ‘Buck, nice buck. You might want to shoot this one.’ I woke up fast.

“I saw he was a for sure,  shooter buck, still in velvet and I watched as he slowly made his way in range.

Then, I saw a second smaller buck, a four-pointer that I would not shoot.

“Just as the bigger buck got inside 15 yards where I felt confident could shoot him, the smaller buck got in the way. At last, I had a shot and I pulled my bow back and the smaller buck got his head in the way again, just covering the vitals. I had to stay at full draw for like 15-seconds but it was happening so fast, I didn’t really get nervous. Finally the smaller buck lowered his head and I shot.

“When I released the arrow, all I heard was a loud pop. I was so excited and so was my step-grandmother. We got out of the blind and started looking for blood but couldn’t find any even though it was a complete pass through shot. I tried to get a cell phone signal but we were too far back in the woods. We started walking to where everyone was supposed to meet. I and saw my dad heading for his truck. I signaled him that I had shot a deer and he started getting all excited. Finally, everyone gathered up and I learned that Dawn had shot a doe but could not find her. I was sad for her. I wish she had found her deer. She was both sad and mad.

“They had Max, the tracking dog with them so we went to look for my deer. I was starting to get worried but they all kept encouraging me. It was getting dark and when we put Max on the trail, he just took off and we could not keep up with him. We quickly lost him so we kept calling and looking. We heard a little rustle in the leaves and walked that way.

"I saw the white belly on my deer and knew it was he. I ran to him and held him up for everyone to see. They were all so happy and proud he was so big. He only went about 80 yards, we just couldn’t find him in the dark.

"I asked her how her friends at school felt about her hunting and her great buck. “The boys at school were mostly cool with my buck. The girls didn’t like it much. None of my female friends hunts except Dawn

Arial’s first buck with a bow is one any bowhunter would be proud to claim.

In fact, any deer killed with a bow is trophy in my opinion and I have hunted all across the U.S. and Canada and killed plenty of deer.

If Arial is any indication, the future of hunting is in good hands.

Contact John L. Sloan at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

By JOHN L. SLOAN
It was a beautiful morning. A typical late September morning if it isn’t one of those mornings with rain or blinding heat. The buck stood as if he was a statue or posing for a photo. In a way, I guess he was. The problem was he was standing with his butt facing me. Even with a crossbow, I will not take that shot. But I did…with my camera. And he just walked away. Oh well.

Our Tennessee bow season opens this Saturday. The limit is three does a day and one buck a day, not to exceed three for the entire year. Our deer population is in good shape and the rains have produced a good mast crop…at least they have where I have looked. I have found persimmons, paw-paws, acorns and plenty of green browse. The deer appear to be in good physical condition.

I am looking forward to hunting this year. As it has been for a few years, I will be shooting the TenPoint crossbow. It is an awesome piece of equipment and barring sticking an arrow in a tree instead of behind a deer’s shoulder, I feel confident. If I can get a good shot out to 40 yards, I should have freezer meat. I once shot a tree with my TenPoint and split it wide open.

Also as in past years, I shall not be too selective in what I shoot. Anything but a spotted fawn or a doe with a spotted fawn at her side is in trouble.

Note to readers: If you are having a deer problem, email me at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it and I’ll try to come help. The crossbow is legal and perfectly suited to shooting in populated areas. I need a couple for my freezer and have promised some meat to other folks. I believe my health will permit me to hunt several days this year.

I hung a stand just a few yards from where I shot the picture of the deer walking away and I put one of my hunters in that stand 10 days later, hoping for a better shot angle. He made the shot at 11:15 in the morning. I took that picture of the buck I saw at 11:25. That is about as close to patterning a mature buck as I have ever come. What is funny is it was a different buck. It was a kind of cool that morning. I also believe they came to the edge of that green field for the shade. Deer prefer it cool.

I recall a cool morning a few years ago when a friend of mine decided he would try to rattle one in. Knowing it would be in the mid-80’s by 10 a.m., I had my doubts about how effective rattling would be. It worked on a good buck.

Can we grow deer like that in Tennessee? You bet your bippy we can. Hunters killed some big deer last year. A lot of them. The three-buck limit combined with good conditions in the last year or so, have done much to allow some deer to reach that size.

However, the major factor is the selectivity of hunters. They are starting to learn, if they want to kill a wall-hanger, they need to let a little one walk. I have been saying that for a long time. I found an article I wrote in 1982, preaching just that. Let a young buck walk and shoot a doe.

Before you throw a hissy fit, you are right. I don’t practice what I preach. I no longer have the slobbering desire to kill a monster buck. As I said earlier, with two exceptions, I shoot whatever is legal and walks by.

So let us all hope for a cool, crisp morning this Saturday. Not a lot of chance of that happening but we can hope.

If the low temperature is below 70, I’ll go. I can hang in there until the sweat starts dripping off my nose. Eventually, the deer will move. I once killed a big buck in Kentucky at one something in the afternoon on a day when it was in the 90’s. I also killed one in Wilson County that I am sure was going to jump in a pond to cool off.

Wear a fall restraint device (safety belt) if you are hunting off the ground and check for ticks, chiggers and snakes. Hunt safe and good luck. If you kill one, send me a picture at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .

Good Luck.

Contact John L. Sloan at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

By JOHN L. SLOAN
Cool with no breeze. A light jacket is perfect and so is my cast. The devil horse, my old friend, the green and yellow one, nestles in tight against the grass. I let it sit until the ripples die down, then start it back toward the boat. Twitch-twitch-jerk stop. KaBloom! Fish on.

I guess the Higher Power decided to give me a break. For once, the fish measured-exactly 14-inches. In the box and back to work. Big Bird and I had the combination. For 90 minutes, we piddled and paddled around the weed beds on Old Hickory and were present for the Miracle of Misty Cove. Even the resident beaver approved. She came out of the big house on the ridge just long enough to slap the water and scare the bejeepers out of us. Someday I am going to blow that house up.

Ten of the 11 bass we caught on topwater lures were between 14 and 15 inches; all legal keepers and they were kept. Usually on Old Chickory, the bass are 13-inches and not legal. That is why it was a miracle. Talk about good eating size fish. It can only get slightly better.

And it did.

When the bass action stopped, we had some options. One option was to dig out the spoons and head for the top-secret hidey-hole that usually will produce a walleye or a sauger. That is what is slightly better eating than a bass of 14-inches.

Big Bird got the boat just right and I started fumbling around looking for a spoon. I knew I did not have a spoon but I figured if I fumbled enough, the Bird would offer me one.

Instead, he started catching fish. The first one in was a perfect walleye, just great eating size.

Then he put a sauger of the same size in the boat. That is when I spoke to him rather sharply about the silver spoon or lack thereof. Understanding as he is, he finally gave me one.

At 10 minutes past time for me to leave, we had exactly 10 bass, three walleye and three sauger in the box. The Bird allowed as how he did not want any of them. I did not try to change his mind. He had already given me a quart of his fantastic squash relish and I had visions of supper dancing in my head.

There is a trick to filleting walleye and sauger and it is hard to explain. Their rib cages contain a tremendous amount of meat and if you are careful, you can fillet out the rib cage and have meat in the amount of another fillet.

In mid-afternoon, after the fish had been on ice long enough to make the easy to fillet, I proceeded to put the knife to all the fish. What a small mountain of fillets. I set six aside for my supps.

You batter that delicate white meat differently. At least I do. I like a thin batter so I cut my cornmeal with flour about 60-40 in the cornmeal’s favor.

I dip the fillet in ice water and two beaten eggs and then shake it in the batter. Cooking oil in the fryer is at 375 and just a minute or two is all you want. Just get the batter golden brown and the fish starting to float.

Your tomatoes are sliced as is your onion and your French fries were salted while still hot and have drained on the paper towels.

Now all that is required is a big glass of tea and good helping of the squash relish. Talk about good eating!

Hard to beat fish and fixins if you know how to do the fixin.

And the fishin.

Contact John L. Sloan at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it