Skunks and Outdoor Traditions on Christmas

Hot coffee and a good Christmas cooking fire, the One-Eyed Hillbilly ('kunk' trapper) and Uncle Joe O’Day cooking the Christmas deer ham over an open fire.

On Christmas day there are lots of things we could be doing in the Great Outdoors - muzzleloader season, trapping season, archery season, rabbit season, and squirrel season and that’s not even mentioning great trophy trout fishing opportunities down on the Current River. But did I dare go hunting or fishing on Christmas day? Well,…no. But I did manage to get outside. I told my wife I didn’t want to go but in Missouri we have to check our traps every 24 hours so I had to go to the woods – it’s the law. And, to add another degree of difficulty to the task, in Dent County with the white Christmas we were hit with temperatures in the twenties with 2 inches of blowing snow. I figured everything would be hunkered down but I still had to go. Due to the poor heater performance from my old ’89 Ford pickup I determined maybe we should’ve been hunkered down as well! You could see your breath inside the cab for the first 30 minutes and I’m not sure my uncle, Joe O’Day was ever able to see through the ice on his side of the windshield. But hey, we were in the woods on Christmas.

We were also outside for a different reason on Christmas day. Last month we had made plans to cook a deer ham over the fire pit in the back yard for Christmas dinner. I thought that was a great idea and a chance to start a Christmas tradition in the outdoors for some of the heartier individuals at the Christmas gathering. I planned to put on a pot of coffee along side the ham and we could stand around the fire drinking hot coffee while the others inside prepared the rest of the meal and the kids played with their new toys. I felt it only fitting to honor the bounty of Mother Nature by cooking in the outdoors at such a time of celebration.

We multitasked while starting the fire. On Christmas day it’s always a huge mess with wrapping paper everywhere after the presents are all unwrapped. This year after all the Christmas gifts had been unwrapped we gathered all the papers (a few receipts and instruction manuals that weren’t supposed to be burned too) and put them in empty boxes and stuck them under the fire grate with wood piled on top. All the paper was excellent tinder and started the cooking fire right up. By 8:30 am two chores were already completed – the holiday mess was cleaned up and the cooking fire was blazing.

The deer ham was laid out to thaw the day before. I covered the entire piece of meat with garlic powder and then wrapped it from end to end in bacon. The entire thing was then encased in 8 layers of aluminum foil and set on the grate above the fire. It was turned once every 30 minutes for 3½ hours. We kept the fire blazing and the coffee percolating. An open fire, hot campfire coffee, and good outdoor conversation on Christmas day – now that is a Christmas tradition to remember and repeat!

In spite of the harsh weather, after dinner my Uncle Joe O’Day and I ran my trap line. We cut only a single set of tracks the entire trip…a skunk’s tracks…and he was in one of my traps. Funny how relatives just don’t seem to want to sit by you or carry on a conversation after you’ve wrestled with a skunk. As I suspected, most other critters were hunkered down. For me personally, the only luck worse than a dry run is to have a skunk – it’s kind of like getting coal in your stocking on Christmas! And, the only thing dumber, from your wife’s point of view, than going to the woods on a cold and snowy Christmas day is to bring home a skunk after going to the woods on a cold and snowy Christmas day. The skunk was in the bed of the pickup and my wife LaDonna said she could smell it in the house. I just don’t believe it. In any event, according to my good friend Dave Brown, on Christmas Day 2010, I was a ‘kunk’ trapper for sure. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.

Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

Packin’ a Smoke Pole and Cuttin’ for Sign

Predator control success on opening day of muzzleloader season. Big Mac Jim McDaniels and the One-Eyed Hillbilly with an Ozarks bobcat.

I learned a lesson this past weekend during opening weekend of Missouri muzzleloader season – you are never too far back in the woods to be out of earshot of others. And, if you forget this lesson you will make an idiot of yourself. I did both. You see, it is both muzzleloader season and furbearer / trapping season. So, this past weekend I carried my smoke pole while I was running my trap line. As it always turns out, I ended up ‘cutting for sign’ for trapping as much or more than I spent time looking for deer. Missouri muzzleloader season runs from December 18th through December 28th. If you have an unfilled tag left from regular firearms season and you have access to a muzzleloader then deer season may not be over for you yet. However, since Christmas falls during the season I advise that you open all your presents and put them away before you head to the woods to hunt – Santa (and everybody else) will put you on the Bad List and take back all the presents if you leave to hunt prior to opening gifts…trust me on this, you will not be popular!

At Lake Spring this past Saturday I slung my muzzleloader over my shoulder and struck out for the trap line. Deer hunting and trapping - it was a double dip on outdoor excitement! The next day, Sunday afternoon, I took my son Alex with me to the woods. We were there to run the traps, watch for deer, and pick up a load of wood in the process. Much to Alex’s joyous relief the sun had thawed the ground enough that we almost got stuck in the field so picking up the wood was out. Since it was muzzleloader season, we opted instead to set a few more traps while watching for deer. After we finished setting in a few more sets at Lake Spring we headed up the road to a friend’s place to try our hand there.

The whole time we were in the truck Alex was playing some sort of video game or IPOD thingy. I don’t like video games or IPOD thingies. As a matter of fact I despise those things. I think they are pretty much a waste of time. So, I was a little irritated from the get-go. As we pulled in to the last spot to set a trap I was out of the truck and digging a trap bed while Alex sat in the truck playing games. As I walked back and forth getting equipment and tools I was getting more and more irritated. I began talking to myself. When I was a kid when dad had taken me to hunt or fish he had to make me walk 5 steps behind him or I’d be stepping on his heels - Alex was in the truck with an IPOD thingy. I felt a ‘Stephens’ fit’ coming on.

Song dogs just before muzzleloader season – predator control means higher fawn survival rates in the spring. Jim McDaniels and the One-Eyed Hillbilly with a double on coyotes.

When I was a kid I thought the ‘Stephens’ fit’ was the evil side of his split personality that possessed my dad when I screwed up. Later, as I got older I discovered from listening to my cousins that it was actually an evil spirit that possessed both my dad and his brother, Uncle Bob. After I became a parent myself I discovered that the spirit had jumped from dad to me as well. As I said, Alex was in the truck playing a video game and I asked him if he had the time and didn’t mind, maybe he could help me. He got out of the truck and brought me a spade. As I dug with my rubber boots and gloves to prevent scent transfer, Alex coughed loudly and spit right next to my trap bed. That was the final straw - the evil side of my split personality had arrived! At the top of my lungs I tore loose with a #!X%$@X#!%@#!... spit and gasp and cough! It was ugly! Alex just looked at me in disbelief as if to say, “What was that all about?!”

As I was catching my breath I glanced up the trail and caught a glimpse of something moving toward the truck. It was two hunters, a young man and woman. They had been just over the pond bank from us when we pulled up. Not only had we ruined their hunt but they witnessed my amusing little foray in the demented world of the ‘Stephens’ fit’. I was embarrassed! Alex didn’t say a thing. Had it been me 30 years ago I would have wanted to get on the ground kicking and screaming with laughter because my dad had just made an idiot of himself while throwing a fit...though I wouldn't dared have actually done it. I would have thought that there was some justice in the world when dad acted like that only to discover that someone else other than his intended audience witnessed the whole ugly episode. Ya, 30 years ago that would’ve really been funny alright…but it wasn’t funny the other day.

What is this world coming too? You can’t even throw a good fit out in the middle of the woods without someone hearing you. That’s just wrong. We did manage to catch a few critters last weekend but no deer. I guess when you think about it, it isn’t surprising. When I was with my son I was pitching a fit and when I was by myself I was looking for furbearer sign more than I was hunting so there was no way I was going to see any deer. Lessons learned – regardless of where you are, don’t throw a fit if you aren’t willing for everyone to hear and don’t expect a one-eyed guy to be able to cut for trapping sign and keep an eye out for deer at the same time! So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.

Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

Eating ‘Grinners’ and Managing Wildlife

A carnivorous predator to the core - an Ozark Mountain bobcat showing his general demeanor.

If you love any kind of hunting in the Ozarks you should love trappers. Predator control has been proven a vital part of a three pronged approach to a quality wildlife management plan. Combined with quality habitat improvement and proven harvest practices, predator trapping is a vital and enjoyable way to improve your deer, turkey, upland bird, and small game populations while gaining a much greater understanding and appreciation of the inner workings of Mother Nature. I’ve tried to explain this exciting piece of information to my wife over the years but she just couldn’t get past the smell of the inside of my Jeep during trapping season. Also, according to her, trapping gets in the way of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years. And it gets me up too early in the morning and it keeps me in the fur shed too late at night for 3 long months. Hmmm. Now I’ve always been told that marriage is compromise so this year I changed from trapping in the Jeep to a pickup – now LaDonna can go along with me when I run traps. I guess my sentimental side gets the better of me during Christmas, ain’t she a lucky woman!

The One-Eyed Hillbilly with a double on bobcats. Removing predators just prior to fawning is a very important aspect of Quality Deer Management.

In a recently released 10 year study conducted by faculty and students at Mississippi State University it was proven that deer are a very important part of the diet for coyotes. Bobcats were also shown to be a predator of deer – mainly older fawns. The two main peak times that deer hair shows up in coyote and bobcat scat is during fawning season and during hunting season. The study showed that for best results predator removal had to occur just prior to peak fawning. That bit of information plays well for trappers and trapping season in the late winter just prior to spring fawning times. Per the study, for best results trapping needs to be undertaken when predation is identified as the limiting factor of the wildlife population and the wildlife population is below the carrying capacity of the land. The study showed that removal of coyotes and bobcats had a significant impact on fawn survival. And, the study didn’t even take into consideration the impact on turkeys, quail, rabbits, squirrels, or any other game animals. If that isn’t reason enough to trap or ask a trapper to do it for you then I don’t know what is!

A back foot catch but pride will get you an empty fur shed! The One-Eyed Hillbilly with the first coyote of 2010.

The furbearers were on the move this past week as I put steel in the ground for the first time this year just prior to the arctic front moving in over the weekend. With 19 sets across 2 farms we managed 3 bobcats, 3 raccoons, 2 opossums, and 1 coyote. After the cold front hit everything in nature holed up and we hardly cut a track for 2 days. I did, however, manage to get LaDonna to ride with me in the truck to run traps one morning. How long you reckon it will be before I can talk her into skinning and scraping in the fur shed? We also managed a double on bobcats. After twice getting a scent post set dug by a grey fox I set a blind set about 3 feet further up the trail in an attempt to catch the grey as he approached the first trap. To my surprise when we showed up the next morning we had 2 bobcats within a few feet of one another! Unfortunately the grey fox is still tormenting us and thumbing his nose at us. His time is coming…

As I set here writing and watching one of my favorite westerns of all time, ‘Lonesome Dove’, I can’t help but chuckle about the scene when the character Deputy Roscoe Brown asks the old Arkansas mountain man if he’s going to have opossum for his supper while the old man is sitting there skinning a ‘grinner’(opossum). The old man wasn’t in the sharing mood apparently as he replied, “You’re not, unless you go get your own!” This morning as I ran my traps and retrieved a coyote and a plump opossum, my uncle Tim asked if he could have my opossum. He said he thought he might cook it for dinner. Since it was Christmas time I figured it was the least I could do - you know…Christmas time and all – Santa Claus is watching. I was in the sharing mood anyway so I gave it to him. You know you’re a hillbilly when your uncle asks for and you give him an opossum for his dinner! Only in the Ozarks! So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.

Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

Pinched Fingers & A Mouth Full of Dirt

I got a face and mouth full of salty dirt this weekend. If you’ve ever trapped you’ve been there, if you haven’t been there then you haven’t trapped long enough. Of course, it’s a lot funnier if it’s not you on the receiving end of the flying dirt. Every year it happens to me at least 2 or more times. I got the first time of the year out of the way this past weekend and even though I had two friends along with me, I feel pretty good about it because nobody witnessed the whole unfortunate and embarrassing episode.

Who says a hillbilly can't multi-task? Greg kneeling on a knee pad with the phone in his ear, a 5 pound hammer in the crook of his arm, a cable stake in his left hand and a trap in his right hand.

I was resetting a coyote scent-post set while my buddies, Charlie Pace and Jim McDaniels, sat in the warm truck and visited. Charlie had brought his camera hoping to capitalize on any misfortune involving me getting my fingers pinched in a #3 Victor coil spring trap. Luckily I was able to avoid this embarrassing photo because I didn’t get myself caught and he stayed in the truck. But if he would’ve got a picture of what really happened it would have been even worse.

The One-Eyed Hillbilly making a fox set on the pond dam.

I had just finished bedding the trap and salting the jaw channels for antifreeze when I inadvertently touched the pan and SNAP – the trap went off. Now when a trap goes off and you’re doubled over with your face about two feet away, you’re going to get your face peppered good with dirt, salt, and gravel. If you are a one-eyed hillbilly and that one eye catches a truck load of trap shrapnel, well, you’re gonna fall backwards, spitting and kicking and flailing like a yard worker with a face full of yellow jackets. I involuntarily reversed direction and began the blind man stagger, with my arms waving wildly as I was trying to locate the bed of the truck to steady myself. After spitting out enough salty dirt to make a fine-right mud pie and wiping enough dirt-filled tears away from my face to leave Indian war-paint streaks out the corners of my eye(s), I was finally able to regain my composure. Much to my surprise and relief, Jim and Charlie never saw a thing! Charlie had laid over into the driver’s side door to snooze and Jim was looking toward the front of the truck from the passenger’s side. I had managed to get away with one…thank goodness.

Can't you see the explosion coming? Bent over the trap, the One-Eyed Hillbilly in a good (bad) position to get a face full of salty dirt!

The nature of the equipment involved in trapping naturally lends itself to some very funny situations for the observer and some very uncomfortable predicaments for the trapper. It’s an interesting observation of mine that I’ve lost more fingernails in 3 months of trapping than I have in all the rest of my life! A trapper always has scarred fingers, smashed nails, and rough hands in general due to mishaps. You might as well grit your teeth and laugh because it’s going to happen. And I figure ‘if you can’t laugh at yourself then who can you laugh at,’ so you might as well tell about it. There’s nothing more refreshing than a good laugh in the Great Outdoors.

At the scent post set, pushing poly-fil under the trap pan with a stick. Notice the free jaw up.

Salting the trap jaw channels with the free jaw up. Salt will severely corrode a trap so it's important to use adequately waxed traps. And, remember to always use non-iodized salt because furbearers can smell iodine and will dig it up.

One particularly cold January morning I caught a coyote in my first set of the morning. As I began to reset the trap I forgot to raise the free jaw and, of course, I accidently hit the pan and caught all four fingers of my right hand in the trap. My instant startled reaction was to stand straight up, which pulled the trap to the end of the 18 inch chain, jerking me back over. With one hand in the trap the only choice I had, while stooping over with the trap on the ground, was to push one lever down with my left hand while standing on the other lever with my right foot. Easy enough, right? Under normal circumstances you would say ‘yes.’ But this wasn’t normal - it was 15°, I wasn’t warmed up yet, and I was still stiff. Needless to say I got a Charlie horse in my leg! So, I had a trap on my right hand and a Charlie horse in my left leg and I didn’t know which one to address first. The cramp in my leg made my mind up for me. I fell to the ground and, with the chain stretched tight, I began kicking 36 inch circles around the trap bed in a furious attempt to get relief from the cramp. Now, if you can imagine, this must’ve looked completely ridiculous! Here is some idiot out in the middle of a field with a trap on his hand and a cramp in his leg attempting to get away from both afflictions and unable to get away from either one! If someone would’ve videoed the whole shenanigan we could’ve made a fortune on TV. It’s easy to laugh now but it wasn’t too funny back then!

The last step - adding red fox urine to a scent post set. The trap is bedded and covered to the right of the rock in the low spot.

After the cramp finally let go and I managed to get the trap off my hand I rolled over on the hard ground and laid there on my back for a few minutes stretching my leg and flexing my fingers. Man what I great way to spend a refreshing early morning in the Ozarks! I don’t recommend you try it. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.



Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

‘Poor Bull’ Firearms Deer Season

The draggers getting ready to "read us a page from the Good Book."
Kyle and Troy dragging the 500 pound doe with Dale and Alex adding to the effort.

In mountain man speak, for me antler hunting during firearms deer season 2010 was ‘poor bull, sure.’ ‘Poor bull’ was bad times for a mountain man as opposed to ‘fat cow.’ And to know ‘poor bull from fat cow’ was to know what was what - what was bad and what was good. According to the Missouri Department of Conservation the firearms harvest for 2010 was off about 5,000 compared to last year. Lucky for us my boy Alex is a ‘keener’, or exceptional marksman, and got us started off during youth season or, according to native Ozark mountain man language, we’d have ‘grease hunger’ but empty ‘meat bags’, - meaning hungry for meat but empty stomachs. Thank goodness we still have archery season through January 15th and smoke pole season from December 18th through the 28th. You can bet since you can’t eat antlers we’ll be strictly ‘making meat’ or meat hunting and laying in a good store of meat for all remaining deer hunting seasons this year.

This year, prior to opening weekend I ‘cut for sign,’ meaning, in mountain man terms, to walk back and forth across an area looking for evidence of a man or animal, in this case a deer, passing through. Deer sign was plainly evident to the experienced ‘bossloper’, or hunter, throughout the area in Ozarks where we hunt. Opening weekend the deer were moving fairly well but we were hunting wall-hangers instead of meat and so we didn’t ‘throw smoke,’ or fire a gun, all weekend.

During the week of firearms season my hunting highlight was Wednesday when I saw 3 bucks – a couple of 4 pointers and a spike, and 9 does. Still horn hunting however, I never fired a shot. One humorous highlight to our hunting forays for the week was when my good friend Dale Head’s son, Kyle took a doe about 3/4 mile from the nearest road. He learned a valuable ‘green hand’ lesson that day – never shoot a doe over a few hundred yards from the road. The first 100 yards Dale and I ‘heft’, or lifted and felt the wait of the doe as we drug her down the hill and across the fence. As soon as the descent changed to ascent we decided we would turn over the dragging chore to the hunter. So, Kyle and our other hunting compadre, Troy Oppelt, began the long drag up the ridge. About 100 yards into the long drag, from behind the two I motioned for Dale to ‘Indian up’ or sneak, and grab one of the deer’s front legs and “help out” the draggers so that they would get a better workout. You know me, always concerned about someone’s well being. Apparently Dale was concerned too because he immediately complied as he picked up a front leg and began to add resistance. The two draggers never looked back and kept on walking and talking as we headed up the ridge. Dale, Alex, and I followed behind laughing quietly and hysterically the whole way. It had warmed up considerably from the early morning and we all still had on many layers of clothing. Finally, after several hundred yards Troy wiped his brow and said, “Wow, I’ve got to rest. I’m burning up and this thing weighs a ton!” I didn’t know if they would ‘get their bristles up’ and ‘read us a page from the Good Book’, which in mountain man ‘palaver’ meant to get angry and give us a tongue lashing but we could hold our laughter no longer and we burst out laughing. Needless to say we had to walk in front of them the rest of the way to the truck!

Kyle’s deer was one of only a very few our party harvested. As was reported in many Missouri hunting periodicals, the mast crop was plentiful this year and that combined with the full moon the second half of season and the lack of ‘crimpy days’ in mountain man talk, or very cold days, was another factor in the decrease in harvest this year. Judging by the amount of game we saw the last 4 days of season the deer seemed to be ‘gone beaver,’ which means dead and gone for some time. The weather was perfect but the game was not cooperating. If ‘Aux Aliments Du Pays’ or nourishment from the land, was still the only means for food then our ‘grub’ would’ve been as thin as track soup.

In closing, if you want to keep deer hunting this year, mountain man ‘palaver’ would say any ‘Hiveranno,’ or experienced mountain man, with ‘hair of the bear’ should pack ‘Du Pont’ and ‘galena pills’, or powder and ball in your ‘possibles bag’ making ready for muzzleloader season. The only soup thinner than track soup is powderless Big 50 soup, or getting to the woods with your 50 caliber muzzleloader with no powder – now that’s some powerful thin soup and ‘poor bull, sure’! So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.



Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

Hunting with the ‘Holiday’ Hustler

Wayne ‘Holiday’ Isbell with his 2008 9-pointer. The hustle was just beginning.

The first time the new guy goes hunting with you he will kill the biggest buck. Trust me on this, it’s a given. The first time is a given, the second time is a coincidence, and the third time, well, that’s just downright disgusting. Call it beginner’s luck, call it fate, call it whatever you like, but it will happen. Even though you have hunted in that same spot for years, when you direct the new guy to that old hunting crossing a big buck will be waiting for him. Just count on it. He will then commandeer the crossing as his own and it will become a big buck superhighway. Trust me on this one too.

Enter by brother-in-law and good friend, Wayne Isbell. Wayne is from St. Louis. Wayne loves to deer hunt. Wayne has a good sense of humor (thank goodness for him). Wayne doesn’t like to camp. He will visit with us at camp, eat with us at camp, tell lies with us at camp, play practical jokes with us at camp, and hunt with us, but he won’t camp with us. From my hunting partner of many years, Ellis Floyd, those traits earned Wayne the nickname, ‘Holiday’ because he camps at the Holiday Inn during season. Also those traits made ‘Holiday’ the easy target for many of our ‘city’ jokes. However, those jokes all started to fade in 2008.

‘Holiday’ was part of the family and in 2008 he started hunting with us on Uncle Boone’s Farm. We sent him up on the Cemetery Ridge in an open timber crossing between the old field and the deep woods. It was a good spot where we had all hunted in the past. A good spot for the ‘city guy’ we figured. Of course ‘Holiday’ killed the biggest deer of the season on the farm the first day he sat on the ridge. I heard two shots fired so fast that I thought someone with a semiautomatic rifle was up on the ridge but it was just Wayne firing his lever action so fast that John Wayne would’ve been proud. And he had good reason to be firing fast because he took a great 9 pointer on the run that would’ve made any of us proud. We all chalked it up to the luck of a new guy and didn’t realize at the time we were being hustled. To make the performance even more convincing ‘Holiday’ played the humble new guy part to the hilt acting embarrassed that he had taken the biggest deer. With a sheepish grin he asked if it was alright that he had killed such a big buck. We all said, “Of course it’s ok, congratulations!” That was 2008.

The next year Holiday showed up at camp and humbly accepted all the city, new guy, and beginner’s luck jabs we all dished out to justify his taking the biggest buck the previous year. This year we were going to show him. This year the hunting clan wasn’t going to settle for anything less than the 30 pointer. We’d put this new guy in his place. Opening day Wayne again went up on the ridge (his new spot), but this time a 9 pointer wasn’t good enough. He killed a 10 pointer and again, the biggest deer of the year on the farm. After much grumbling and talk under the breath, it was chalked up to coincidence. Again, the humble, embarrassed new guy act was in full display as he acted concerned about once again killing the biggest deer. My hillbilly spidy senses began to tingle as I started suspecting a hustle. That was 2009.

The One-Eyed Hillbilly with Holiday and his 2010 buck. Next year the gloves are coming off!

Once again, this year Holiday showed up at camp. We laughed, lied, ate, and he didn’t camp again. We went to the farm and he went up on the Cemetery Ridge but this year he didn’t kill the biggest buck of the year up there. Finally, deer hunting justice! No, instead, he was walking back to the farmhouse for lunch and saw a doe jump the creek. He pursued the spot where she had jumped and a 10 pointer, along with several does, stood up 60 yards away. Holiday unloaded again with John Wayne speed and the biggest buck of the year was once again his claim. Now, I know a good hustle when I see one and this was the perfect deer hunting trifecta. I wasn’t buying the humble act any more. I don’t watch TV but I’ve heard of the new show called ‘Survivor’ where they all get together and vote off a player in each episode. I think next year we’re going to have to vote! This is getting ridiculous!

The city jokes are all over. The new guy act is in the can. Next year the gloves are coming off. I just hope Holiday doesn’t take up fishing and trapping. It could get embarrassing! Congratulations Wayne for once again giving us a lesson. The third time is a charm!...and I hope somebody bends your gun barrel before next year. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.

Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

Feasting at Deer Camp Mountain Man Style

My favorite book of all time is “Mountain Man” by Vardis Fisher. It was the inspiration for one of my favorite movies of all time, “Jeremiah Johnson”. The book is a historically correct, fictional account of a mountain man free trapper in the Rocky Mountains in the mid 1840’s. One thing in particular that jumps out at the reader is the great joy the mountain men took in their opportunities to feast. Most of the time they did not have the luxury of a hot prepared meal but when they did it was quite the occasion. Wild meat, biscuits, gravy, berries, and hot coffee was the menu for a fine-right feast. Following in the footsteps of the free trappers, at our deer camp the Friday night before opening day, eating is the objective and this year was not different. Four deer shoulders, one deer ham, and coffee, all cooked over the open fire, was the menu and it fed us for the whole weekend.

At deer camp simplicity is the order of the day. Preparing the deer shoulder and ham roasts simply entails covering the whole roast in garlic powder, spices, bacon, potatoes and peppers. You wrap it all up in about 8 layers of aluminum foil and put it on a grate above the fire for about 4 hours, turning it every 30 minutes. After the cooking time is up you cut the aluminum foil lengthwise and peel back the layers like opening a book. Then everybody takes out their pocket knives and helps themselves with their fingers. As I mentioned, simplicity is the rule so no pots and pans, no utensils, and no plates. Rather, we use aluminum foil, pocketknives, and fingers! It’s a little unrefined by some standards, but hey, its deer camp and we’re hillbillies so what do you expect! It is also a delicacy like you’ve never tasted and it is especially good in the woods. It’s so good, in fact, we even occasionally cook deer shoulder for Thanksgiving.

This year the crew ate 3 shoulders on the first night and we held back the 4th shoulder and a small ham for the next few days. Even as several stragglers filtered in throughout the weekend the 4th shoulder and the ham managed to feed us all through Sunday afternoon. When it comes time to eat you simply throw the previously cooked roast, still encased in the aluminum foil, on the grate above the fire for about 20 minutes on each side and it’s as good as it was after just being cooked. Sitting around the campfire laughing, telling stories, and peeling off chunks a tender deer roast with your pocket knife as the smoke swirls up all around you gives one a sense of feasting with friends at a mountain man rendezvous 170 years ago. The spirit of the free trappers is still alive and well in the Ozark Hills.

In the book another aspect of the mountain man’s personality that jumps out at the reader was their versatility and the ability to cope with any situation. This trait also played out this year in our camp feasting. You see, the last time we camped this past summer my wife had used my camp coffee pot as a bacon grease receptacle and it goes without saying that we forgot to empty the grease. So, after cooking the meat and preparing for some coffee, I discovered the bacon grease in the pot. Even though I heated up the grease and poured it out and then boiled water in it, the first two pots of coffee were definitely bacon flavored! Before each sip everybody looked into the cups of coffee and couldn’t help but notice the oil-like sheen on top of the surface. With a half smirk and a cocked head we all commented how it tasted just like breakfast…literally! After drinking the coffee and hunting that afternoon, my friend Steve Bryson showed true Ozark mountain man spirit when, tongue in cheek, he commented that when he got hungry in the woods that afternoon he simply ran his tongue over the front of his teethe and tasted the bacon! Now that’s truly showing the resourcefulness of a mountain man and being able to find a silver lining for every dark cloud!

Good food, good friends, and camping, there is really nothing to equal the experience. Add in a little trapping, hunting, or fishing and there’s an experience to develop a life around. If you get a chance check out “Mountain Man” by Vardis Fisher. It’s a great read for any mountain man from the Ozark Hills. As for bacon flavored coffee, after some reflection I cannot recommend it. It’s tolerable but the waxy bacon taste just isn’t complementary, contrary to my friend Steve Bryson’s opinion! So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.

Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

Traditions, Stories, and Deer Season

Still coming to deer camp even after the assault in the Green Palace – Jim McDaniels (right) with Ellis Floyd (left) and Jason Bass (center). Hunters in the Ozark Hills making stories and carrying on traditions.

Deer hunters have a different internal clock than most folks. Growing up most kids live from Christmas to Christmas, however, for outdoors types we keep time according to hunting, trapping, and fishing seasons. Case in point, as a grade school student I lived from deer season to deer season. Camping out at Ft. Leonard Wood and deer hunting on the post was the highlight of my year. It was a tradition that my grandfather, and then my father, and now I carry on. With chili, soup, and deer shoulder roast on the menu the fare is a little better now than 20 years ago. Today with many of the old-timers now gone the practical jokes have calmed down some…thank goodness. But all the stories of camp antics, hunting stories, and other outdoor related shenanigans of years gone by are still played over and over again each year around the campfire. The stories and fun on the night before Missouri deer season opening weekend has kept the past 30 years of hunting seasons alive and well for me and the whole clan. This year promises to be no different.

We’ll tell the story and laugh about Uncle Bob and his bird dog. When I was a kid during the 70’s we all gathered on Wednesday nights at Grandma Stephens’ house for family dinner. Apparently one evening Uncle Bob showed up for dinner and was bragging on how he had out-smarted Mother Nature. His bird dog was in heat and, according to Bob, all the communication between the neighborhood male dogs and a female in heat was done through smell. So, he had picked up some cheap perfume and dowsed the poor dog with it. There was no way a neighborhood dog would be able to smell anything through the offensively strong perfume.

Now, my Great Uncle and Aunt, Norman and Ola Grogan always came over for dinner and they had a male Chihuahua named Cookie. When Cookie came over to the table and jumped up in Ola’s lap she exclaimed, “Cookie, what in the world have you got into? You smell like you’ve been in a perfume factory!” I guess there was a pause and then all the adults (except Bob) burst out in uproarious laughter. They all k
new what Cookie had been into and I guess the look of disgusted and astonished disbelief on Bob’s face was one for the ages! I don’t remember much about those Irish Setter-Chihuahua hunting dogs but I’ll bet they had good nose for smelling out the birds if they took after their father, Cookie! Uncle Bob learned, as the old saying goes, “It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature!”

Then we’ll tell about the firecrackers in the Green Palace. One year when I was about 12 years old at deer camp the night before opening day I was astounded to watch grown men acting just like a bunch of kids! The Green Palace was a tent that Jim McDaniels brought to deer camp that was big enough to pull in a pickup. That evening Jim had turned in early. As all the other men in camp stood around the campfire I noticed Benny Bryson moving toward the Palace after giving Jim just enough time to get in his sleeping bag. Without saying a word and with a solemn and matter-of-fact expression on his face Benny pulled out a string of firecrackers from his coat. Now this wasn’t just any string of firecrackers, it was a string of Black Cats so long it reminded me of folded-over bandoliers of machine gun cartridges. Benny unzipped the Palace front door, lit the fuse, threw them in, and zipped the door back closed! He then just strolled back to the fire.

As I sat there waiting for the devil to come to breakfast I was completely dumbfounded. You see Jim is a big man at 6’4” and about 300 pounds and I figured Benny was going to die soon. I also figured that Dad and I were going to have a hard time explaining to mom why we were at the police station all night the night before deer season. Anyway, the firecrackers tore in with a defining machine gun cadence. From the outside of the tent with each loud report you could see a corresponding flash of light through the fabric. There were so many flashes it looked like Jim had a disco ball spinning inside the Palace! And the light show seemed like it went on forever!

After the onslaught was finally winding down, like popcorn, there were a few late poppers in the string. I was waiting for Jim to tear through the flap and come out with a look of rage on his face and blood on his mind! Instead, after about a 30 second lull, without a word, from inside the tent the zipper opened up about 12 inches and smoke boiled out from the inside, but no Jim. All the men at the campfire were laughing in amazement except Benny. He looked around and shrugged his shoulders with the same matter-of-fact look on his face. I think smoke poured out of the tent for hours. I don’t know how Jim kept from suffocating!

These are what makes up the treasure of hunting seasons past for young’uns from the Ozark Hills. It is who we are and what we do. I’m proud to say I’ve been a part of it. I hope that some day 30 years from now my children are able to remember back on many fond memories of hunting, trapping, and fishing season past and smile. It’s a heritage worth devoting a lifetime of effort. Take a kid deer hunting this fall. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.




Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

Mountain Goats, One of the Hardest Earned Trophies in North America

This was supposed to be an easy day - NOT! Glassing for mountain goats, Alaskan hunter Steve Neff, scanning the mountain ridges.

It was supposed to be a day to take it easy. Two weeks ago my Alaskan hunting partner, Steve Neff, and I had just backpacked a total of 12 miles through the Ayakulik River Valley with camp and a caribou on our backs. From base camp on Grant's Lagoon we were supposed to take it easy the following day and glass the Kodiak foothills for black-tail deer. Steve had two deer tags and we had seen several decent bucks while pursuing caribou the previous 2 days. After rolling out of our sleeping bags at first light we suited up and cooked breakfast. Freeze-dried breakfast again, just add hot water and - mmm, mmm, good! When you are over 85 miles from the nearest store, road, or any semblance of civilization, you would be surprised how tasty freeze-dried food actually is! After breakfast we prepared our backpacks with food and water necessary for the day of hunting - brunch peanuts, lunch peanuts, snack peanuts, dinner peanuts, dessert peanuts, and granola bars. Until you hunt with Steve you really have no idea all the variety of peanuts that exist! I am now a connoisseur of hunting peanuts and their mysterious nutritional value while in the bush. And it's a good thing they have all that nutritional value because a quarter mile out of camp we spotted 2 mountain goats sunning and feeding on the east side of a distant mountain and black-tail deer hunting went out the door! So much for an easy day in the foothills.

Taking a break 1/2 way up the south ridge, the One-Eyed Hillbilly, Greg Stephens, with Grant's Lagoon and the Pacific Ocean in the background.

Steve looked at me and asked, "Are you up for it?" It was 2000 feet to the ridge above the critters. There was no guarantee that they would still be there when we got there. But hey, I didn't travel all the way from Missouri to miss a chance at witnessing the harvest of one of the most coveted hunting trophies in North America. "Let's go," I said. And away, and up, we went.

Mountain goats are a truly magnificent game animal. They have beautiful, thick white fur for enduring the brutal weather at the top of the world. They climb to staggering heights and stand and nap on shear cliffs thousands of feet high. Compared to deer they have larger and more powerful front shoulders for climbing. Similar to deer they have a nose that warns them of approaching danger in the shifting mountain winds. Due to the extreme heights that they inhabit the animal has a tendency to look horizontally and down from their perches on mountain cliffs but, unless traveling up, they seldom look up. So, the trick is to get above them and that is usually easier said than done. But we had a game plan - as fast as possible get to the top of the mountain ridge to the south of where the goats were feeding and hopefully round the summit just above their location. It sounded good in theory anyway.

Finally on top of the Ridge! Steve prepares to skirt the summit and peek over the top from above the goats last known position.

Now 2000 feet isn't all that high when it comes to mountains in Alaska. But after a mile hike up the foothills through alder thickets, salmon berry brier patches, and marshy creek drainages, only to be hit with a mountain so steep you have to sidetrack to climb, 2000 feet is more than you want. I've scaled some pretty formidable ridges in these Ozark Hills but this was ridiculous! The entire ascent up the mountain was so steep you could stand upright and reach out with your inside arm and hold the ground in front of you! With a 25 pound backpack and a 7 pound gun the task was even more challenging. If you made a wrong step you would literally roll a 1000 feet with no way to stop. Needless to say, we watched every step. It took us approximately an hour to scale the 2000 foot mountain. After a brief rest we hustled around the back side of the summit and cautiously peeked over the ridge and...no goats! They had bugged out while we were scaling the mountain.

Hung on a wing and a prayer in the last alder patch, Steve Neff with his trophy mountain goat above the cliff dropping to the Pacific.

As we scanned the horizon and all escape routes from the mountain top trying to decipher the goats escape path and trying to decide if we could continue the pursuit, we caught a glimpse of a goat just walking over the crest of a peak 2 mountains further up the ridge. It was another mile further and now daylight and the gathering mist was our main concern. In order to avoid the extreme danger of being caught on the mountain and trying to descend after dark we would have to race the clock and weather. Again, we decided we hadn't come all this way for nothing. The pursuit was on!

Bugging out for the 2nd time, after Steve's shot the lone remaining Billy heads over the cliff to safer hiding places.

Another hour of climbing put us on the break in the ridge where we had seen the goat disappear earlier. As we cautiously crested the ridge there was a hump in the mountain 70 yards in front of us. At 30 yards from the hump, 2 pairs of black horns and white fur-covered ears popped up from just on the other side of the hump. The game was up! Steve quickly raised the Squaw Mountain customized Model 700 Remington .308, took aim, and fired. Much to our initial joy and subsequent concern, a direct hit through the chest cavity sent our quarry tumbling down the mountain toward a sheer bluff that fell 1000 feet to the Pacific Ocean below. The same alders that we had cursed on the way up the mountain we were now placing all our hopes on as our trophy headed for the last alder patch before going over the cliff. In the end the hunting Gods were watching over us because the alders stopped our goat.

Greg posing with the prize. The culmination of a hunting trip of a lifetime.

After an hour of racing nightfall and the impending weather and fighting the extremely steep conditions while processing and deboning the carcass, our backpacks were filled to capacity and we were headed 2½ miles down the mountain ridge to the beach line and back to camp. Now this sounds incredible but I’m here to tell you that going up a mountain with a 25 pound load is as easy as or easier than coming down a mountain with a 65 pound load. You’ll have to trust me on this or try it yourself. Coming down a mountain employs a whole different set of muscles that you hadn’t used going up. We finally made it back to camp just after dark. We were exhausted under the weight of our packs and were ready for bed. I’ve never slept so soundly on a patch of beach rocks in my life. It was a fitting culmination to a hunting trip of a lifetime. Earning hunting trophies in Alaska is rite of passage in the Great Outdoors. I hope you get to experience it yourself one day. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.

Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

Caribou Hunting the Kodiak Tundra

The Ayakulik River Valley as seen from the mountain ridge to the northwest of Grant's Lagoon. There's caribou (and bears) out there somewhere!

From the air, large parts of Kodiak Island, Alaska appear to be fairly tame for backpack hunting in the wilderness. Looks, however, are dangerously deceiving. Last weekend, in pursuit of caribou, black-tail deer, and mountain goats, my hunting partner Steve Neff and I slogged 17 miles through huge mucky swamps, giant log jams, low willow tangles, dense alder thickets, steep mountains and rushing creeks and rivers. If there was an easy step in the Ayakulik River Valley or the mountain ridges above Grant’s Lagoon and Halibut Bay we didn’t find it. As every outdoorsman on Kodiak soon learns, everything is further, higher, deeper, wetter, and more treacherous than you would think at first glance. Also, to further solidify that sentiment and test our physical limits, we were each packing 40 to 75 pounds (depending on the day) and it was raining half the time we were on the move. Between the sweat, water underfoot and rain overhead, being wet was a constant even in quality rain gear. Pack hunting Kodiak is one of the most grueling yet satisfying challenges a hunting adventurer can undertake.

Kodiak, AK Resident and fellow hunter Steve Neff. In the town of Kodiak, AK, at Trident Basin bush plane dock, preparing to board the float plane and head in country.

Our first day started with an 85 mile bush plane ride from the town of Kodiak to Grant’s Lagoon on the extreme southwest side of the island. We disembarked from the plane at an old camp where a frame for a wall tent stood that had provided hunters shelter during years past. This would serve as our base of operations. At this location we quickly shuffled equipment and clothes, caching everything we wouldn’t need at our planned spike camp two miles up the valley. As soon as we had lightened our loads to about 40 pounds each, we loaded up, grabbed the guns, and headed out. Just off the beach we encountered our first log jam and bog while heading up the river. Trying to cross such an obstacle under a heavy load without breaking an ankle or leg is no small feat. These first two miles revealed the value of quality, heavy-duty waterproof gaiters in the Alaskan outback. If you are not tearing through low willow tangles or alders then you are slogging through knee-deep swamps and log-jams. Without gaiters your boots cannot stay tied or even remotely dry. And your gortex hunting pants, from the knees down, will be ruined after one trip.

Spike camp in the shadow of the southern ridge 2 miles up the river valley, Kodiak Island, AK.

Our spike camp was located two miles up the valley in the shadow of a mountain ridge. On the way up we immediately began spotting black-tail deer. Most were does but a few 3x3’s were popping up. Our plan was to hunt deer second to the caribou. The idea was to sleep that night and start glassing for caribou the next morning. We set out the next morning at daylight, packs on our backs, heading south up the valley toward Anvil Lake. Glassing at each resting point along the way, after a 4 mile search we finally found caribou grazing in a mud flat in the shadow of a mountain ridge 400 yards out. We immediately went to our bellies. Crawling along a low hump we wanted to close the distance to 200 yards so that Steve could take a high percentage shot well within the lethal range of the Squaw Mountain custom .308, Model 700 Remington rifle. As we belly crawled through the spruce bush-covered side of the gently sloping ridge overlooking the mudflat we stopped and ranged the perimeter bulls about every 50 yards. At the very edge of the mudflat and the end of our crawling cover the range finder dialed in a good perimeter bull at 198 yards. This was the one. Steve extended the bipod on the Model 700, took aim, and fired. The Hornady 165 grain Spire Point bullet covered the distance in an instant impacting the caribou at the exact aiming point and sending the bull down in his tracks. Pinpoint accuracy was extremely important because on either side of the animal there was a mud wallow and a river that would have made for a cleaning nightmare if a lesser shot would have been made and the animal would have made it to the water.

The Prize! After a 4 mile hike, 200 yard belly crawl, and 200 yard shot, success in the Kodiak tundra!

The cleaning process began immediately. Also, having just ringed the dinner bell, the bear watch duty also began. As each of us bent over cleaning our respective side of the caribou, every few minutes we would stand up, stretch our backs, and scan for approaching bears. After approximately 1½ hours the carcass was completely cleaned, the meat was deboned, bagged, and in our packs. The 4 mile trek back to the spike camp was about to begin; only the return trip included 65 pound packs! We made camp just before dark. We were wet and exhausted. We cached the meat about 100 yards from the tent, boiled water for our freeze-dried dinner, ate, and climbed into our sleeping bags. Never has there been had such a sound sleep on the Alaskan tundra!

To the shooter goes the extra pack weight of the skull and antlers! With 70-75 pounds of meat & equipment in our packs, we headed back for Grant's Lagoon 6 miles down the valley.

The successful culmination of the first leg of our hunting adventure on Kodiak Island was extremely gratifying. We had endured tremendous discomforts and hardships out in the elements while earning this outdoor trophy. However, not once did we perceive it in that manner. Rather, we viewed it a privilege and right of passage to the next step in our conquest. If it is not hard to do then everyone would be doing it. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.

Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

Packing for the Remote Kodiak Wilderness

The One-Eyed Hillbilly & Steve Neff, On Kodiak Island, AK. Packed up and heading into the bush for caribou, mountain goat, and black-tail deer.

My wife LaDonna is an organizational planning guru when it comes to camping. She wants everything properly packed and planned out all the way down to the menu for each day. On the other hand according to her I am an organizational disaster in my approach to camping (spontaneous I call it). In the Ozarks when I get ready to go, I throw in some supplies and clothes and head out to the woods. If I forget something I simply improvise. It’s just not that big of a deal to forget something. If it turns out to be something we really can’t survive without then within a 30 mile drive the forgotten provisions can be purchased and brought back to camp. My way works fine in the Ozarks and most states in the lower 48. In Alaska however my wife’s organizational skills can be the difference between life and death. The ability to improvise is important when the need arises but careful planning when heading into the Alaska wilderness is the only way to safely and adequately outfit a trip over a hundred miles from the nearest roads, settlements, and/or communications.

Base Camp at the back of Grant's Lagoon facing the north ridge. Notice the bear proof food barrel and the caribou antlers in the frame.

Food, water, clothing, footwear, camping gear, maps, navigational equipment, firearms, ammunition, cutlery, and transportation arrangements are each vitally important aspects that require special attention. Any deficiency in any of these important pieces of the puzzle can spell disaster. There is no jumping in the truck and heading for town (you are over 100 miles from the nearest roads). There are no cell phones to call for help or ask your wife to bring out a forgotten item. For emergency purposes the only communications to the outside world is a satellite phone that is very expensive to rent and operate. Not only that but when you rent it you are given a schedule of the times to use it corresponding with the satellites orbiting overhead. So just because you need to call, it doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll get through. You are truly at the mercy of Mother Nature and one with the wilderness. A remote hunt on Kodiak Island, Alaska is truly an adventure on the edge of the world.

Our two man spike camp two miles up the Ayakulik River valley from Grant's Lagoon.

Kodiak contains one of the densest populations of Kodiak brown bears in the world. Whether hunting bears or not you have to be on the look out for the ominous creatures as you operate within their domain. Food stores and harvested meat stores have to be located outside of your camp in order to prevent roaming bears from raiding your camp. Proper cleaning procedure dictates that you gut your harvest and then move the carcass several hundred yards, if possible, from the gut pile before skinning, quartering and de-boning any meat. During the processing chore it is always a good idea to have one person as a lookout. After the carcass processing is complete you must transport the meat back to the camp and store the cache away from the camp in containers so as to prevent bears from smelling it. But, if a bear finds your cache, it’s his to take and you can only watch and hope he likes it better than you!

Food and water are, of course, vital considerations on an extended-stay trip. Weight is a huge consideration when deciding what to pack. Freeze dried, pre-packaged food is by far the best choice. It is light weight, individual serving portioned, and compact for easy stowing. Each evening you simply add some hot water to the packaging and your dinner is served. Vitamins and individually packaged healthy snacks with good carbohydrate levels for energy are convenient and sensible choices for additional food stores. Also, it is necessary to contain all food stores in a bear proof sealable metal container. As for water a great piece of equipment that saves much weight is a good water purifier incorporated into a water bottle. If you have a good supply of fresh water in your hunting environment you can simply fill the bottle and pure drinking water comes out the end of the straw. When dropping in by bush plane into the Alaskan wilderness food and water are considerations of the utmost importance. If you’ve never been out there then talk to someone that has before you go. Waiting hungry and thirsty for a week before the bush plane shows up to pick you up is at the least very unpleasant and at the worst very dangerous.

Steve Neff cooking dinner on the micro stove. Notice the blue squeeze bottle water purifier - the only source for drinking water in camp.

The next consideration is clothing, footwear and camping gear. Weight, breathability and being water proof are the main considerations. On Kodiak it rains a lot. If your clothing gets wet there is a good chance it will stay wet. A big difference from hunting clothes in the lower 48 is that cotton is not your friend. When cotton gets wet it looses much of its insulating qualities and it is very hard to dry out. Kodiak is also mountainous and, in places, covered extensively with thick brush and muskeg swamps. You will sweat a lot and you will get rained on. Mountain boots, waterproof gaitors, and gore-tex clothing will be your best friends. So, your clothing, footwear, and camping gear need to all be up to the task because in Alaska it’s a whole different ball game.

Finally, adequate and detailed maps, navigational equipment, firearms, ammunition, cutlery, and transportation arrangements are a must. A GPS is a wonder of the modern age for the Alaskan wilderness hunter. Getting lost in the remote country is very dangerous at the least. Quality, functioning firearms and proper ammunition with which the hunter is familiar is a must. As my friend, hunting partner, and Kodiak resident, Steve Neff and I prepare to head into the bush, he will be packing a Remington model 700 chambered in .308 Winchester and topped with a Luepold 4x scope. I will be providing guard duty with a fast aiming Marlin Guide gun chambered in the heavy hitting .450 Marlin. The .308 is a great caliber for the caribou and deer of which we are in pursuit and the .450 is big medicine in case of trouble.

As you read this we will be in the remote southern portion of Kodiak Island at Grant’s Lagoon near Halibut Cove. Isolation and exhilaration as only the Alaskan mountain men of the 19th and 20th century understood is the goal on this hunting trip. We will truly be one with Nature. And, thanks to my wife’s example (and Steve’s) in properly planning and outfitting a camping trip, we are prepared even for the wildcard of extreme weather typical in Alaska in October. From the Emerald Island of Alaska, on the edge of the world, signing off for now - so says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.

Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.