It was a cool 30 degrees on the morning of the second weekend of rifle season in Jefferson County, Missouri. I sat on my treestand in the early morning, alert for any sound or movement that may lead to deer sausage and venison for the table. There was another thing I thought about, and that was last year's hunt in the same area.

I had been walking the mountain, wearing buck-attracting scent...you know, the kind that drives male deer crazy--I think it's called scent of oestrus or something like that.

parfum de la femme.

I had sat down to rest, leaning against a tree. It wasn't quite dawn yet and wasn't legal for me to shoot. I was looking downhill, into the wind, when I heard crashing through the brush. I barely dove out of the way to avoid being run over by this magnificent whitetail buck. I got behind the tree and he came at me again, head lowered and antlers aglow in the light of the full moon. For the next 30 minutes I perched in the tree (yes, I had climbed to safety) and listened to him tearing up the brush. He was in a rage of rut and confusion. I certainly had no intention of being on the ground with him! That scent really works.

The time seemed to pass slowly after that, until he reappeared from among some cedar trees. He disappeared again below the ridge.

This year I positioned my treestand just below the same knoll, hoping that I would get him this year. The trees he picked for his rub were as big as soda cans, so I knew he was here.

The hunting was slow but kept alive by daydreaming. I climbed out of the stand and began walking slowly up the hill to the area by the cedars that I had seen him last the year before. As I stalked around the cedars, I was startled by a doe 30 yards from me--I dropped down on one knee and then the big buck came into view. They stared at me but I remained still and the wind was with me. Finally, after a long time, I got him in my 3x9x40 scope on my .30-06. I could only see part of him, the shoulder, but it offered me the best opportunity for a lethal shot and I took it. He dropped immediately.

I calmly approached the beautiful animal and saw that he had 18 scoreable points and although the scoring is not yet completed, that's not really what counts. It's the place in the heart of this hunter, always reminded of a splendid hunt over the years, and the stories I can tell my grandkids about the buck's mount on my wall, rather than being mounted by a buck in rut. :)

Told to Jim Pankey by Mitch. Picture will be included on the website when available.

*Please remember buck-attracting scent should be used in the environment, not worn by a hunter.

SINGING THE BLUES

Well, folks it's February here in Illinois and what can I say. I hate February! Hunting season is over, fishing season is two months away, I mean the real fishing season which begins in April. Not the fake fishing season of February and March where you fool yourself into freezing for four hours in a boat and don’t catch squat. Football is over, which leaves us with Hockey and Basketball, two sports I could do without. I mean when you think about it you might as well not watch basketball until the last five minutes of the game because in the end the score is always 100 to 98 and until then it’s just a bunch of tall guys running up and down a court. Hockey? How long is a hockey season anyway, eternity? It seems to me that you have all of these hockey teams playing for half the year to reach first place in their division and then, guess what! First place really doesn’t mean anything because they all go to the playoffs and play another half a year.

I guess I can sit back and reflect upon the successful hunts that I had this year. But let's face it, I’m not Bill Jordan or some other hunting industry giant who gets to go hunting for six months out of the year. I can reflect on all my hunting for a day or two and that’s about it.

If I were President I would eliminate the month of February all together. You could take the days of February and incorporate them into the other eleven months. This could also help to make every month the same number of days. Some months have 30 days; some months have 31 days. I mean come on, who thought this stuff up. It’s all man-made. The planet doesn’t care how many days are in a month or how many months are in a year. I say we make a year 363 days with 11 months of 33 days each and just eliminate the dreaded month of February.

I could go ice skating with the family. But then again if I really wanted to break my ankles I could jump out of my tree stand in November.

There’s always bird watching, the only problem with that is all the cool looking birds are smart enough to head to Florida in the winter with the exception of the Bald Eagle, and once you’ve seen an eagle the thrill is pretty much over. Besides the bird watching I like best is when I am looking at ducks or doves down the barrel of my shotgun.

People, as you can see February just isn’t my month. March will be here soon and my thoughts will turn to April crappie fishing and turkey hunting. This will once again give me a reason to live. I hope I have not sounded too negative, but for me, February is a time to be singing the blues.

I’m Kenny; and for February I’m just crying in my corner.

**To all our Backwoods Bound Buddies: We sincerely appreciate all your support! We hope you'll continue to help by forwarding this newsletter to all the people in your address book. Give them the opportunity to participate in our site! In addition, if you know of someone that shares our interests, why not ask if you can sign them up for our newsletter? With a web site like this, the more the merrier!