Finally got to stretch my legs walking the Pennsylvania Wilds yesterday. Dawned my hunter orange coat, hat and, grabbed my trusty Savage Model 64 Foremost bolt action 30/30. Began my journey, first working my way to the south along what use to be corn fields but have since become wheat fields, that now lay barren. The plan, with the winds from the south, circle the marshy bayou hoping the elusive white tailed deer might pick up my scent and move closer to the north end where I would be comfortably seated later in the afternoon.
Turning to the east, I pushed through a 10 yard wide swath of now brown Golden Rod separating a grove of Oaks, Maples and, what use to be a corn field. Was about halfway through the 200 yd long swath, when I felt assured any deer now to my north would certainly pick up my scent. I never expected one of them elusive deer would let me get so dad burned close, before bolting straight out in front of me!!!
Eyes now itching, burning and nose running full flow, I made my way to the other end of the Golden Rod patch where I remembered what I forgot but oh well, the coat sleeves have always worked good in the past. No ya dummies, not because of the deer, for my running nose.
A few minutes passed as I regained my composure allowing me to once again look good, as I continue my hunt for the elusive PA. White Tailed Deer. Once again heading to my east, along the southern boundary of my journey, I came across the reason for the entire bayou thingy. While standing at streams edge, taking this picture, I learned that my 10" wolverines were not high enough as the mud was pushing my pant legs above the top of my boot. It's not funny, I could still be stuck out there and, yinz wouldn't be seeing this great picture.
Attachments are not available: Download requirements not met Once on the eastern boundary of the marsh I turned my direction to the north where it was heavy with tall Oaks, Maples and ladder stands. Now stumbling over dead-falls, tripping over rocks or stepping into water filled deep ruts left from logging of years gone by, I began wondering what the hell I was doing. Turns out the deep water filled ruts were beneficial in getting all that stupid mud rinsed from my boots. Unfortunately my now water soaked pant legs weighed even more than the mud coated boots along with, making very annoying swishy sounds that was louder than the crunching from the dry leaves blanketing the forest floor.
Was only a short jaunt before I broke into a section of forest freshly logged this past year and it was nice to have a trail to finish my walk to the north most border of the bayou. Of course, it also meant, I was only half way home and the next leg of the hike is mostly uphill. Not a problem as my neighbor had just built a nice platform 10 feet off the ground and that's where he shot a large bodied 6 point only a few days ago. So I set my direction, out of course, for his new stand where I thought I could sit for an hour or two and rest up for the remainder of my walk home. Sure enough, the stand was right where he said I would find it and the ladder was right where he said it would be but he didn't tell me I would find it, cable locked to the base of a tree. I suppose all the foot stomping wasn't a total loss, it did help break more mud from my boots. I'm just not sure this was one of them acceptable reasons for a grown man to cry but what the hell, I still had one clean dry coat sleeve and I can blame the red eyes, on that dam Golden Rod. I have no idea where they came from but I'm pretty sure the two dudes about 75 yds on the other-side of a creek was too busy dressing out the deer, one of em shot earlier in the day to even notice me so I squishedly neaked, back the way I came.
Now in a upward motion I leave the woodlands entering into what use to be a corn field, then into a valley and back uphill across another corn field that was unique in that the corn stalks, were cut off about a foot above the ground making for some very sensitive language. Had I followed the rows, I would have been taken directly to the northern boarder of my planned journey but nooooo, I had to travel northwest walking across the rows, thinking I would be taking a shortcut to where I would begin heading west. Did I mention the new mud soles that now adorned my boots?
Finally, I arrive to the point at which I begin my journey west which thankfully is a hard top road, until I come to a farm lane where I begin my trek, once again to my south. With the wind now in my face, I head to where I planned on sitting out the rest of the day, eager to see if any deer had moved up into the hollow. Turns out I wouldn't need to spend much time in my destination as the farmer was in the same area, mending his fence and he said, he didn't see a thing all day long.
Honest, this is a true story, I love my little piece of Penn's Woods and the red eyes, really..... from that dam Golden Rod.
Got out again this afternoon but that's a story, for another day.
Bit of a different angle. I'd estimate the beaver dam to be about 4 ft. high.
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post edited by BeenThereDoneThat. - 2017/12/05 21:37:54
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