tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83094452893746299432024-03-05T00:39:09.116-08:00CamoTherapyDisabled hunting tips, advice, experiences and adventuresAndy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-10904431541045651972015-06-13T11:56:00.000-07:002015-06-13T11:56:18.311-07:00THEM FREAKIN PIGEONS<h3 style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My living room opens a
window of opportunity for urban wingshooting.</h3>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I spend the large part
of my days sitting at the dining room table, working on my computer.
For a retired guy like me, “working” could be anything from
playing Spider Solitaire to watching baseball to cruising the Web to
writing a blog post that maybe 18 people might read. Our spacious
dining/living room is very well lit, thanks to a wall-to-wall,
six-sliding-panel window that measures 7 by 20 feet.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My apartment is on the
ninth floor, and the building across the street has only seven
stories, which means I don't gaze out my window and look directly
into somebody's den. Instead, I can observe the abundant bird life
found in Copacabana. Scissortail hummingbirds, bananaquits and blue
tanagers come to sip nectar from the feeder at our window, kiskadees
shriek from rooftop antennas, and frigate birds spiral upward on
thermals before gliding out to the Cagarras Islands.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And them freakin
pigeons... sky carp... rats with wings... They're everywhere! Flying
past my apartment like ornery pilots buzzing the tower, swarming
around patrons' feet at the sidewalk restaurants, puffing their
chests and cooing while dancing in circles on window ledges, and
doing whatever else them freakin pigeons spend their days doing—all
of which only serves to cheese me off.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Every time I notice a
plump pigbird plop down on a perch, I think, “Dang! The Squirrel
Eraser would love this target-rich environment.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But my beloved Squirrel
Eraser (a Marlin .17 HMR fitted with an Alpen 6-24x50 scope that
drills targets out to 125 yards) is in the gun safe at a friend's
hunting camp in South Carolina. Besides, no matter how carefully I
chose my backdrops, the residents and police wouldn't take kindly to
some nut blazing away with a rimfire rifle in a neighborhood where
the population density is measured in people per square meter.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I had to find a way to
show them freakin pigeons that I would no longer put up with their
cheese-me-off antics. I also had to find a partner in crime because
ALS has rendered my arms and legs nearly useless. My aide Luiz was
the perfect candidate for the henchman job. Like me, he harbors no
love for them freakin pigeons; when we're out, Luiz often steers my
wheelchair toward birds on the sidewalk and accelerates.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I bought a
slingshot. Nothing fancy, just a handmade El Cheapo I saw in a crafts
market. A few days later, while grocery shopping with Luiz, I asked
him to buy peanuts.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Peanuts?” he
asked, knowing I have difficulty chewing them.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We're gonna have a
party,” I answered.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When we got home, I
asked Luiz to open the peanuts and get the slingshot. He followed my
gaze out the window and needed no further encouragement. A solitary
pigeon loafed on the roof across the street. Estimated range: 35
yards.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
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<br />
</div>
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Luiz nonchalantly slid
open the window and pretended to check the weather. He was really
guaging windage and looking around to make sure the coast was clear.
“I feel like a sniper,” he said. “I don't want to give away my
position.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We had to keep our
activities discreet. The building across the street is lower than
ours, but it's flanked by taller ones. We sometimes see neighbors at
their windows having a smoke; surely somebody would notice a guy
leaning out with a slingshot at full draw. It would only take one
grouch with no sense of humor to blow the whistle and force us to
abort the mission.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Standing slightly back from the window for better concealment from prying eyes, Luiz
loaded up and took aim.</div>
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i>THWAP</i></b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Slingshots don't emit a
muzzle flash, but they make a hell of a racket upon discharge. The
pigeon didn't even blink. It smirked at us.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Wide to the right,”
Luiz said, keeping his eye on the target as he reloaded.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i>THWAP</i></b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Low and away.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i>THWAP</i></b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“To the right again.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i>THWAP</i></b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Over his head.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><i>THWAP</i></b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The startled bird leapt
up, flew several feet, and settled on the roof again.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That one hit right
beside him,” Luiz reported.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After four more shots,
Luiz came close again. Our quarry flapped away to safety.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ha! We showed that
freakin pigeon!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Twenty minutes later, a
dozen birds milled about on the rooftop.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What are they
doing?” I asked.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Luiz glanced over.
“Eating peanuts.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
CHOICE OF AMMUNITION</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We knew coming into
this assignment that peanuts would be lousy projectiles. Their
aerodynamics, or lack thereof, cause them to veer at freaky angles,
making each shot's trajectory impossible to predict. (I know, I know:
What can you expect from a legume that ripens underground?)</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Structural
integrity/cohesiveness is another issue. Luiz watched a few peanuts,
unable to withstand the G-force of a high-speed launch, burst into
fragments as soon as they left the slingshot.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And even when they do
hold together, peanuts don't have sufficient density to carry any
significant energy downrange. In other words, they're too light to
pack any kind of a wallop.</div>
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So why did I choose
peanuts?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
First of all, it is not
our intent to kill pigeons, only harass them.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Flinging empty rum
bottles at birds would probably upset the neighbors.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Biodegradable
projectiles quickly vanish, leaving no evidence of our activities.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Errant peanuts won't
shatter windows.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Evaluating the results
of our initial barrage, we realized we had to find a better type of
biodegradable, glass-friendly ammo to harass, not kill, them freakin
pigeons.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Stay tuned, this battle
ain't over yet.</div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-59862047543880342382014-03-18T17:17:00.001-07:002014-03-18T17:20:05.691-07:00MEXICAN WHITETAILS<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Now they call me Speedy
Hahnzalez</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Opening day of deer
season. Low, gray clouds scudded across the sky as a harsh November
wind shook our ground blind. The previous day had been balmy and
comfortable, but then a nasty cold front roared in. “The deer are
all bedded down,” I thought disappointedly. “There's no way
they'll be out in this weath--”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“One coming in on the right!”
murmured my guide, Ruben Serna. Raising his binoculars for a better
look, Ruben said, “Eight points, but it's a cull buck.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My friend Ron Wagner's
eyes grew wide when the deer cautiously stepped into the open. “It
would be a cull buck back home, too,” he quipped. “If you shoot a
buck like that in Pennsylvania, you pick up the phone and 'cull' all
your friends to come over and see it!”</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But we weren't in
Pennsylvania.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Six months earlier I
had been casually clicking through videos on YouTube when a short one
about hunting whitetails in Mexico caught my attention. Although I
knew Sonora is a mecca for mule deer hunters, I had never realized
you could target whitetails in Mexico. This possibility interested me
for a combination of reasons: I grew up an avid outdoorsman in
Pennsylvania but I now reside in Brazil, a country with no legal
hunting opportunities; I have ALS, a neurological disease that has
put me in a wheelchair and rendered my arms useless; adaptive
shooting gear enables me to keep hunting, but I can't travel alone;
entering Mexico requires no visa, while getting a USA visa for my
Brazilian aide is a complicated, expensive procedure; oh, and I'm
always up for new adventures.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I saw a chance to
hunt whitetails in a place that presented no visa hassles for my
aide, I began researching the topic on the Internet. The Mexican
states of Coahuila, Nuevo Leon and Tamaulipas lie just across the Rio
Grande from Texas, and the quality of their deer hunting rivals that
found in the Lone Star State. In fact, it's not uncommon for Texans
to secure hunting leases south of the border.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The full story of our
hunt follows—but for you impatient types who don't want to read all
the details, I edited this highlight reel:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>UP TO THE CHALLENGE</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After studying several
outfitters' websites, I contacted Rancho el Nido because they offer
whitetail packages at reasonable prices. When I asked if they were
willing to have a person in my condition at the lodge, the owner,
Ruben Serna, said, “We've never hosted a wheelchair hunter before,
but I'm sure we can make it work. Access won't be a problem because
there are no stairs in the guest house, and you can hunt in ground
blinds.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ruben's can-do attitude gave me the confidence to book
a four-day hunt, to begin on November 22, 2013—opening day of deer
season in Tamaulipas. My next task was to convince my longtime
hunting buddy to join me for the adventure.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Whitetails? In
Mexico?” Ron asked. “Count me in!”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We coordinated travel
plans to arrive the evening before our hunt began. Ruben picked up
Ron and his wife, Pagey, in Laredo, Texas. The three of them then
greeted Ricardo (my aide) and me at the airport in Nuevo Laredo,
Mexico. Less than an hour later we were unloading our gear at the
ranch, where Rolando the cook was busy grilling steaks over mesquite
embers. Dinnertime conversation focused on our strategy for the next
day. The long trip from Brazil had tired me out, so we decided it
would be best to sleep in, set up my adaptive shooting equipment, and
hunt in the afternoon.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After a late
breakfast, Ron and Ricardo rigged my gear on a 7mm Mag that Ruben
provided as a loaner. My scopecam mounts on nearly any optic and
displays the scope’s-eye view, crosshairs and all, on a 2.5-inch
color monitor. The screen allows both of us to view the sight picture
as Ron aims the rifle for me. When the aim point looks right, I fire
the rifle by inhaling on a tube to activate a special trigger
control.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As Rolando prepared
lunch, a screaming north wind announced the arrival of a cold front.
Within two hours the temperature had dropped more than 20 degrees;
the mercury hovered at the 33-degree mark and the wind continued to
howl. Despite the discouraging weather, we headed out at 3:30.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Rancho el Nido is a
low-fence, working cattle and sheep ranch that covers 5,000 acres of
mesquite scrub. Like the brushy terrain, hunting techniques here
mirror those found across the border in south Texas. Hunters sit in
pop-up blinds or elevated box blinds overlooking openings where corn
feeders draw deer out of the thick cover. Another option involves
slowly patrolling the ranch's far reaches in a pickup, pausing often
to glass for deer in the brush or on the long, straight two-rut
roads.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>TEN-POINT SURPRISE</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Today we'll try a
spot that I've set up just for you,” Ruben told me. “It has a
large ground blind that should hold all of us comfortably.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ruben left us at the
blind and drove off a short distance to hide the truck. I sat near
the center of the blind with Ron on my left. Ricardo set up a tripod
and video camera to my right. When Ruben returned he sat on Ron's
left and watched with interest as Ron switched on the scopecam and
asked me to dry fire the rifle. Satisfied that our gear was working
properly, Ron pushed two cartridges into the magazine but left the
chamber empty and bolt open.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After watching the
brush dance in the fierce wind for an hour, I was convinced that no
whitetails would be moving until the front blew through and the
weather stabilized. That's when the eight-point appeared, walking
toward the feeder 70 yards away. Three does soon joined it, and the
little party kept us entertained for about 30 minutes. The party
ended when all four deer suddenly snapped to attention, looked toward
our right, and hurried off in the opposite direction.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“There's a big buck
at the edge of the scrub,” Ruben whispered, binoculars glued to his
eyes. “Ten points.”<br />
Moments later, the buck confidently
stepped forward. As Ron and I ogled the biggest whitetail we'd ever
seen, our guide calmly said, “There are bigger bucks on the ranch,
but he's a good one. You wanna take him or would you rather wait and
try to find another one? We still have three more days.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I like to push the
limits regarding what a man with ALS can do, but I've learned not to
push my luck. While I appreciated the fact that Ruben wasn't trying
to pressure me into shooting a particular deer, I couldn't gamble
away this golden opportunity at a gorgeous ten-point standing just 75
yards away.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Let's take him,”
I said.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I figured I'd made the
right choice because Ron never questioned my decision. Instead, he
carefully closed the bolt, powered on the scopecam, and put the rifle
on shooting sticks. As soon as our quarry turned broadside, Ron
flicked off the safety and held the crosshairs on its left shoulder.
When I touched off the shot, the buck lurched forward, scrambling out
of sight.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My three companions
left me in the blind while they stepped out to check for signs of a
hit. I watched anxiously as they studied the ground. They slowly
walked into the mesquite to my left, and then Ruben looked back at me
with an enthusiastic thumbs up. The buck had run just 40 yards before
collapsing. There was no ground shrinkage when Ricardo finally
wheeled me close to the deer for photos. The rack later taped out at
140, with a 19-inch spread.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_DDUEZ8R4rY55stWLka-hBrZPS1FfZqr6g41ByeFuB152zdcke2hSnqa2s4XgoNxF2u0-0drWRoNSDaLfuu_Gu8ih0sujQioDXrh1X5TTnfmLQmLs39NQPPbqgh0K5IC3b_Gk3dJMcdS/s1600/Andy+and+Ron+with+their+Mexican+ten-point.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_DDUEZ8R4rY55stWLka-hBrZPS1FfZqr6g41ByeFuB152zdcke2hSnqa2s4XgoNxF2u0-0drWRoNSDaLfuu_Gu8ih0sujQioDXrh1X5TTnfmLQmLs39NQPPbqgh0K5IC3b_Gk3dJMcdS/s1600/Andy+and+Ron+with+their+Mexican+ten-point.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
With our prize loaded
in the pickup, we were all smiles during the 15-minute drive back to
camp. As we neared the ranch house I asked Ruben to beep the horn
loud and long. Pagey and Rolando came out and congratulated us on
taking such a fine buck.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>STALKING JAVELINA</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The weather remained
cold and breezy with an intermittent, drizzling rain. I had another
deer tag, but there was no need to rise before dawn and suffer
through miserable conditions. The crew enjoyed a leisurely breakfast
before setting out at 11 o'clock to look for javelina (collared
peccary). This time our guide was Arturo Garcia. Ricardo, armed with
a .243, was ready for his first-ever hunt.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Earlier that morning
Arturo had scattered corn in several spots to coax javelina out of
the thorny undergrowth. He explained that “skunk pigs” are
restless wanderers. Spot-and-stalk hunting usually works better than
sitting in a blind and waiting for them to come to you. Our plan was
to drive slowly along the ranch roads and let Ricardo put the sneak
on any peccaries we located.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Easier said than done!
To my surprise, we saw dozens of deer out and about in the middle
part of the day. But where were the porkers? “We usually see
javelina all over the place,” Arturo said. “This cold front must
have them hunkered down in the thick stuff.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We finally spotted a
javelina 150 yards away. Arturo and Ricardo got out of the truck
quietly and managed to cut the distance in half with a careful
approach. Placing the rifle on shooting sticks, Ricardo took aim and
fired. A small geyser of dirt erupted under the pig's chin, sending
the startled critter scampering for cover.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A thorough search
revealed no sign of blood, so Arturo and Ricardo returned to the
pickup. I offered Ricardo encouragement: “A clean miss is better
than a bad hit. At least we know the javelina isn't wounded and
suffering.” Ricardo showed the right attitude by answering, “I'll
get the next one.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Twenty minutes later
he had his chance. The ranch's maintenance roads form a grid pattern,
and we had slowly gone “around the block.” Just before we reached
the spot where we'd seen the javelina, Arturo stopped the truck and
suggested that Ricardo get out and peek around the corner. The same
javelina—a 50-pound boar—had come back out. This time the novice
hunter aimed true and dropped his quarry with an 80-yard shot.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg91CBTXpgrqQjLEEqNL-tTPtcXnHmAtZv-W1AjvUMJhkWn9xQmEHrS8i1wpf2WvLhj8F_8dLkwu5QT8NKH_w8rEXQz0_P7IHG6HF0XlIeqqub_I70eDPLMix8a3rHRY8AShqjxob-h07BE/s1600/Ricardo+with+his+javelina.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg91CBTXpgrqQjLEEqNL-tTPtcXnHmAtZv-W1AjvUMJhkWn9xQmEHrS8i1wpf2WvLhj8F_8dLkwu5QT8NKH_w8rEXQz0_P7IHG6HF0XlIeqqub_I70eDPLMix8a3rHRY8AShqjxob-h07BE/s1600/Ricardo+with+his+javelina.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Upholding our recently
established tradition, we asked Arturo to lean on the horn when we
returned to the ranch house for a late lunch. Between bites of
breaded venison steak, Arturo explained that javelinas typically run
in small groups of three to ten. “When you see a loner, it's almost
always boar,” he said.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>A DEER BEFORE DARK</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Rancho el Nido offers
hunts for trophy whitetails (scoring more than 130 B&C) and
management bucks (130 or less), and I had booked one of each. Things
had worked out so well the previous evening that I asked Ruben if we
could go back to the same ground blind in hopes of finding the
eight-point cull buck.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Once again our guide
showed interest as Ron helped me test the adaptive shooting gear
while getting settled in the blind. “Would you like to be the point
man tonight?” Ron asked. “It's a whole different perspective when
you're aiming the gun for someone else.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ruben agreed to try.
Ron showed him the best way to hold the rifle so I'd have a good view
of the scopecam monitor, and then we practiced aiming—with the bolt
open—at different ranges and angles. Once Ruben felt comfortable
with the process, we relaxed and waited for the show to begin.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A small doe was the
first character to appear on stage. She calmly fed and wandered
about, at times passing just 20 yards from our blind. The plot
thickened when three more does filtered out of the cactus and
mesquite surroundings, but they stayed near the feeder. Suddenly the
spotlight shifted to stage right. “Here he comes!” Ron said.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A chocolate-antlered
buck stepped forward to greet the ladies. “It's the same
eight-point we saw last night,” Ruben said. “Are you sure you
want to take him?”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I simply nodded, not
taking my eyes off the buck. Only when Ruben chambered a round and
turned on the scopecam did I shift my gaze to the monitor. Although
everybody seemed to be following the script, the main character was
in no hurry to face the curtains and take his final bow. First, a doe
stood in front of the buck to deny us a shot; then he wandered behind
a shoulder-high shrub; finally he stepped into the clear, but he kept
fidgeting while facing us head on for several long minutes.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At last the
eight-point slowly turned broadside. Ruben clicked off the safety and
parked the crosshairs firmly on the buck's ribs. When I inhaled on my
trigger control, the deer dropped in its tracks. “That was
awesome!” Ruben said.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
On the way back to the
ranch house, our guide started beeping the horn long before we
arrived.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3xVK7a8vtAbyk9N-eDMUgyRTuChdUZdeU43g5rYruh-GPjETPTsxRVokwnd4NhYX2jQTxEpMuV5lutuCrXgVSTaZDYq1tpc9L17L6I4gg2mM72ZKkCajTNJsYT4IS2AQRa4gDg-G-0L2e/s1600/Andy,+Ron+and+and+Ruben+with+the+eight-point+cull+buck.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3xVK7a8vtAbyk9N-eDMUgyRTuChdUZdeU43g5rYruh-GPjETPTsxRVokwnd4NhYX2jQTxEpMuV5lutuCrXgVSTaZDYq1tpc9L17L6I4gg2mM72ZKkCajTNJsYT4IS2AQRa4gDg-G-0L2e/s1600/Andy,+Ron+and+and+Ruben+with+the+eight-point+cull+buck.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-68558761672229499652013-07-07T09:16:00.002-07:002013-07-07T09:16:36.739-07:00DEMISE OF ELVIS<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>My quest for a pronghorn took me to <st1:state w:st="on">Wyoming</st1:state> in 2009.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjVThjYlwF2fp0kE6jyqo9kSxa0TU9aJpA15BmOp7tK6lMn9UxNcb51ctDsIixv_93leM668cPEI4dPkKwbmGnc2fHS-TBKO4UllyLyLhfsQETGOgsR9X52a_N4lZ0RbYMdZNIRP_-Lxn7/s1600/WY+Andy+Ron+&+Elvis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjVThjYlwF2fp0kE6jyqo9kSxa0TU9aJpA15BmOp7tK6lMn9UxNcb51ctDsIixv_93leM668cPEI4dPkKwbmGnc2fHS-TBKO4UllyLyLhfsQETGOgsR9X52a_N4lZ0RbYMdZNIRP_-Lxn7/s1600/WY+Andy+Ron+&+Elvis.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The hum of
tires on pavement lulled me to sleep as my friend, Ron Wagner, drove our rental
van out of the <st1:place w:st="on">Denver</st1:place>
airport and north on I-25. I had been snoozing for a while when I suddenly felt
a tap on my shoulder. “Andy, look.” Ron said. “Antelope!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Seeing my first antelope brought me out of
a slumber to begin living the dream of our Western adventure. We saw more than
100 pronghorns on the two-hour drive to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Cheyenne</st1:place></st1:city></span>,<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"> where we stopped for dinner and a good
night’s rest in a hotel. When my head hit the pillow, I couldn’t believe I was
finally in </span><st1:place w:st="on">Wyoming</st1:place>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Ron and I grew up in <st1:state w:st="on">Pennsylvania</st1:state> and had
always dreamed of a hunt out West. In 2008, with ALS eroding my body, I knew it
was time to quit dreaming and start making definite plans. Encouraged by our
success in hunting whitetails as a team, I told Ron I was ready to try for mule
deer and antelope. “Just say when and where, buddy,” he replied. “I’ll be there
for you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
After reviewing license costs and
hunter success rates for several states, I decided on <st1:state w:st="on">Wyoming</st1:state> as our best bet. Hours of research
on the Internet and about a dozen email inquiries led me to an outfitter who
eagerly accepted the challenge when I explained my disability and the way Ron
handles the rifle for me. I booked a deer/antelope combo hunt for October 5 to
9, 2009, and applied for our tags according to the outfitter’s instructions.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Coordinating travel plans required
an exercise in logistics because Ron lives in <st1:state w:st="on">Pennsylvania</st1:state>
and I reside in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Brazil</st1:country-region>,
but we worked out a good solution. My wife and I flew from <st1:city w:st="on">Rio
de Janeiro</st1:city> to <st1:city w:st="on">Atlanta</st1:city> and met Ron
and his wife in the airport; from there we all flew to <st1:city w:st="on">Denver</st1:city> and picked up a rental van. By the
time we reached the hotel in <st1:city w:st="on">Cheyenne</st1:city>,
my wife and I had been on the go for more than 24 hours.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The next morning we enjoyed an
unhurried breakfast and got back on I-25 to continue north to a truck stop near
the town of <st1:city w:st="on">Douglas</st1:city>.
There we met outfitter Pat Phillipps and followed him
on a 90-minute drive to the hunting camp. On the way we saw more antelope and
our first mule deer. (Man, they have big ears!) Ron and I—typical Easterners
used to hunting whitetails in thick woods—were impressed with Wyoming’s vast
openness and the number of game animals we could see from the highway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Ron, Pat and I held a strategy
meeting over dinner the first night in camp (Sunday). We told our guide that we
weren’t looking for record-book trophies, but we wanted respectable examples of
mule deer and pronghorns. We would trust Pat’s judgement in deciding which animals
to take. We also recognized that my condition would make open-country stalking quite
difficult, so we might not have the luxury of being very choosy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
After
receiving my antelope and deer tags, I had applied for and received a Disabled
Hunter Permit. Provided to qualifying individuals free of charge by the Wyoming
Game and Fish Dept., this permit authorizes the holder to shoot from a
stationary vehicle.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Ron
rigged my equipment on Pat’s custom-built .243 with 4x scope, and we
began our hunt under cloudy skies on Monday morning. We
had ample room in the back seat of Pat’s Dodge Mega Cab pickup to maneuver and
shoot out either side. The rifle’s chamber remained empty and the bolt open
until we decided to shoot.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Clear skies and excellent
visibility made Tuesday the best day to hunt antelope. We soon located a small
herd in an oat field. Although used to farm machinery, the skittish speedgoats
wouldn’t let the pickup get closer than 250 yards. Our guide shadowed the group
and finally gave us a good opportunity at half that distance. We waited
patiently for the dominant buck to present a broadside shot.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The big boy, whom Pat dubbed
“Elvis,” kept chasing two young bucks away from his does. Pat showed his
knowledge of antelope behavior by predicting their actions with an entertaining
play-by-play commentary.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Elvis is gonna chase off those
other bucks...He’ll try to nick that one in the butt with his horns...Don’t
worry, he’ll come back into range because the does stayed put...Here he
comes...Now he’ll walk up to a doe, tilt his head back and say, ‘Look at my shiny
horns.’ He’s in the clear now, so let him have it when he turns. The range is
120 yards.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<b><i>Pow-Whopp</i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We heard the bullet hit, then
watched Elvis stagger and fall. With all due respect to Long John Baldry, we
laid some serious boogie-woogie on the king of rock and roll!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When I
touched that antelope’s horns I felt a rush of emotion at having finally
fulfilled a longtime dream. Sharing the moment with a great friend made it even
more significant. <span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">About an
hour later I had the pleasure of watching Ron bag a fine speedgoat for himself with
a 200-yard shot.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Our <st1:state w:st="on">Wyoming</st1:state> adventure taught me that dreams can
indeed come true, but nobody delivers them to your doorstep. Despite my
disability, I was inspired to keep planning hunts and putting forth the effort
to achieve my goals.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Here’s a slideshow of our antelope hunt.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/LEsi2XudrII?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<b>DID YOU KNOW?</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #38761d;">Covering 97,814 square miles, <st1:state w:st="on">Wyoming</st1:state> ranks as our
tenth-largest state yet hosts a lower population (about 576,000) than any
other.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: blue;"><st1:place w:st="on">Wyoming</st1:place>’s pronghorn population is estimated
at more than 500,000.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><span style="color: #38761d;">The North American pronghorn makes a truly unique trophy
because natural selection has eliminated all of its close relatives, leaving <i>Antilocapra <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">americana</st1:city></st1:place></i> as the only surviving member of
its family.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: blue;">Formed by a hairlike substance, an
antelope’s horn sheath grows over a small, bony core. Unlike cattle, goats or
African game such as kudu, pronghorns shed their horns annually. Don’t plan on searching the prairie to collect sheds,
though. Unlike hard deer antlers, the thin-walled, hollow antelope horns
decompose quickly.</span></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-25697369580095213352013-06-04T14:30:00.000-07:002013-06-04T14:30:23.684-07:00LOOKING BACK<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
My aide Ricardo and I enjoyed a
great hunt last April at Rincon de Luna lodge in the mountains near <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Cordoba</st1:city>, <st1:country-region w:st="on">Argentina</st1:country-region></st1:place>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Remember the new mini camera I
mentioned in an earlier post?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Ricardo strapped it to the pickup’s
roll bar, facing back, for an interesting perspective of our adventure.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Enjoy the video!</b></div>
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Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-20866727396609629862013-05-25T10:22:00.001-07:002013-05-25T10:22:45.082-07:00OUTDOOR LIFE INTERVIEW Part 3 of 3<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m proud to say the May 2013 issue of Outdoor Life magazine
includes a short piece about me in the “My Outdoor Life” section. The editor,
Andrew McKean, “interviewed” me by emailing a list of questions, which I
answered in writing. We covered much more than Andrew was able to publish in
the half-page article, so I’ve put up my lengthy answers here in three posts.
Here’s the third part.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>Q: </b>Talk to me about the sorts of adaptive technology you've
incorporated in your hunts. Is there any particular device that is especially
noteworthy or groundbreaking?</span></div>
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<b> A:</b> Although
I can’t hold a rifle, two devices keep me actively involved in the hunt. Both
are made by BE-Adaptive, and I encourage all disabled outdoorsmen to check out
their adaptive shooting gear (<a href="http://www.beadaptive.com/" target="_blank">http://www.beadaptive.com</a>).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Scope
Cam System fits on nearly any riflescope. A mini camera mounts on the eyepiece
and sends the image to a small video monitor, providing a scope’s eye
view—crosshairs and all—for me and my point man (who handles the rifle). We
both follow the sight picture as the point man aims, and I decide when to
shoot.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I squeeze
the trigger with a sip-activated control. I inhale on a tube to trip a solenoid
that pushes a bar against the trigger.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib39KmjPKXwJ6kN1-pKcd_dqFxSi063zCjml68SBVAzm1zdg4VLOpMnNUYEd3bSMQiCeamPnRjSX_M4PGaRuvngRi4jUAD9qrThx0X3Sswle62Rptv9x9Wv_MSylYo3ZnZgR_MJvl4uLN4/s1600/trig+tube.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib39KmjPKXwJ6kN1-pKcd_dqFxSi063zCjml68SBVAzm1zdg4VLOpMnNUYEd3bSMQiCeamPnRjSX_M4PGaRuvngRi4jUAD9qrThx0X3Sswle62Rptv9x9Wv_MSylYo3ZnZgR_MJvl4uLN4/s1600/trig+tube.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>Q:</b> I want to talk about the teamwork that you build around
every hunt. What are the ingredients of the "A-Team"?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b> A:</b> For the
first couple years after my diagnosis, I needed help getting dressed and
getting in/out of vehicles, but once I was settled in the blind I could safely
handle a gun and hunt by myself. I called Ligia and Ron my “pit crew” because
they performed these tasks with impressive efficiency. Ron would hunt in a
nearby stand and keep tabs on me via two-way radio.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In 2008,
when I told him I could no longer handle a gun, Ron said he would “do whatever
it takes” to get me out hunting. Ron’s pledge inspired me to research the Web
and find the adaptive shooting gear I mentioned. We first used the gear on a
hunt in <st1:state w:st="on">South Carolina</st1:state>.
When we returned to the lodge one evening with a pair of whitetails we’d taken,
all the other hunters congratulated me. I kept saying, “It was a team effort.”
Then I began referring to Ron, Ligia and myself as The A-Team.</div>
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<b>Our <st1:place w:st="on">South Carolina</st1:place>
double, October 2008</b></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Since then
The A-Team has grown to include the many people who have helped me enjoy hunts
in the <st1:country-region w:st="on">USA</st1:country-region>, <st1:country-region w:st="on">Argentina</st1:country-region> and <st1:place w:st="on">Uruguay</st1:place>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our most
important ingredient is communication at every phase: deciding what, when and
where to hunt; coordinating travel plans; at the hunt site, discussing strategy
and logistics—a guy in my condition can’t just go out there and wing it.
Communication when preparing to shoot is critical. Even though I can usually
see what he’s doing, I ask my point man to tell me when he chambers a shell,
closes the bolt or flicks off the safety. This communication helps reinforce
safe gun handling, but it can lead to funny moments like the time we saw a deer
we wanted to shoot…Ron put the trigger tube in my mouth and then said, “I’m
taking off the safety. Don’t breathe!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The point
man and I must form a mutual trust. I trust him to hold steady and aim true
(which I confirm on the Scope Cam), and he trusts me to be patient and activate
the trigger at the right moment.</div>
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To join The
A-Team you must be a safety conscious, ethical hunter; have a positive, can-do
attitude; know how to fully appreciate a day of hunting whether we see game or
not. And you damn well better have a good sense of humor because we’re here to
enjoy the experience.</div>
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Ron summed
up A-Team philosophy when he once told me, “I’d rather shoot a four-point buck
with you than take a ten-point by myself.”</div>
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<b>The A-Team in Argentina, 2010</b></div>
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Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-79072423549695677012013-05-17T09:33:00.000-07:002013-05-17T09:33:16.139-07:00OUTDOOR LIFE INTERVIEW Part 2 of 3<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m proud to say the May 2013 issue of Outdoor Life magazine
includes a short piece about me in the “My Outdoor Life” section. The editor,
Andrew McKean, “interviewed” me by emailing a list of questions, which I
answered in writing. We covered much more than Andrew was able to publish in
the half-page article, so I’ll put up my lengthy answers here in three posts. Here’s
the second part.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Deer hunting with Andrew McKean in <st1:state w:st="on">Montana</st1:state></b></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">Q: There's a lot about you that impresses me, but one of the
most remarkable details is that your passion for hunting hasn't dimmed.
Post-ALS, where have you hunted? Any remarkable or memorable hunts in the mix? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: blue;"> </span> <b> A: </b>I refuse
to let a minor setback like an incurable, fatal illness diminish my passion for
hunting or my zest for life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve done
more hunting in the six years since my diagnosis than in the 16 years prior! As
explained earlier, I went through a long stretch when opportunities to hunt
were scarce and I had other demands on my time. Shortly after my diagnosis I
jettisoned from my vocabulary phrases like “some day” and “maybe next year,”
and started taking advantage of as many opportunities as possible. Since 2006
I’ve hunted in British Columbia (black bear on Vancouver Island); North Carolina
(whitetail, squirrel); Georgia (whitetail, turkey), South Carolina (whitetail,
turkey, wild hog, squirrel); Florida (alligator, hog); Alabama (whitetail);
Texas (fallow deer, axis deer, hog); Wyoming (pronghorn, mule deer, prairie
dog); Idaho (black bear); Montana (whitetail, mule deer); Argentina (red stag,
European boar); Uruguay (feral hog).</div>
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As I answer
this question I look around my living room and see antlers, skulls, hides and
dozens of photos on display to remind me of wonderful days afield. Three hunts
stand out for three different reasons.</div>
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<b>June 2006, <st1:place w:st="on">Vancouver Island</st1:place>
black bear</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had
booked this hunt with Vancouver Island Guide Outfitters a year in advance, when
my symptoms were just beginning to show. My doctor issued the diagnosis of ALS
just one month before I was to embark on the adventure, so I asked his opinion.
“Bear hunting? Don’t go. It could be too strenuous.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Ligia and I agreed that the rewards
of taking the trip would justify all efforts involved. It would be far worse
for my health to simply give up and stay home. The only ones who regret our
decision to go on that hunt are the doctor—we found a new one—and the original
owner of the 7-foot black bear skin that now adorns our wall. I had a fantastic
time, saw some gorgeous country and realized that even a guy with ALS can, and
should, get out to try new experiences. This trip’s success encouraged me to plan
more hunts.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>December 2008, <st1:state w:st="on">South
Carolina</st1:state> squirrels</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
During Christmas week at Bang’s
Paradise Valley Hunting Club in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Ehrhardt</st1:city>,
<st1:state w:st="on">South Carolina</st1:state></st1:place>, my good friend
Ron Wagner and I took a break from deer hunting to shoot some squirrels. We
invited nine-year-old Klay Elixson, who was in camp with his grandfather, to
join us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We had a hoot that morning as the
three of us took turns using my adaptive shooting gear to pick off bushytails.
More importantly, that outing led to a lasting friendship. Since then, Klay
always comes to see me when I’m back at <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Paradise</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Valley</st1:placetype></st1:place>
so we can spend quality time in the blind hunting deer, turkeys, hogs, and
especially squirrels.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>October 2009, <st1:state w:st="on">Wyoming</st1:state>
pronghorn and mule deer</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When I told my friend Ron Wagner
that I’d like to try hunting out West, he immediately replied, “Just say when
and where. I’ll be there for you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Research on the Internet led me to
an outfitter in <st1:state w:st="on">Wyoming</st1:state>
who accepted the challenge of guiding a disabled hunter. Ron and I, along with
our wives, had a fun, action-packed trip. We marveled at the landscapes and saw
plenty of game every day—new, exciting game for us Eastern boys.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We shot pronghorns and prairie dogs
early in the week, and on the fourth morning of our hunt, Ron helped me take a
mule deer. Another dream came came true when I gripped that muley’s antler and
inhaled the invigorating, snowy air.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
That adventure taught me that, yes,
dreams come true, but nobody delivers fulfilled dreams to your doorstep. I was
inspired to keep planning new adventures and put forth the effort to make my
dreams become reality.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: blue;">Q: And why do you continue to hunt even though it takes such
a physical toll on your body?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: blue;"> </span> <b>A:</b> Although
he encouraged me to pursue my interests, my dad was no outdoorsman, so hunting
never came easily for me. If I wanted to go, I was on my own, or I had to find
neighbors or cousins willing to take me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I never
took hunting for granted, and I learned to cherish my time in the woods. Now,
when I see a sunrise, hear a red stag roar, breathe in the scents of the woods,
feel the adrenaline rush that only hunters know, I forget any discomfort I may
have endured to get out there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During a bear hunt in the Idaho Rockies, as
the guide was driving Ron and me in his Mitsubishi 4x4 over a terribly bumpy
logging road, he noticed that my head was getting jolted around quite a bit.
“Do all these bumps bother your neck?” he asked. I laughed and asked, “If I say
yes, what can you do about it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My
philosophy is, “If you wanna play, you gotta pay.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I do
need to pace myself on a trip, typically hunting only mornings or afternoons.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Researching
and planning the next hunt keeps my mind engaged in positive activity—a crucial
factor for anyone with a physically debilitating illness. Cancer patients
receive chemotherapy, so I decided to treat my ALS with camotherapy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Besides,
what else is there to do? I never learned needlepoint and I’m lousy at checkers.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>In the <st1:state w:st="on">Idaho</st1:state> <st1:place w:st="on">Rockies</st1:place>, June 2010</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-78843915632186725712013-05-11T11:55:00.000-07:002013-05-11T11:55:53.329-07:00OUTDOOR LIFE INTERVIEW Part 1 of 3<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m proud to say the May 2013 issue of <i>Outdoor Life</i> magazine
includes a short piece about me in the “My Outdoor Life” section. The editor,
Andrew McKean, “interviewed” me by emailing a list of questions, which I
answered in writing. We covered much more than Andrew was able to publish in
the half-page article, so I’ll put up my lengthy answers here in three posts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFiD5AizBub_KX7p8cjm5D1Bouvl0Wem5DBkRlo-S5RroNCz2aDI40x4h0912SQuS83Fo5d15d0QuDp_M61CWxVHmfxGm-0nEI4G-6BFiKMyTF4ukY3hPC9m2DnYWBDUIRjpLlV6T1p4uR/s1600/mt+gang.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFiD5AizBub_KX7p8cjm5D1Bouvl0Wem5DBkRlo-S5RroNCz2aDI40x4h0912SQuS83Fo5d15d0QuDp_M61CWxVHmfxGm-0nEI4G-6BFiKMyTF4ukY3hPC9m2DnYWBDUIRjpLlV6T1p4uR/s1600/mt+gang.JPG" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Hunting with Andrew McKean in <st1:place w:st="on">Montana</st1:place>, November 2011.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>Q: </b>You grew up hunting in your home state of <st1:state w:st="on">Pennsylvania</st1:state>. What
species did you cut your teeth on?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<b>A:</b> As a young kid I loved fishing
and observing nature, but I had a late start hunting. In the eighth grade I
began running a short trapline for muskrat, opossum and raccoon. At 15 I
started hunting small game such as doves, rabbits and pheasants, but I
especially enjoyed hunting squirrels—and I still do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>Q:</b> Tell me about your life in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Brazil</st1:country-region>. What prompted your move
there, and tell me about your writing and editing work. What titles did you
work for and what positions did you hold? How did you manage to produce content
from another continent? Were you able to continue to hunt from your <st1:place w:st="on">Rio</st1:place> base?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<b>A:</b> While working on my master’s
degree in educational media at <st1:placetype w:st="on">Temple</st1:placetype> <st1:placetype w:st="on">University</st1:placetype> in <st1:city w:st="on">Philadelphia</st1:city>,
I met a classmate named Ligia and we eventually got married. When Ligia
completed her Ph.D. in 1990, we moved to her hometown: <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Rio de Janeiro</st1:city>, <st1:country-region w:st="on">Brazil</st1:country-region></st1:place>.
Ligia continued her career as a university professor while I found freelance
work as an English tutor, translator, photographer and videographer. I also
began submitting articles—in Portuguese—to a Brazilian fishing magazine called <i>Trofeu Pesca</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
In 1995 <i>Trofeu Pesca</i> hired me as a full-time writer/photographer, a
position that let me travel and fish throughout <st1:country-region w:st="on">Brazil</st1:country-region>. A year later I left that
job to begin publishing my own fishing magazine, in Portuguese, entitled <i>Pescando</i>. My many roles there included
publisher, editor, photographer, marketing manager—heck, I even delivered
bundles of magazines to sell at local tackle shops.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHj_FUvGJKX3bmatkYCpRjEPEf4iV6zPPc2qtsoXmue3PN65PnHVPGRo6sqFg3lG4VhCYoapI-BO_Geiky5wz9dCbKjf4v7CsrfG-GVocVwqPQnqQPIh21a14Of5b4FkNmAsjve7VxzIfb/s1600/CapaLigia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHj_FUvGJKX3bmatkYCpRjEPEf4iV6zPPc2qtsoXmue3PN65PnHVPGRo6sqFg3lG4VhCYoapI-BO_Geiky5wz9dCbKjf4v7CsrfG-GVocVwqPQnqQPIh21a14Of5b4FkNmAsjve7VxzIfb/s1600/CapaLigia.jpg" height="320" width="235" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="text-align: start; text-indent: 0.5in;">Ligia in a cover photo I took in
1996</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
In 1998 I received an offer I
couldn’t refuse when <st1:personname w:st="on">Doug Olander</st1:personname>,
editor in chief of <i>Sport Fishing</i>
magazine, invited me to move to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Orlando</st1:city>,
<st1:state w:st="on">Florida</st1:state></st1:place>, and join his staff as
associate editor. Ligia, who has always encouraged me to pursue my dreams, gave
her wholehearted support. I accepted the job, we made the move, and by early
2000 I’d been promoted to editor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi514CeJA2SbYLJPLJCfhS7FSLGU7z3l0d1DhgJUUlsMFVF82KnP3le5xfM7B_oLNtMj1AuQFVSvEol5p7sB_8nu-xiZFmMRz-oMd9BeDe__GZp3LnedGF279ARRwKi7zXJNIxDStqrx8ca/s1600/cover+SF+May2000+lo-res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi514CeJA2SbYLJPLJCfhS7FSLGU7z3l0d1DhgJUUlsMFVF82KnP3le5xfM7B_oLNtMj1AuQFVSvEol5p7sB_8nu-xiZFmMRz-oMd9BeDe__GZp3LnedGF279ARRwKi7zXJNIxDStqrx8ca/s1600/cover+SF+May2000+lo-res.jpg" height="320" width="244" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="text-indent: 0.5in;">One of my <i>Sport Fishing</i> covers</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
In 2001 Ligia said she’d like to
move back to <st1:place w:st="on">Rio</st1:place> to help care for her aging
parents, and I readily agreed. I resigned my position, we moved back to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Brazil</st1:country-region>, and I
spent the next 18 months freelancing for American and Brazilian fishing
magazines.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
In 2003 <i>Sport Fishing</i> rehired me as senior editor with the agreement that
I’d work out of my home in <st1:place w:st="on">Rio</st1:place>. I was
responsible for writing several regular departments (Gear Guide, Game Plan) and
one or two feature articles per issue, as well as editing freelancers’
submissions and proofreading my fellow editors’ work. Although I live in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Brazil</st1:country-region>, I could produce content for our
predominantly American readership because I traveled often to attend trade
shows and cover destinations in the <st1:country-region w:st="on">US</st1:country-region>,
Caribbean and <st1:place w:st="on">Central America</st1:place>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Hunting took a back seat during
this phase of my life. There’s no legal hunting to speak of in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Brazil</st1:country-region>, and
from 1990 to 1998 I couldn’t afford to travel internationally just to hunt. In
1995 a Brazilian friend asked me, “What do you miss most about the States? The
food? Your family?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I answered, “I miss the leaf-loam
smell of a hardwood ridge mixing with the aroma of burnt gunpowder on a crisp
October morning.” The puzzled look on his face told me that no matter how I
tried to explain, he’d never understand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
From 1998 to 2001, when I lived in <st1:place w:st="on">Florida</st1:place>, my work at <i>Sport Fishing</i> kept me too busy to go
hunting. But don’t cry for me: “Busy” means I was living the dream, traveling
to the world’s premier saltwater fishing destinations, from <st1:state w:st="on">Alaska</st1:state>
to the <st1:place w:st="on">Azores</st1:place>. And our condo had lakefront
access, so I did a lot of bass fishing in the evenings and on weekends.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
My hunting bug emerged from
hibernation after Ligia and I moved back to <st1:place w:st="on">Rio</st1:place>
in 2001. I was traveling to the States four or five times per year, so I
started tweaking my itineraries to allow quick side trips to get together with
friends and hunt small game in <st1:state w:st="on">Pennsylvania</st1:state>,
waterfowl in <st1:state w:st="on">Maryland</st1:state> or hogs in <st1:place w:st="on">Florida</st1:place>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I “discovered” <st1:country-region w:st="on">Argentina</st1:country-region> in 2004 when I visited <st1:country-region w:st="on">Brazil</st1:country-region>’s
neighbor to hunt doves. The outfitter told me about his country’s big-game
hunting, and I returned in April 2005 to take my first red stag and a puma in
La Pampa. I was thrilled to find hunting opportunities close to home (4-hr
flight vs 10 to the <st1:country-region w:st="on">US</st1:country-region>),
but then—on to the next question.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuP5FWi6EG9M9uVsABbI8t4-swVWVQmLqRMSXeYrGan_mamFCFXxwhZ5j0OP9FKjv6q7syFAGAq6E9zTV96EPeg3JTU0jTrr16Ap_P51Y9Ly4yPgaO7gF-bv4UC2VEPZnx-YeTe81eSfO1/s1600/arg008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuP5FWi6EG9M9uVsABbI8t4-swVWVQmLqRMSXeYrGan_mamFCFXxwhZ5j0OP9FKjv6q7syFAGAq6E9zTV96EPeg3JTU0jTrr16Ap_P51Y9Ly4yPgaO7gF-bv4UC2VEPZnx-YeTe81eSfO1/s1600/arg008.jpg" height="207" width="320" /></a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqoHpcXY73goyMYkAxXzkI2lHXxXvC39D8CB8gYwxOPwfKKGCIWhy8V80E_-7DmcAReG2A8B-SlLz-K5Eh9KGAnBCtCFAs1lexi7E8s5RjaH-I-lm7m6EEDelW7UpyE0juSbqgyPcUFzWT/s1600/arg030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqoHpcXY73goyMYkAxXzkI2lHXxXvC39D8CB8gYwxOPwfKKGCIWhy8V80E_-7DmcAReG2A8B-SlLz-K5Eh9KGAnBCtCFAs1lexi7E8s5RjaH-I-lm7m6EEDelW7UpyE0juSbqgyPcUFzWT/s1600/arg030.jpg" height="320" width="204" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>My red stag and puma in La Pampa, Argentina, April 2005</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>Q:</b> When were you diagnosed with ALS? Can you describe early
symptoms, and the state of your physical and mental health over time?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b> A:</b> Physically:
My body is going to hell in a hatbox.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Mentally: I’m determined to enjoy
the ride.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I had always pursued an active,
athletic lifestyle. In June 2005—when I was 43 years old, stood 6 feet four
inches, weighed 185 pounds, was working out at the gym four mornings per week
and playing several hours of beach volleyball a week—I began having persistent
twitching (called fasciculations) in my shoulders. Over the next few months I
lost my normal quickness and leaping ability, which made me flub routine plays
in volleyball. My arms and legs started seizing up in agonizing cramps. I lost smoothness
in my step and my gait became a stilted shuffle. I frequently lost my balance.
I consulted a general practioner, who referred me to a neurologist, who
conducted many exams over the following months without issuing a clear verdict.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In
September 2005 I lost my balance while crossing the street, took a hard fall,
and shattered my right collarbone so badly that the ER doctor asked if I had
been thrown from a motorcycle. Despite the pain, my sense of humor remained
intact. When the doctor explained that surgery would be necessary to reassemble
the bone fragments, I asked if he could install a recoil pad under the skin.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I began
using a walking stick in early 2006. In May 2006, after many more tests, my
neurologist diagnosed my condition as amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS, or Lou
Gehrig’s disease). This malady destroys nerve cells that control voluntary
muscle movement. When they stop receiving signals from nerves, the muscles
weaken and gradually wither away. There is no known cure or effective treatment
for slowing the disease’s progress.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Having ALS
compares to donning a full-body suit of wet cement. At first your arms and legs
feel very heavy. As the cement dries, your limbs stiffen and eventually become
immobile. The rate at which ALS progresses varies greatly from one patient to
another, but statistics show that most ALS patients die of respiratory failure
within two to five years of diagnosis. I feel fortunate; somebody must have
dumped slow-drying cement on me because I’m approaching seven years and still
have limited use of my legs, arms and hands.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In late
2006 my balance got so shaky that I needed a four-legged walker. When I brought
home the shiny, polished-aluminum walker, the first thing I did was wrap it in
camo tape because I knew I’d be using it in the woods.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5ZQ6Jx6lUBdh6UDwaoCkH6EP2edWwOYx1GdxL_obIydcHaous4k6qD5w5jb_UJgxjJ0oBs1gYFobGmISUsvT_9H0rMeeNYJ90NpkqrQkvoFlnu3f3msbFEpP61vY8J8t5wWqDxnRsFOt/s1600/ga.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5ZQ6Jx6lUBdh6UDwaoCkH6EP2edWwOYx1GdxL_obIydcHaous4k6qD5w5jb_UJgxjJ0oBs1gYFobGmISUsvT_9H0rMeeNYJ90NpkqrQkvoFlnu3f3msbFEpP61vY8J8t5wWqDxnRsFOt/s1600/ga.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>On a deer hunt in Georgia, November 2006</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
By early 2008 I was in a wheelchair
and my arms had become too weak to raise a rifle. In 2009 I started using a
rigid cervical collar because my neck became too weak to hold up my head. My
speech has become labored, slurred and difficult to understand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As ALS
robbed my strength, daily physical tasks became increasingly difficult. We
hired two personal aides who trade off in three-day shifts to give me
round-the-clock assistance. They help me bathe, dress, eat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mental
health…ALS only affects motor neurons, so all my senses still function.
Although I can’t lift my arms or stand on my own, I can feel pressure, pain,
heat, cold.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My vision,
hearing, sense of smell and, especially, my cognitive processes, are as good as
ever. I’m alert and aware of what’s going on around me. And I get kinda cheesed
off when strangers think they need to speak to me LOUDLY AND SLOWLY.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Through it all, I’ve maintained a
positive attitude. I never let myself fall into the “Why me?” trap. Rather than
complaining about my condition, I look for ways to overcome my challenges. I
don’t waste time lamenting what I can’t do; I focus on what I’d like to do and
find ways to make it happen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
About a
year after my diagnosis I noticed that no matter how much I ad-libbed, ALS
insisted on following the script of progressively eroding my muscles. I was
fighting what was cruelly destined to be a losing battle. I realized that
having ALS is like having a disagreeable roommate in college: You can channel
all your energy toward fighting him (which makes life miserable for everyone)
or you can make the best of it and learn to live with him. At that point I quit
fighting ALS and decided I would live with it as well as I could.</div>
<div style="border-bottom: dotted windowtext 3.0pt; border: none; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: dotted windowtext 3.0pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
As
a writer, I respect the power of words and avoid negative terminology. I have
ALS, but I’m not a <i>victim</i> of the
disease. I don’t <i>suffer</i> from ALS. I
especially dislike the phrase “confined to a wheelchair.” Confined? My
wheelchair gives me freedom! Without it, I’d really be confined, unable to get
outside.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhptOYKebKFPg8yEhHRxvmdLWR2hXvjJbTSLI5SPxtOxYaCXQqv2kxgZiVnBDwc7eY7iDbRIVQbP_SCbuqtwjG9iGD6s9CNyT1XJ_I68eREcLlbaAch6QSKAXDOc3MF7gdyVcuXnnPneBze/s1600/CrossbowHog10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhptOYKebKFPg8yEhHRxvmdLWR2hXvjJbTSLI5SPxtOxYaCXQqv2kxgZiVnBDwc7eY7iDbRIVQbP_SCbuqtwjG9iGD6s9CNyT1XJ_I68eREcLlbaAch6QSKAXDOc3MF7gdyVcuXnnPneBze/s1600/CrossbowHog10.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: dotted windowtext 3.0pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-76622115066168530912013-03-29T13:40:00.001-07:002013-03-29T13:40:55.303-07:00NEW CAMERA<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>This one gives me some cool options for recording hunts and
other events.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t
consider myself a technology buff, but I recently bought a Veho VCC-005-MUVI
mini camcorder. I already own one each of the smaller-than-your-thumb VCC-003-MUVI
and VCC-004-MUVI-ATOM micro camcorders, and they’re useful for no-hands
recording when clipped to a headband.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although
quite compact (measuring 3 by 1.8 by .74 inches), the VCC-005 is a bit too
large to comfortably strap to my head. I like this camera because it comes with
a remote control and waterproof case, opening up a world of possibilities.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEnfvQvCPfYvbxJWJOnBczqYfykdKDFRnK1yNsXUCWZRIoZ7JHy7QnmNDUAYUjt0Us7kWle2JdREWCnRPayTxRtw4TaErSjNRo4ELehdbxg4-3ybFa9wuCfo5wtTZSqfEqtO5XKarakKWy/s1600/muvi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEnfvQvCPfYvbxJWJOnBczqYfykdKDFRnK1yNsXUCWZRIoZ7JHy7QnmNDUAYUjt0Us7kWle2JdREWCnRPayTxRtw4TaErSjNRo4ELehdbxg4-3ybFa9wuCfo5wtTZSqfEqtO5XKarakKWy/s1600/muvi.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My aide
Ricardo Meneses and I tested the camera here in my ninth-floor <st1:place w:st="on">Rio</st1:place> apartment, where hummingbirds and bananaquits
regularly flit in and out the window to drink from a feeder hanging in our
living room. We also improvised a bird bath, which the bananaquits use every
day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b> First we
put the camera on a tripod by the bird bath:</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/e5RroSk2TU4?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b> Then we put
it in the water. I added some slo-mo when editing this video:</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/BfiFKQyPebI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nature is all around us, and adventure is where you find
it—so get out there and start looking!</div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-47600337787821588342013-03-06T12:25:00.001-08:002013-03-06T12:25:28.503-08:00FLAT TIRES<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>If that inner tube were Indian, it would be a patchy.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Of all the places I’ve been fortunate to hunt, <st1:place w:st="on">Argentina</st1:place>’s La Pampa province has
proven the harshest on my wheelchair by far. I first went there in 2005, before
experiencing any mobility problems, and enjoyed an exciting hunt for red stag
in the caldén thickets.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When I returned to La Pampa in 2010 I obviously couldn’t sneak through
the heavy cover in my wheelchair to stalk stags, so my guide, Carlos Martinez,
set up ground blinds overlooking food plots. We hunted at night, which is legal
in <st1:place w:st="on">Argentina</st1:place>,
and took a fine 5x5 by the light of the full moon. On our way back to Rio from
that hunt, my wheelchair’s left tire went flat while waiting for our connecting
flight in <st1:city w:st="on">Buenos Aires</st1:city>.
No choice but to limp home, riding the rim, and slap a patch on the tube the next
day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
In April 2011 I was back in La Pampa. The stags didn’t cooperate so we
switched our focus to wild boars—again, hunting at night from ground blinds.
Halfway through the week my left tire deflated, but it was no surprise because
after each trip afield my aide Ivson had to remove the very sharp and very
abundant burrs that the Argentines so eloquently call “rosetas” from his boots
and pants, and from my tires. My gracious hosts injected Fix-a-Flat in the tire
to no avail. (I’ve since learned that Fix-a-Flat is designed to mend tubeless
tires only; the instructions say the product isn’t for use on inner tubes.) When
we got home we found three holes in the inner tube and decided to simply replace
rather than repair it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYEIybSeMi2CGCp6XqQEUndSJVjEisMTxvhA0mj-rsbUgRLw41qZoQXGslfbhHAkH8v3hyphenhyphene_Dzrerj2t4dh7FTysmeeJZA1_Yu8i-qBObUlrd12FgbqpENDlbB6DlVVb1v3XFaALh2fCYr/s1600/flat1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYEIybSeMi2CGCp6XqQEUndSJVjEisMTxvhA0mj-rsbUgRLw41qZoQXGslfbhHAkH8v3hyphenhyphene_Dzrerj2t4dh7FTysmeeJZA1_Yu8i-qBObUlrd12FgbqpENDlbB6DlVVb1v3XFaALh2fCYr/s1600/flat1.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I set a new personal record on my trip to La Pampa in April 2012. Both
tires got the wind knocked out of ’em on the first afternoon! We knew that
trying to patch the tubes (I had packed a repair kit) would be an exercise in
frustration, so I accepted the rough ride as part of the adventure. My
aide Alex wheeled me around on flats for an exciting five days during which I
took two stags and a European boar. The tires were still good when we got home,
but the tubes were shredded.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Several people have suggested
getting solid tires, but I’m not ready to invest in them because: 1) I only go
to La Pampa once a year; 2) Inner tubes
are cheap; and 3) <st1:place w:st="on">Rio</st1:place>’s sidewalks are so bumpy
that I need the shock absorption of inflated tires to keep my teeth from
jarring loose.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>Besides, hunting on flats is better
than sitting at home on perfect tires.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDMcf05Ct_OVE5j902raI4HZu2uSUddRUlWwZ4XHD5eWUZq7Jjm9zpkZsUl5nxCRzl91ANGYQ7PtFjZ2FiJFi7XIYqVl11RNaCDm-0H80X7YgYq_BKXcZmo3Rlq09XYgTSiKm7Rp9gqssY/s1600/flats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDMcf05Ct_OVE5j902raI4HZu2uSUddRUlWwZ4XHD5eWUZq7Jjm9zpkZsUl5nxCRzl91ANGYQ7PtFjZ2FiJFi7XIYqVl11RNaCDm-0H80X7YgYq_BKXcZmo3Rlq09XYgTSiKm7Rp9gqssY/s1600/flats.jpg" height="242" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-85921424864779378932013-02-21T12:58:00.002-08:002013-02-21T12:58:41.181-08:00TIME OUT<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Enjoying Carnaval in <st1:city w:st="on">Rio
de Janeiro</st1:city></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People come from all corners of the world to celebrate
Carnaval in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Brazil</st1:country-region>,
and I wasn’t about to miss the party in my own back yard!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Far from
the lavish parades in downtown <st1:place w:st="on">Rio</st1:place>’s
Sambadrome stadium, you’ll find traditional Carnaval celebrations stopping
traffic and taking over the streets of Copacabana. Revelers follow bands through
the neighborhood like rats behind the Pied Piper, and folks of all ages don
costumes and stroll along Avenida Atlantica (the beachfront avenue is closed to
vehicular traffic for four days during Carnaval).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My aide
Ricardo and I pulled on some Mossy Oak Breakup and Realtree APG, and took CamoTherapy
to street level. Since there’s no hunting culture here in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Brazil</st1:country-region>,
everyone assumed we were guerrillas. One guy called me “Private Brian.”</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxKW7zNPPzfaEeEGwDIhEYob9ib3sSzl6m4ifGmanL_Mc9C7is_TjfQbZDtc19ZYNxiIRTiWW-veBZAPPh7PYcdmV5egVPmblgF1mxLdB_L21evb_Un3MKEAco6kK2AMZEqKaEU3nxm4bK/s1600/soldados.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxKW7zNPPzfaEeEGwDIhEYob9ib3sSzl6m4ifGmanL_Mc9C7is_TjfQbZDtc19ZYNxiIRTiWW-veBZAPPh7PYcdmV5egVPmblgF1mxLdB_L21evb_Un3MKEAco6kK2AMZEqKaEU3nxm4bK/s1600/soldados.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Ligia likes to push me around.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRBcOSS1uu7CYr_y64b5bFc35v1lvx6Z-lHmitVSdJqkwVOhEWbJSA0SEMTr1CWcKGz4V-vXl8wGybW7n36VoQL7pZm-xt9Vgky522FGQgQAx2FPjNuktzlr6yqAJtSOFbUo4jejn14R6g/s1600/w-ligia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRBcOSS1uu7CYr_y64b5bFc35v1lvx6Z-lHmitVSdJqkwVOhEWbJSA0SEMTr1CWcKGz4V-vXl8wGybW7n36VoQL7pZm-xt9Vgky522FGQgQAx2FPjNuktzlr6yqAJtSOFbUo4jejn14R6g/s1600/w-ligia.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>We met a cute little Tinkerbell…</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMWJYwnyqSyglogYumku05P3E2GTLpeJMCkMAXkmQFHOQphZQUykZG-nAOsw5WSwC3Zb16mf2YK-faetY-a0FBXnl6fUhWqmiz8GvBT_qp9KkCq3XF2jhN1IgDplXJ7Xqm28WqAzNmtHjt/s1600/fadinha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMWJYwnyqSyglogYumku05P3E2GTLpeJMCkMAXkmQFHOQphZQUykZG-nAOsw5WSwC3Zb16mf2YK-faetY-a0FBXnl6fUhWqmiz8GvBT_qp9KkCq3XF2jhN1IgDplXJ7Xqm28WqAzNmtHjt/s1600/fadinha.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>…and a not so cute, much larger Tinkerbell.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih5JVzfyHt6Fe7hLiOWuLcTCZJ0lOBIFX9IFF4TZYCFVNkAXgXiMZ4-BuztbL4bFE75OWDS1R3LrXa40DTOkCa7wqiBEnexrl0IzAk8eTEluybCLrvK0HgmKn1hU_Aao49tP1yXrFULyvU/s1600/oops.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih5JVzfyHt6Fe7hLiOWuLcTCZJ0lOBIFX9IFF4TZYCFVNkAXgXiMZ4-BuztbL4bFE75OWDS1R3LrXa40DTOkCa7wqiBEnexrl0IzAk8eTEluybCLrvK0HgmKn1hU_Aao49tP1yXrFULyvU/s1600/oops.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-22291589699065816072013-01-09T11:59:00.000-08:002013-01-09T11:59:23.532-08:00GHOSTS OF CHRISTMAS PAST: 2007 & 2008<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do stories about Christmas ghosts scare the Dickens out of
you?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fear not, these yuletide tales focus on fond memories of jolly
spirits and Christmas hunts in <st1:state w:st="on">South
Carolina</st1:state>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Here are a few holiday memories:</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>JASON’S FIRST DEER</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
In 2007 Ligia (my wife) and I began
our tradition of holiday hunts at Bang’s Paradise Valley Hunting Club in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Ehrhardt</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">South
Carolina</st1:state></st1:place>. We arrived on Christmas Day and spent the
last week of the SC deer season in camp, enjoying the family atmosphere.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The highlight of that trip occurred
one evening as I sat in a two-man tree stand with my nephew Jason (then 16
years old), who was on his first-ever hunt. In the last moments of daylight I
saw two deer enter a clearing 50 yards to our left—perfect, because Jason sat
on that side of the blind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I nudged Jason, and when he saw the
deer, he carefully placed his .270 on the shooting rail. “Which one?” he asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Both were full-grown does, so I
whispered, “Either one.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The deer were just shadowy forms in
the fading gloam, but I knew the scope’s 52 mm objective would give Jason a
clear view of his target. Even so, we had no time to lose. One deer turned
perfectly broadside. “Should I shoot?” he asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Take your time,” I said. “Aim
carefully and squeeze the trigger.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The kid hesitated. The deer took a
step forward. I tried to stay calm, but inside my head I screamed “Shoot!
Shoot! Shoot!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
A few more long seconds, and then
the rifle roared. One deer ran away while the other stood still. Before Jason
could rack the bolt, the 100-pound doe wobbled and collapsed. A perfect lung
shot!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Are you OK Uncle Andy?” Jason
asked. “When I was aiming I could hear you breathing kinda fast.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>RUDOLPH’S DEMISE</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The following year we arrived at <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Paradise</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Valley</st1:placetype></st1:place> for our holiday hunt on December
22.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>The lodge owner, Bang Collins, had
a cake ready for Ligia’s birthday (Dec. 23).</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40KNS73_epWoQ00TFnpqwWX3KOIcQxwZKDw4k0yIgFLOWUDttkqq8COk_TbnAh54vjLiKxx0YnDgzQsx45ckEqEbQaYmeie0M9Ls_zya5E6GvoRDqPen2ojI1Hs5WE5TE24CTpX4rgAwD/s1600/cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40KNS73_epWoQ00TFnpqwWX3KOIcQxwZKDw4k0yIgFLOWUDttkqq8COk_TbnAh54vjLiKxx0YnDgzQsx45ckEqEbQaYmeie0M9Ls_zya5E6GvoRDqPen2ojI1Hs5WE5TE24CTpX4rgAwD/s1600/cake.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
As my friend Ron and I were heading
out to hunt that afternoon, Ligia said, “Bring back some venison for my
birthday.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We saw only one deer that evening.
On any other day we would have let the button buck walk, but I reminded Ron of
Ligia’s birthday wish. My wife was all smiles, visions of venison jerky dancing
in her head, when we returned to camp with a deer. Just when Bang was ready to
snap our photo, Ron said, “Wait a minute!” and trotted into the lodge.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
He emerged with a red
Christmas-tree ornament and fastened it to the deer’s nose. “Rudolph flew a
little too low tonight.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>“You rascals have a warped sense of
humor,” Bang said. “I love it.”</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b>SQUIRREL SAFARI</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Ron and I figured Santa wouldn’t
bring us any gifts after we took out Rudolph, so we went squirrel hunting on
Christmas morning. We got four bushytails, and had such a good time that we
went again the next day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Although we tallied 10 squirrels,
my shooting setup hindered our effectiveness. The .22 was mounted on a
BE-Adaptive LM100 gun support; Ron aimed while we both watched the sight picture
on the scopecam, and I squeezed the trigger with a cable release. When hunting
deer, Ron would take careful aim and say “Squeeze” or “Whenever you’re ready.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
But when my point man lined up the
crosshairs on the first squirrel that morning he said, “Smoke’m!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I started laughing, which made my
wheelchair shake, which wiggled the gun support, which made the crosshairs
dance, which made it impossible to shoot until I had regained composure.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxnGg-92r7bMosZvvJ0za9FDIeLnnGdg-eZzahdQTnT7xpW4df3F_4So3752-LMtJM4d6H3wgQhyphenhyphenaYmAj0nQV8Aqa_-SD_TCtzzDbtbtY6Be38tpZ5dORkj-Ebddqv4FQYccMZZq1958X/s1600/morning's+work.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxnGg-92r7bMosZvvJ0za9FDIeLnnGdg-eZzahdQTnT7xpW4df3F_4So3752-LMtJM4d6H3wgQhyphenhyphenaYmAj0nQV8Aqa_-SD_TCtzzDbtbtY6Be38tpZ5dORkj-Ebddqv4FQYccMZZq1958X/s1600/morning's+work.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
That evening as we talked about our
“rodent-control project” I noticed a youngster listening with wide-eyed
attention. Nine-year-old Klay Elixson had come to Paradise Valley with his
grandfather Rick Hires, another regular visitor at the lodge with whom we’d
become good friends. I asked Rick, and when he gave his permission I invited
Klay to join Ron and me for a squirrel safari.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next
dawn found the three of us anxiously waiting for some squirrels to appear. We
didn’t have to wait long. We used my shooting equipment, which kept everyone
involved in the hunt. Ron aimed while Klay and I took turns using the cable
control to squeeze the trigger. Klay displayed fine hunting skills by keeping still,
spotting bushytails and patiently waiting for high-percentage shots. The scope
camera proved an excellent teaching tool as we followed squirrels on the
monitor and discussed why different situations and angles made for good or bad
shot selections. Our apprentice soon earned the title of No-Playin’
Outa-the-Wayin’ Lead-Sprayin’ Squirrel-Slayin’ Machine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sharing our
knowledge and watching a young hunter enjoy himself, Ron and I probably had
more fun than Klay that morning. Time in the woods with an enthusiastic kid
also showed me that despite having special needs, disabled hunters can and must
take responsibility for helping pass on our outdoor heritage to the next
generation.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_lP25xoeKjhe-URNg174UmZbvDPUBzpvhXRLGEM0WHX3mEUdJl6cGgS5zm299ekfShBTfaT5yt6-tYKJqXkCcmM90f6U5knQRPhE4zfeoXror_d-uws1Z8TUQfhc-BcwhzcLNyiIiueSj/s1600/A-Team.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_lP25xoeKjhe-URNg174UmZbvDPUBzpvhXRLGEM0WHX3mEUdJl6cGgS5zm299ekfShBTfaT5yt6-tYKJqXkCcmM90f6U5knQRPhE4zfeoXror_d-uws1Z8TUQfhc-BcwhzcLNyiIiueSj/s1600/A-Team.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-60985306166908850192012-12-07T12:33:00.001-08:002012-12-07T12:33:40.805-08:00THE CATNAP BUCK<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: beige; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">If
you think my friend Don Christensen hung up his rifle after helping Ralph shoot
the “Blind Man’s Buck,” think again. Hunting on his property in Spooner, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">Wisconsin</st1:state></st1:place>, Don received
a dose of good luck from an unlikely source.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: beige; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Here’s
the story in Don’s own words:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: beige; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">It had been a slow four days of hunting. My daughter
Beth and I had only seen two small does and a pair of spikes. I wanted to hunt
on Nov 21, the day before Thanksgiving, and figured something would show up because
Beth decided to take the evening off to start Thanksgiving prep. Seems there is
always a day or two during season when she has something else to do, and that's
always when I have opportunities.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: beige; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I had been sitting for an hour in a blind 100 yards
behind my house when our cat—a jet-black female named Bob (because of her short
ears)—felt she needed to come out in the woods and hang out by my stand. I have
no idea why she does this. I've never even petted her, but she inevitably shows
up and scratches at the door of the shooting house. I wasn't in my elevated
shooting house this time so she jumped right up on the windowsill. I whispered
a few obscenities to her and she, being a cat, jumped onto my rifle rest and
burrowed down in the blanket on my lap and went to sleep. I figured things
would get pretty intense if I surprised her with a shot during the evening, but
being quadriplegic, there wasn't much I could do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="background: beige; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><b>Bob performs double duty as lapwarmer and good-luck
charm.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyUz3FXZkYlFgwpxFa0CNlBUOnenMpBKztHVe8y_QrY9okBebUljjs5LlsLRkmwR2N5On-P5a2aIItPUlik_Bv5rrZ4Jx8PGcCMcoK4-tBd__JttkTwUJR9eveiSf_zQNAlLG62larIiw/s1600/Bob.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyUz3FXZkYlFgwpxFa0CNlBUOnenMpBKztHVe8y_QrY9okBebUljjs5LlsLRkmwR2N5On-P5a2aIItPUlik_Bv5rrZ4Jx8PGcCMcoK4-tBd__JttkTwUJR9eveiSf_zQNAlLG62larIiw/s1600/Bob.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: beige; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Not long after that, a buck stepped onto the food
plot about 100 yards from me. My rifle rest would only turn about half the
necessary distance to get my sights on the deer, so I needed to turn the chair
quite a ways. By the time I realized that, he was only about 80 yards away,
standing in the oats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: beige; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I turned and my wheelchair made a loud click. He
froze broadside, looking in my direction, but I had turned just far enough
where I could do the finer aiming adjustments with the joystick on my rest.
Thankfully he stood still for the couple of seconds that took. A little squeeze
on my bite trigger and BOOM went my .243.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: beige; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The shot seemed to have no effect on the buck and he
trotted off to the right out of view. You know, that cat never even moved until
I started shaking after the shot as the adrenaline left my system. Reminds me,
I've got to bring her out some turkey from dinner. Don't get me wrong and
assume I like that cat but she did stay quiet when I needed her to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: beige; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I knew the shot felt perfect, so the buck wouldn't
go far. I gave my son Riley a call and he came out to recover the deer. I
couldn't figure out what was going on because there was no blood, no hair,
absolutely no sign of a hit. My whole family, my caregiver, and the neighbor
searched the area but there was absolutely no sign of any kind. We decided to
let him be till morning, then start really working the woods. The morning
search didn't go any better, so I was totally confused. Riley set up a target
back in the woods and I took a shot to check the scope. Perfect shot… I knew I
did not miss.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: beige; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">One more look by Riley did the trick. The 8-point
buck had trotted about 80 yards before piling up on the backside of our pond.
Never a drop of blood…it was a complete pass through right behind the shoulder
and the Hornaday BTSP never expanded!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: beige; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Anyway, he's in the cooler and now it's up to Beth
to tip over the big one. We'll be out again this afternoon!<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIxfX9ajsvzRkOWq3Xnpps4qPWTnfpvwHCIHecc8AsP7Rt_ImCsNsbzv0at8eAhyFLrPUr0N6CYgNMvSLDLR_huLCeoN_kU1OpkvsnrNIIt5RO04-AVaosPs-4TlOFefKpqVLBSCt2SF4/s1600/DSCN1441.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIxfX9ajsvzRkOWq3Xnpps4qPWTnfpvwHCIHecc8AsP7Rt_ImCsNsbzv0at8eAhyFLrPUr0N6CYgNMvSLDLR_huLCeoN_kU1OpkvsnrNIIt5RO04-AVaosPs-4TlOFefKpqVLBSCt2SF4/s1600/DSCN1441.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: beige; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-43402505421161581332012-11-25T16:10:00.002-08:002012-11-25T16:10:51.188-08:00Blind Man’s Buck<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh16egjaPwBR59ULvv8N0kdb9xO_3vTChFupsSKsZ2fztCBR1RYDXe-7VG1_DsLrG7e3L-jJtssvEgH6g-F9g81YnSJgY-a8GF5v9AVNS9UM7mpn55PJu71ZKYSY9KO6YGUxU6EQOpCLsnU/s1600/BlindBuck01.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh16egjaPwBR59ULvv8N0kdb9xO_3vTChFupsSKsZ2fztCBR1RYDXe-7VG1_DsLrG7e3L-jJtssvEgH6g-F9g81YnSJgY-a8GF5v9AVNS9UM7mpn55PJu71ZKYSY9KO6YGUxU6EQOpCLsnU/s1600/BlindBuck01.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It sounds
like the beginning of a joke,” says Don Christensen, of Spooner, <st1:state w:st="on">Wisconsin</st1:state>. “A
quadriplegic and a blind guy go deer hunting…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These two,
however, dropped the punch line on an eight-point buck.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Here’s their story:</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSGCh3QLTsYY-B6J0mv4erNtRyca5YKCZ20xNTPCmwBI3itu4o-OurR6JATpn9bkwPDO1tHT7KbXlENE63bvnSgQKhbtAXjQ-eQeatw86bGpN_4z2caEkBJqGrq3iUiEKRrlMD8mnWqCQ5/s1600/BlindBuck02.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSGCh3QLTsYY-B6J0mv4erNtRyca5YKCZ20xNTPCmwBI3itu4o-OurR6JATpn9bkwPDO1tHT7KbXlENE63bvnSgQKhbtAXjQ-eQeatw86bGpN_4z2caEkBJqGrq3iUiEKRrlMD8mnWqCQ5/s1600/BlindBuck02.JPG" height="264" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Don Christensen</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Diagnosed with multiple sclerosis
(MS) in the late 1990’s, Don—who has lost the use of his arms and legs—never
let the debilitating disease dampen his enthusiasm for hunting. He created a
website, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="http://afarcry.info/" target="_blank">http://afarcry.info/</a>, to help
people with disabilities access the outdoors.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“When my buddy Ralph Barten
suggested that we harvest a deer together, I was intrigued but I knew it
wouldn’t be a simple task,” Don says. “Ralph said he’d be my arms if I’d be his
eyes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YjhGQpinZJxTTkSd-e3F3b1x8iLB7Hx9V1zlg1yiUrlir_46OjPz-Qdo3qD_UuWzZhomBEFE42dvM9cNhWRYIHjt312RmiKTgnPGbXEw4KXi-b0PI0106zlxKk3PA43htJ7x4eaNUXqA/s1600/BlindBuck03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YjhGQpinZJxTTkSd-e3F3b1x8iLB7Hx9V1zlg1yiUrlir_46OjPz-Qdo3qD_UuWzZhomBEFE42dvM9cNhWRYIHjt312RmiKTgnPGbXEw4KXi-b0PI0106zlxKk3PA43htJ7x4eaNUXqA/s1600/BlindBuck03.jpg" height="320" width="277" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Ralph Barten</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Ralph, who hails from <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Ladysmith</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">Wisconsin</st1:state></st1:place>,
is completely blind. He has enjoyed many successful hunts with the help of a
“spotter” (someone looking over his shoulder to advise him where to aim).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Since I’m in a wheelchair, the
only way for me to see over Ralph’s shoulder would be to have him sit on my lap,
and that was NOT gonna happen!” Don says with a laugh.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“That’s where my son Riley came on
board,” Don says. “We borrowed an iScope, which is a bracket designed to hold a
smartphone up to the back of a riflescope.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The iScope works well with a smartphone
in good light to take video through the scope. “Unfortunately, we were going to
be sitting in a dark shooting house and the phone couldn’t gather enough light
for a viewable picture,” Don explains. “Riley found a way to attach a small webcam
to the bracket and hooked it up to his laptop. Ralph came to visit and we shot
some paper targets to make sure we were ready.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the
evening of Friday, October 19, Ralph, Don and Riley arrived at Hogsback Ranch, a
hunting preserve in central <st1:state w:st="on">Wisconsin</st1:state>.
They met the owner, Nathan Wininger, along with Roger Devenport and Cam Tribolet
from The Way Outfitters, who had helped arrange the hunt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
They spent Saturday morning devising
a game plan and recording interviews for Outdoor Bound TV. That afternoon they
faced a looming challenge before the hunt even began: Don’s motorized
wheelchair lacked sufficient torque to climb the steep ramp to the stand, which
sat six feet off the ground.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimiIvQWwWuT0WHJP2wSZHN6rGZ5Yl-ToLivHkMmC_Gg1NhchtDacMoupOcBlNmekoRQQlgictassB4WGsbV4RQ14Q-_51sLsJMd6SNtClf1oZPCx1D65lAKsgLf8izCB_PT9wrw3TkLUCO/s1600/BlindBuck05.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimiIvQWwWuT0WHJP2wSZHN6rGZ5Yl-ToLivHkMmC_Gg1NhchtDacMoupOcBlNmekoRQQlgictassB4WGsbV4RQ14Q-_51sLsJMd6SNtClf1oZPCx1D65lAKsgLf8izCB_PT9wrw3TkLUCO/s1600/BlindBuck05.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>Somehow the crew muscled Don and
his 300-pound chair up the incline.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Returning
to earth was a bit easier. The team figured a way to tie safety ropes to the
chair and “rappel” it down the ramp. But before that…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A fine buck
entered the food plot an hour after the hunters and their helpers had settled
into the stand. “It was early, so we decided to wait,” Don says. “About 45
minutes later we saw one of the ranch’s dream bucks, one that would score
almost 250 inches. I don’t know how long we watched him but it sure made the
evening go by quickly.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shortly
before nightfall another shooter buck presented an opportunity. Riley’s
invention worked perfectly as Don instructed Ralph where to aim and when to
squeeze the trigger. After the shot, the deer ran 100 yards across the food
plot and into the woods. “We felt nervous because he looked just fine. A couple
guys slipped down to find the trail, but an hour of searching turned up no
blood or hair,” Don says. “The next morning we returned and found absolutely
nothing, so it was off to the range to see what was going on with Ralph’s
scope. A couple shots proved why that buck was untouched. Somehow the scope had
gotten knocked out of alignment because it was shooting 6 inches high and 6
inches right!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b> This video
shows the moments leading up to the errant shot:</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/Oj0BGv_tYQc/0.jpg"><param name="movie" value="https://www.youtube.com/v/Oj0BGv_tYQc&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/v/Oj0BGv_tYQc&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On Sunday
afternoon the hopeful hunters were back on stand. They saw a monster buck but
didn’t have the green light for one that size. “It was a treat just to watch
him,” Don says. “A shooter buck appeared during the last minutes of daylight.
That would’ve been okay but the laptop I was viewing was almost out of battery
life. We took a hurried shot before dark but didn’t connect.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The weekend
hunt was over, but Nathan invited Ralph and Don to return. Don says he knew
they had some bugs to work out before giving it another shot. “Riley and a
friend of mine fine-tuned the camera setup, and Ralph and I smoothed out our
communication. We put the camera on my TC Encore and made sure the 7mm-08 was
shooting hairsplitting groups. Almost before I knew it, we were on the road
again to give it one more try.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On Friday,
November 2, Ralph, Don and Riley were in the shooting house with Nathan and Bob
(cameraman for Outdoor Bound TV). “It was a beautiful afternoon for November
and by the time Riley had all our equipment in place, the first doe stepped
onto the food plot,” Don says. “The rut was beginning to heat up and it wasn’t
long before a buck chased her off into the woods. A short time later, a shooter
buck appeared right next to the stand. He worked his way in front of us, but at
just 45 yards, he was almost too close for Ralph and me to communicate.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Ralph already had the rifle on a
sandbag and pointed out the window, so Don whispered directions like “up a lot”
and “a little to the right” to put the crosshairs on the buck’s shoulder. Every
time the deer moved, they had to start the process all over. Then Don coached
Ralph to cock the hammer, take a deep breath and let half of it out. After some
final aiming adjustments, Don said, “Squeeze.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>Here’s what Don saw as he helped
Ralph aim:</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/0L0gRmJAjzQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ralph asked
excitedly, “Did we get him? Did we get him?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a perfect double-lung shot. The buck ran 15 feet and
collapsed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We did it,
buddy!” Don blurted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpy7I5FdVSdvuj73S4ALnh8EUQYr-0GN4u40kC7gSh1bmjcSy5_npYjuU5vjmIrj9OhDtD2JDVzMeYYpTJQGFpsNG5YN4NLisR9MzxSIt6z3gRZ5S0Xu5DyE1deKajY-yTEf45ukTH1oY/s1600/BlindBuck08.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpy7I5FdVSdvuj73S4ALnh8EUQYr-0GN4u40kC7gSh1bmjcSy5_npYjuU5vjmIrj9OhDtD2JDVzMeYYpTJQGFpsNG5YN4NLisR9MzxSIt6z3gRZ5S0Xu5DyE1deKajY-yTEf45ukTH1oY/s1600/BlindBuck08.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b> “Our
success shows that when good people tackle a challenge together, anything is
possible,” Don says.</b></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-86811379492997807992012-11-18T15:53:00.000-08:002012-11-18T15:53:11.541-08:00SHOOTING FROM A VEHICLE<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Tips for Safe and Successful Hunting from a Four-Wheel Blind</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s begin
by clarifying that I’m neither advocating “road hunting” nor encouraging my
readers to engage in illegal activity. Hunting/shooting from inside a car or
truck, or from the saddle of an ATV, is widely prohibited; however, some states
allow disabled individuals to hunt from a vehicle. I’d much rather sit in a
blind and feel the earth under my boots, but sometimes the convenience or
mobility of hunting from a vehicle makes it worthwhile. Although it’s no
guarantee that you’ll kill game, this practice has helped me punch tags in <st1:state w:st="on">Wyoming</st1:state> and <st1:state w:st="on">Montana</st1:state>.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNVCOHTxZeoCW0JIzgk1UXeP8PmHv6rRxqKgCjM999J78OQMfqE339Ohs4lcR4YLO7fpUTqeMaiftfN6EVQZdK_HmKdr5tFw8yfXiGZgssPH9tgv2Qz_4dsyazkwUzz43A3gd8x7Fbc5nW/s1600/vehic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNVCOHTxZeoCW0JIzgk1UXeP8PmHv6rRxqKgCjM999J78OQMfqE339Ohs4lcR4YLO7fpUTqeMaiftfN6EVQZdK_HmKdr5tFw8yfXiGZgssPH9tgv2Qz_4dsyazkwUzz43A3gd8x7Fbc5nW/s1600/vehic1.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Here’s some advice based on my experience:</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>DO THE PAPERWORK AND KEEP IT LEGAL</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The fact
that you’re handicapped doesn’t automatically grant you any privileges. To
legally shoot from a vehicle, you must go through proper channels and obtain official
authorization from the regulatory agency of the state in which you’ll be
hunting. The nomenclature varies from state to state; in <st1:state w:st="on">Wyoming</st1:state>
I had a Disabled Hunter Permit, and in <st1:place w:st="on">Montana</st1:place>
I had a Permit to Hunt From a Vehicle.<br />
I went through similar
processes to get my permits for <st1:state w:st="on">Wyoming</st1:state> (in
2009) and <st1:state w:st="on">Montana</st1:state>
(in 2011). I had to fill out a form (available online for download) that
required a description of my disability and a signed statement from my doctor. In
both cases, I received my permit from the Game and Fish Dept. just two weeks
after mailing the completed form. There was no charge for the permit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Check state laws before heading out
to hunt from a vehicle. In addition to a permit, you must have a valid license as
well as any required tags for the region you’re hunting and the species you’re
pursuing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I came across an interesting detail
while researching this topic: The Pennsylvania Game Commission considers an
electric-powered wheelchair a “motorized vehicle,” so if you use one to get
around in the woods, you’ll need a Disabled Hunter Permit to hunt in the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Keystone</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">State</st1:placetype></st1:place>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>My <st1:place w:st="on">Montana</st1:place> license and permit.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKPPUrzr0lZHuTWO8_EY0-gbnClu0FtW6b3tC-WdaPM3_d8k1IhE4guQbK-beqGxxJszvHsSL_dfd1IWyMQbMtvQYUhT62joYKAJumt3pUd4ouGTPqPzfT6JH1O9QKZjzTeRVBiZZ1tmuy/s1600/PTHV1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKPPUrzr0lZHuTWO8_EY0-gbnClu0FtW6b3tC-WdaPM3_d8k1IhE4guQbK-beqGxxJszvHsSL_dfd1IWyMQbMtvQYUhT62joYKAJumt3pUd4ouGTPqPzfT6JH1O9QKZjzTeRVBiZZ1tmuy/s1600/PTHV1.jpg" height="273" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>COMMON-SENSE RULES</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
A Disabled Hunter Permit does not
authorize you to drive and hunt anywhere you damn well please. You must respect
private property and obey rules governing the use of motor vehicles on public
lands.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Each state has its own specific regulations
and details, but generally speaking, a permit holder: may not hunt from a state
or federal highway; may not shoot across a public roadway; may only shoot from
a stationary vehicle with the motor turned off. All these rules make safety
sense, and the last one also helps the shooter because vibration from an idling
engine can make it difficult to aim. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>KEEP THE GUN UNLOADED</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Never trust a gun’s safety, and
never cruise around with a loaded firearm in the vehicle. Keep the chamber
empty and the action open until you’re ready to shoot.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>Ron makes sure the .270 is empty
before we head out for mule deer.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCsKE6ohzbVTy9yZnNAJ8VXTKvV-YyoYDAszWhM7zZDlFFIw3dPR8Q69Z2fzrj5nw7Xu2UY_v4RXueMwTrMGAbgEKTlaZm21OjUAIPAdYw2vb2Loo7KiTpgBkU8rzp7WxVDWbURGLxieyc/s1600/vehic2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCsKE6ohzbVTy9yZnNAJ8VXTKvV-YyoYDAszWhM7zZDlFFIw3dPR8Q69Z2fzrj5nw7Xu2UY_v4RXueMwTrMGAbgEKTlaZm21OjUAIPAdYw2vb2Loo7KiTpgBkU8rzp7WxVDWbURGLxieyc/s1600/vehic2.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>WIGGLE ROOM</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Make sure the vehicle has enough
interior space for you to aim and shoot safely and comfortably. My needs are
rather roomy because a point man (usually Ron) aims for me while we both view
the sight picture on the scopecam, and I decide when to activate the trigger.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>In this photo we’re sitting in the
back seat of a Suburban, hoping to ambush a <st1:state w:st="on">Montana</st1:state> muley.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAASKwU5nYkwDvnSfCt_AHQnb3ghyphenhyphen4nRm20r86yB-cwbATCgrq93Hb6pjFDwbAewjfIeNSwa-QsIGyJoIsa_WDZy_TDNnq-6cAPoeHgJXLnBZdyaxT9AUCmApyOjTVGtEB1Nt6uvFSXyb2/s1600/vehic5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAASKwU5nYkwDvnSfCt_AHQnb3ghyphenhyphen4nRm20r86yB-cwbATCgrq93Hb6pjFDwbAewjfIeNSwa-QsIGyJoIsa_WDZy_TDNnq-6cAPoeHgJXLnBZdyaxT9AUCmApyOjTVGtEB1Nt6uvFSXyb2/s1600/vehic5.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>PROPER REST</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Whether you hunt from a treestand,
ground blind or vehicle, a steady rifle rest contributes to accurate shot
placement. Adjustable shooting sticks can be set up inside a vehicle to provide
support at the proper height. It is NOT a good idea to rest a gun on the top
edge of a partially open window.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
If you plan to simply lower the
window and rest the rifle on the door, use a sandbag, small cushion or
rolled-up jacket to protect the window frame as well as the gun’s forestock.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>We used this sandbag while hunting
pronghorns in <st1:state w:st="on">Wyoming</st1:state>.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3U2V_YysC_Ig0L5U3qOcCwuMByz0Pmn7ZdsbobVVB7OYs8Qh9T47gLKedaGx2PjzjGw62t1NPbKVEptFJSOWlUxFo-qzNmiUD2_j3YH6lemuSrI_58pKPIhbYzNvAkfIHbl5g4P1dQU5E/s1600/vehic3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3U2V_YysC_Ig0L5U3qOcCwuMByz0Pmn7ZdsbobVVB7OYs8Qh9T47gLKedaGx2PjzjGw62t1NPbKVEptFJSOWlUxFo-qzNmiUD2_j3YH6lemuSrI_58pKPIhbYzNvAkfIHbl5g4P1dQU5E/s1600/vehic3.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>POSITIONING FOR THE SHOT</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
In the ideal scenario, you will
have scouted the area, arrived early and parked broadside for a good view of
the spot where you expect animals to emerge.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
It’s a different story if you have
to spot and “stalk” game in open country, as my friend Ron and I did while
hunting pronghorns in <st1:state w:st="on">Wyoming</st1:state>.
We sat in the back seat of our guide’s Mega Cab pickup and set up to shoot out
the driver’s-side window. We chose this arrangement because it made things
easier as the guide carefully approached the herd and turned the truck
broadside for our shot. He knew that if he had a good, unobstructed view of an
antelope, we did too.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>Drawing down on an antelope.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkp6lp4vMdSykfD3qFmCnRfqzFlyGyWQlkUq0ZyAZPSjTUjE4oxSwfrWZmSu2PZ0wXzEA-2T-5rU2E-0QFLG70aLwsuisC_noB9yVDidfJXsReOQ0dEAPWBd0ILlIfDY51YrmZNPUVo4zI/s1600/vehic4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkp6lp4vMdSykfD3qFmCnRfqzFlyGyWQlkUq0ZyAZPSjTUjE4oxSwfrWZmSu2PZ0wXzEA-2T-5rU2E-0QFLG70aLwsuisC_noB9yVDidfJXsReOQ0dEAPWBd0ILlIfDY51YrmZNPUVo4zI/s1600/vehic4.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>MUZZLE OUT THE WINDOW</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The first commandment of gun safety
says keep the muzzle pointed in a safe direction. When hunting from a vehicle,
that rule goes out the window—quite literally, because it’s usually the best place
to put the business end of your rifle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Always travel with the gun (action
open, chamber empty) securely stowed. When you’ve reached the hunting spot and
turned off the motor, it’s time to load. Before loading or working the action,
put the muzzle out the window. I mean OUT, not just pointed toward the window. And
the muzzle should stay out the window until you unload, and especially while
unloading.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Make sure the muzzle is as far out
the window as is reasonably possible when you shoot, because you don’t want the
muzzle blast to occur within the confines of the vehicle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>COMMUNICATE</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Everyone in the vehicle should know
what the shooter is doing and when he’s ready to squeeze the trigger. Since Ron
and I shoot from the back seat, the muzzle isn’t very far from the driver. We always
warn him to cover his ears before we shoot.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>We put the 4WD stalk on this
pronghorn and dropped it with a 120-yard shot.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinosecLAT0dxkljHZLjR1tFrFQUptRqTNW_1eQecxCQFDe0kFavjVfwZvc95uRzPOUPVrQ4S2JXlwRdQR8RAiGaz-wj75OCCWUH5SKjGspP1QMLyJZv1YGqYKL1YwdRSHIjIMn2n4T7WNd/s1600/vehic6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinosecLAT0dxkljHZLjR1tFrFQUptRqTNW_1eQecxCQFDe0kFavjVfwZvc95uRzPOUPVrQ4S2JXlwRdQR8RAiGaz-wj75OCCWUH5SKjGspP1QMLyJZv1YGqYKL1YwdRSHIjIMn2n4T7WNd/s1600/vehic6.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-51886621707675188682012-10-27T06:40:00.000-07:002012-10-27T06:40:04.945-07:00MY PHILOSOPHY<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last April I hunted red stag in La Pampa, Argentina, and the
lodge owner was impressed with my attitude and desire to hunt. He told my story
to an Argentine photographer who is working on a book about red stag hunting. The
photographer decided to include a photo of me in the book and asked me to write
a brief text.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Here’s what I came up with:</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs52Ej-c76Qm8G6D1YkdpGO8CDO-iBc9dIG6e8TODIgmS68LKWMXJLtdOimhe65BuWB87nN3KI91UVauRHQPaRdvLkzE32pZWEUXP8SrUavSepIM-9YXMnpmsbJ-ywe3SSE5IDJPKpyJ0b/s1600/Andy+y+Jorge+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs52Ej-c76Qm8G6D1YkdpGO8CDO-iBc9dIG6e8TODIgmS68LKWMXJLtdOimhe65BuWB87nN3KI91UVauRHQPaRdvLkzE32pZWEUXP8SrUavSepIM-9YXMnpmsbJ-ywe3SSE5IDJPKpyJ0b/s1600/Andy+y+Jorge+2.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>NEVER GIVE UP</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What should
a hunter do when his body begins to fail him? I asked myself this question six
years ago when I was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS, or Lou
Gehrig’s disease). Even as my hands, arms and legs became too weak to function,
my passion for the outdoors remained strong. Through this passion I found the
only answer: When a hunter’s body begins to fail him, he must keep hunting.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a young
man, I often took to the woods alone. Now I hunt red stag with the help of good
friends and modern technology. Instead of bemoaning my disability, I cultivate
a positive attitude that helps me focus on what I <i>can</i> do. I can’t walk—but I have a wheelchair to help me get around;
I can’t handle a gun—but my friends carry, load and aim the rifle for me; my
finger can’t squeeze the trigger—but I have a switch that activates the trigger
when I inhale on a tube; I can’t sneak through the brush and stalk a stag—but I
have the patience to sit quietly and wait until one comes to me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can still
get out in the field to enjoy nature’s sights, smells and sounds. And when I
hear a red stag roar, I feel my pulse quicken as the adrenaline surges!</div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-66645764359055926322012-10-21T17:52:00.001-07:002012-10-21T17:52:52.768-07:00CAZANDO CHANCHOS (HUNTING HOGS) IN URUGUAY, DAY 3<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ron, Luiz and I enjoyed our three-day hunt in <st1:place w:st="on">Uruguay</st1:place>
at a lodge called Rincon de los Matreros.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA1anrETzMncBRDxpJMc_ngPRnqnCiGACVpZ6X4gYSjJoMpo67toiR0ceZBC-hvUvon5Vg0AyBasIf6r3OTEqTIUDSqO3uf8LlvCag85dV0QZXN8RdSMF46Bj-MQJiVEGXDhhSKI78XwfM/s1600/Ur+day+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA1anrETzMncBRDxpJMc_ngPRnqnCiGACVpZ6X4gYSjJoMpo67toiR0ceZBC-hvUvon5Vg0AyBasIf6r3OTEqTIUDSqO3uf8LlvCag85dV0QZXN8RdSMF46Bj-MQJiVEGXDhhSKI78XwfM/s1600/Ur+day+3.jpg" height="240" title="“Andy Hahn” “disabled hunting” camotherapy “handicapped hunting”" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b> Here’s what
happened on the last day of our adventure:</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
During breakfast this morning, we
noticed that one of the ranch hands outside was already preparing lunch. The
small hog we killed yesterday evening had been scalded (to remove the hair),
split lengthwise and wired to a grill.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
In typical South American <i>asado
</i>fashion, the grill leaned on one side of the pit while a fire burned on the
other side. As the wood became red hot, the chef used a shovel to spread
glowing embers under the grill. This technique doesn’t scorch the meat with
open flames, and it lets the chef control the temperature to cook the pork to
perfection.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOriXynHXjIXBW5IKc1xic_c6Ehuqcm5UTm1ai8V842YFDDM91PABxwlQIlhgVOXsms7lsl0OMsGsgdmIXOtj3DOymIMGJrmCEMINpqQAnZaHhdMuw8-G5lPHbmzNLKcNcDB8bsq_-QKSg/s1600/asado1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOriXynHXjIXBW5IKc1xic_c6Ehuqcm5UTm1ai8V842YFDDM91PABxwlQIlhgVOXsms7lsl0OMsGsgdmIXOtj3DOymIMGJrmCEMINpqQAnZaHhdMuw8-G5lPHbmzNLKcNcDB8bsq_-QKSg/s1600/asado1.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuHOqcQDS8StFN_K6leiw-_Xo3aO8O0ZyVxECt-40DH1JRRxiSVpRg2q098BalQqnOihAgQ8ZJqzkDyA0oAbuiaNM8-xhLcPSLcmH2sfYULKX_OZ-hKig-uPp5Fbx4RDY9ZcOV4yzZEJY/s1600/asado2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuHOqcQDS8StFN_K6leiw-_Xo3aO8O0ZyVxECt-40DH1JRRxiSVpRg2q098BalQqnOihAgQ8ZJqzkDyA0oAbuiaNM8-xhLcPSLcmH2sfYULKX_OZ-hKig-uPp5Fbx4RDY9ZcOV4yzZEJY/s1600/asado2.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
And perfect it was! I’m kinda glad
you weren’t there to join us because then we didn’t have to be polite and
share.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
That afternoon we returned to the
same spot we had hunted on the first day. The <i>chanchos </i>were definitely wiser.
We caught fleeting glimpses of a few sulking in the woods, but none ventured
out in the open. They finally sent a scout; he must have drawn the short straw
and was none too pleased about it. He appeared at the left edge of the clearing,
glanced about nervously and melted into the woods.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The hog was back a few moments
later. Still looking uncomfortable, he stepped into full view and then, just as
quickly, scampered for cover. “The wind is from a different direction today,”
Ron said. “He’s catching our scent.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Twice more that hog did the
here-and-gone routine so quickly that Luiz couldn’t even get the camera on it.
Then the <i>chancho nervioso</i> seemed to gather his courage. When he trotted out and
started munching corn, Ron and I gave him no time to change his mind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Laurindo hid the dead hog in the
grass and we began the waiting game again. An hour later we saw five hogs
working their way through some tall grass on the hillside to our left. They
also seemed wary, but eventually two of them made the mistake of coming out in
the open. We ended our hunt with another perfect head shot.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<b>Enjoy the video:</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/Gpz_ZT7TtPg/0.jpg"><param name="movie" value="https://www.youtube.com/v/Gpz_ZT7TtPg?version=3&f=user_uploads&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/v/Gpz_ZT7TtPg?version=3&f=user_uploads&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-46867600737596257142012-10-13T18:14:00.000-07:002012-10-13T18:14:07.018-07:00CAZANDO CHANCHOS (HUNTING HOGS) IN URUGUAY, DAY 2<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ron, Luiz and I enjoyed our three-day hunt in <st1:place w:st="on">Uruguay</st1:place>
at a lodge called Rincon de los Matreros.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b> Here’s what
happened on the second day of our adventure:</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I’ve finally learned that pacing
myself makes my travels more enjoyable, and Ron had no objections when I
suggested that we hunt only in the afternoons on this trip. Today I awoke
around 8:30 and Luiz wheeled me to the breakfast table just as Ron was
returning from a morning stroll. (He said a white cat had followed him around
like a puppy.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We took it easy for much of the day
and then headed out at 3:30. This stand site occupied a 20- by 100-yard flat
spot at the base of a steep hill. <a href="" name="OLE_LINK2"></a><a href="" name="OLE_LINK1">Laurindo </a>had scattered corn about 60
yards from the shooting house. After we got situated in the blind, Ron and I
tested my trigger control to avoid the need for last-minute, hurried
adjustments.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The first critter to appear was a
young red stag that trotted down the hill on our left, nibbled at the corn for
a few minutes, and then disappeared back up the hill. Soon after that, Ron
pointed out two larger stags on the brushy hillside. They lowered their heads
to click antlers a couple times but didn’t do any serious sparring.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Suddenly we heard a series of
evenly spaced, high-pitched yelps come from behind the blind. I gave Laurindo a
questioning look. “Axis deer,” he said. “They know we’re here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The barking continued for several
minutes as three axis does voiced their disapproval of our presence.
Then…silence. A long silence. When the sinking sun touched the hilltop, Luiz
said, “Looks like the hogs won this round.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
As soon as the words left his
mouth, a pair of 100-pound porkers sauntered in from our left. Unlike the
restless bunch we saw yesterday, these two settled right down to business and
started feeding. Laurindo, who really enjoyed watching Ron and me shoot as a
team, urged us to act quickly: “Kill one of them. We might have time to get
another one tonight.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
A hog stood broadside long enough
for Ron to hold the crosshairs on its ear; I inhaled on my trigger tube,
and—BOOM—that <i>chancho </i>was brain-dead before I could exhale.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Laurindo went out to check our
work, dragged the hog away from the corn and returned to the blind to resume
our stakeout. Twenty minutes later, in the gathering dusk, we decided to call
it quits. Laurindo went to get the pickup. He took two steps from the blind and
did an immediate about-face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“<i>Chanchos</i>!” he whispered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We had barely enough light for my
scopecam to work as two big sows and four yearlings came into view. Ron got on
target quickly when one of the smaller hogs moved to the left, turned to face
us, and lowered its head. We tallied an instant kill when our bullet entered
the base of the hog’s skull.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When Laurindo loaded the 60-pounder
on the truck, he said, “Perfect size. We’ll put it on the grill tomorrow.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<b>Here’s the video:</b></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Kq7NC95VzNQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-82077096185600317892012-10-07T18:51:00.000-07:002012-10-14T10:42:27.242-07:00CAZANDO CHANCHOS (HUNTING HOGS) IN URUGUAY, DAY 1<br />
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Ron, Luiz and I enjoyed our three-day hunt in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">Uruguay</st1:country> at a
lodge called Rincon de los Matreros.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGniPW-MUD6Awzv1Lgshi1P84LcOPFObJGx6hWVX-oxNQVsoIqh5hf6CNToQ4bulmHh57V8w9XAd-OAXFqHBSq_CWiW3rDwYI6PSMbtAgxV18eeRTbVq-ZOx7ie_Ob28yvyJADlDC1FPrY/s1600/Uruguay+day1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGniPW-MUD6Awzv1Lgshi1P84LcOPFObJGx6hWVX-oxNQVsoIqh5hf6CNToQ4bulmHh57V8w9XAd-OAXFqHBSq_CWiW3rDwYI6PSMbtAgxV18eeRTbVq-ZOx7ie_Ob28yvyJADlDC1FPrY/s320/Uruguay+day1.jpg" title="“Andy Hahn” “disabled hunting” camotherapy “handicapped hunting”" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b> Here’s what
happened on the first day of our adventure:</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In April I
told Ron that I had no plans to hunt in the <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">USA</st1:country>
this year because the long (nine-plus hours) flight from <st1:city w:st="on">Rio de Janeiro</st1:city> has become too hard on me. His
immediate response was to make arrangements to visit me in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">Brazil</st1:country> in
September. My immediate response to that—because I know my redneck friend would
go bonkers if we just lounged on the beach for a week—was to plan a
south-of-the-Equator hunt with my buddy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My first
thoughts turned toward Argentina, but red stag season only runs from March
through July, and my condition renders dove hunting out of the question (at
least until we figure a way to wingshoot as a team with my adaptive gear). I
had enjoyed a hog hunt in July 2011 at Rincon de los Matreros lodge in <st1:place w:st="on">Uruguay</st1:place>,
and decided another visit was in order.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ron arrived
in Rio on September 9, and the next morning we were on our way to <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">Uruguay</st1:country>. My
aide Luiz Paier accompanied us on an adventure full of “firsts” for him: first
time on an airplane, first international trip, first hunt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We began
with a 2-hour flight to <st1:city w:st="on">Porto Alegre</st1:city> (in
southern <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">Brazil</st1:country>) and had
time for a sandwich before catching the 1-hour flight to <st1:city w:st="on">Montevideo</st1:city>. Laurindo, the head guide at
Rincon de los Matreros, greeted us and loaded our bags in his pickup. We then
made the 3 1/2-hour drive north to the small town of <st1:city w:st="on">Treinta y Tres</st1:city> (which means Thirty-Three) and
the lodge. We got there around 8 p.m., had dinner with the owner, Mathieu
Jetten, and hit the hay.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ron mounted
my adaptive shooting gear on Mathieu’s .243 after breakfast the next morning,
and we spent much of the day relaxing and catching up on conversation. We
headed out at 3:30.</div>
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Rincon de los Matreros is a
high-fence hunting operation that covers more than 3,000 acres of very hilly
countryside, with 10 solidly built shooting houses distributed throughout the
grounds. Each blind overlooks an automatic feeder that scatters corn to attract
several types of deer as well as feral goats and hogs. I don’t try to kid
myself into believing we’re hunting extremely wary, 100-percent-wild animals;
however, it requires patience to wait for the right animal to show up, and
skill to put one down with a well-placed shot. And I truly enjoy the time spent
with friends in a rural setting.</div>
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After a bouncy, 20-minute ride we
reached our blind. I sat by the left wall, Ron sat to my right, Luiz—video camera
in hand—squeezed in on the other side of Ron, and <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8309445289374629943" name="OLE_LINK1">Laurindo </a>sat
behind me. Our objective was to take eating-size hogs of 100 pounds or less.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Shortly after we settled in, the
feeder clattered and spread some corn on the ground. “That’s like ringing the dinner
bell,” Ron said as five porkers trotted into view.</div>
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“They’re all the right size,”
Laurindo said. “Take the one you want.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Easier said than done. A gang of
young hogs behaves like a group of rambunctious schoolboys that crowd together,
jostle one another and never stand still. When one finally strayed from the
rest, Ron steadied the crosshairs and I inhaled on my trigger tube. And nothing
happened!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The bumpy ride to the blind had
nudged the trigger actuator out of alignment, but Ron quickly got it back on
track. Just as quickly, though, the luckiest oinker in <st1:place w:st="on">Uruguay</st1:place> rejoined his buddies and
signed a new lease on life.</div>
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After a few more minutes, a different
hog made the fatal mistake of drifting far enough away from the sheltering
crowd to give us a clear shot. The pig went down and obviously wasn’t going to
get back up; its continued thrashing, however, told us we hadn’t scored an
instant kill.</div>
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Still toting the camera, Luiz
followed Laurindo when he went down to dispatch the hog. Luiz was quite
impressed when Laurindo nonchalantly pushed his knife into the hog’s throat,
and jokingly called our guide “evil” and “cold blooded.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“There’s a good chance that more
<i>chanchos </i>will come in before dark,” Laurindo said. “What do you want to do?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We all agreed to wait and see. Ron
kept telling Luiz to go hide by the feeder with Laurindo’s knife so he could
leap out and stab a pig. Soon Luiz had a new nickname: Blade.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
An hour after our first shot, a
dozen hogs tumbled out of the woods and restlessly milled around as they
scarfed up corn. Ron turned on the scopecam, Luiz put the trigger tube in my
mouth, and we watched for an opportunity. Patience paid off when 80 pounds of
fresh pork put just enough distance between himself and his brethren by taking
a few steps to our left. A head shot conjugated this one into past tense before
it hit the ground.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The fallen hog twitched
spasmodically, prompting Luiz to ask, “Is it dead?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“No,” Ron said flatly. “Go finish
it off with the knife.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Enjoy the video:</b></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/EySXi8e-si0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<br /></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-34119450493306717692012-09-30T14:54:00.001-07:002012-09-30T14:54:23.670-07:00IMPROVE YOUR HUNTING VIDEOS<br />
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I’ve been
taking a video camera on my hunts since October 2010, but I never packed a
tripod because I wanted to streamline my baggage as much as possible. In
previous posts I stressed the importance of using a firm rifle rest for optimum
shooting performance. <b>Chalk one up for the Practice What You Preach Dept.—I
finally realized the same concept applies when shooting video.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I
travel, one of my personal aides goes with me and, in addition to other
responsibilities, acts as cameraman. Three different aides have accompanied me
on hunts, and all did a fine job with the camera; however, through no fault of
their own, the handheld video got shaky at times (especially during zoomed-in
closeups) and always jumped when the rifle fired. Even if you’re expecting it,
the sudden, loud sound of a gunshot causes an uncontrollable, reflexive flinch
that disappoints viwers when the lens abruptly leaps away from the animal at
the hunt’s climactic moment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before our
recent trip to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Uruguay</st1:country-region>,
I asked Luiz to wipe the dust off my tripod—a lightweight, inexpensive model
I’ve had for 23 years—and put it in my suitcase. <b>As you’ll see in this video,
that little tripod made a huge difference in image quality.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first
part was recorded without a tripod because some hogs showed up much sooner than
expected. Although Luiz remained Steady-Eddie while handling the camera, he
involuntarily flinched at the rifle’s report.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While
waiting for more hogs to appear, Luiz set up the tripod. Note the rock-solid improvement
in the second sequence. Luiz framed the image and then kept his hands off the
camera when the rifle fired.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/jeXhSikQdbQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<br /></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-69841438543886110732012-09-23T14:30:00.000-07:002012-09-23T14:30:15.596-07:00SHOW-N-TELL<br />
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In this 7-minute video my good friend and premier point man, Ron Wagner, helps me demonstrate
how we use my adaptive shooting gear.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like my
hunts, this project required a team effort: My aide Luiz Paier proved himself a
very capable cameraman on our recent trip to <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">Uruguay</st1:country>; Ron conducted an
informative show-n-tell session; and I edited the video.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you have
any questions about the equipment or how we use it, please post them in the
comments section.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Yex2SYRl1-s?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-59590291467902419622012-09-17T17:14:00.000-07:002012-10-14T10:43:47.242-07:00“KINDNESS OF STRANGERS” TOUR (Part 6 of 6)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the autumn of 2006, shortly after I was diagnosed with
ALS, my wife and I embarked on a two-week whitetail safari in the Southeast. My
hunts in <st1:state w:st="on">North <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8309445289374629943" name="OLE_LINK1"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8309445289374629943" name="OLE_LINK2">Carolina</a></st1:state>, <st1:state w:st="on">South Carolina</st1:state> and <st1:place w:st="on">Georgia</st1:place> went smoothly thanks to the
help and generosity of people we hadn’t met before this trip.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Here’s the story of my <st1:state w:st="on">South Carolina</st1:state> grande finale:</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Finally a Buck</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Don’t shoot the first buck you see
tonight,” Ray Sedgwick advised me as he parked the truck. “The bigger ones come
out later.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
This afternoon—Thursday, the last
day of my whitetail safari—we weren’t at the club. Instead, I’d be hunting a
small parcel that Ray leases just for himself and his son, and that meant I
could take a buck. My host said he knew of at least one good 8-point visiting
the bait, and he hoped I’d get a shot at it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Ray backed the four-wheeler off the
trailer, helped me onto the seat and punched the throttle. We skirted a large
hayfield and entered the hardwoods on the other side, and then followed a
winding trail for 150 yards to reach the stand: a box blind about 5 feet off
the ground. A bunch of cardinals indicated the bait’s location at the end of a
70-yard shooting lane. Ray told me he was scattering corn there every two or
three days, to the tune of about 50 pounds a week.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
After getting me situated in the
blind, Ray handed me the rifle and said, “I’ll pick you up after dark.” Then he
pointed a finger at me and added, in mock seriousness, “Don’t go wandering off.
Wait right here till I get back.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Temperatures in the low 60s made it
a pleasant evening to spend in the woods, so I relaxed and took in the show.
The opening act, put on by a flock of cardinals and a supporting cast of
sparrows, lasted about 30 minutes. Next a hen turkey stepped up to scratch out
a solo performance for a half-hour or so.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Then I noticed a doe sneaking in
from the right, just 35 yards in front of me. Entering the shooting lane, she
turned and walked directly to the corn. She was safe today; her cohort,
however, was not.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
A buck entered stage left, antlers
glinting in a shaft of golden sunlight that seemed to make him glow against the
backdrop of shadowy woods. I remember noticing how sleek he looked as he stood
there, broadside. (I’ve since learned that trim-bodied bucks are young’uns.
This fella was probably two years old.) Not willing to gamble away this perfect
opportunity in hopes that a bigger buck would appear, I ignored Ray’s advice, raised
the .270 and never even glanced at the antlers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When the rifle roared, the buck
slammed to the ground and lay on his side, legs flailing. I didn’t cycle the
bolt because I figured he was anchored. I watched, flabbergasted, as the deer
struggled to his feet and disappeared in the woods to my right.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“You bonehead!” I chided myself.
“If you had been ready, you could have shot again.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
After a brief intermission, the
show—as it always must—went on. In the remaining 90 minutes of daylight, the
cardinals returned, then the turkey, and then the doe. The turkey ended up
walking right toward me and roosting in a tree above the blind. Just before
darkness lowered the curtains, a raccoon waddled over to have some corn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When Ray showed up I told him I had
knocked one over, so he helped me onto the four-wheeler and we rode down to the
corn to investigate. “Well, he couldn’t have gone very far,” Ray said,
inspecting the area with a flashlight. “There’s a lot of blood and some pieces
of lung tissue.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
As he followed the sign, Ray let
out a soft howl like a trailing hound (“aroo aroooo”) every time he found blood.
He finally returned, dragging the deer: a spindly 6-point.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>“I <i>told </i>you not to shoot the first
buck you saw!” he said.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuU1BQ5FiNlVDnF-2DtBOG3v7ee-NOPcwIE9Je-nw8xCLqVd5rz3HnVKrwwGlhRSHH_R0YWqRx0iF_GIJwRaeD5UUvHjmZkZcnyt9uF1MyMkkn1I0gkobO0wjHwk-Z4I53XlohZv74ySu2/s1600/Andy+&+Ray+Sedgwick.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuU1BQ5FiNlVDnF-2DtBOG3v7ee-NOPcwIE9Je-nw8xCLqVd5rz3HnVKrwwGlhRSHH_R0YWqRx0iF_GIJwRaeD5UUvHjmZkZcnyt9uF1MyMkkn1I0gkobO0wjHwk-Z4I53XlohZv74ySu2/s320/Andy+&+Ray+Sedgwick.JPG" title="“Andy Hahn” “disabled hunting” camotherapy “handicapped hunting”" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
“The antlers really aren’t that
important,” I said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>“This buck is a trophy to me.”</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhza-M1EbvLmtdwxSWXont9mWB6EMFEG0cX2RXRdO3LyvKmEKH0qtpIyClDQrtLrORyRWTUicjwzJ5fxSRx-jCN-MkzrfvxyM9L1niMR5apZHJM5uSQpYZ_D14y5N0IReAJ7-U0aLa-FYS/s1600/Andy+buck+01.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhza-M1EbvLmtdwxSWXont9mWB6EMFEG0cX2RXRdO3LyvKmEKH0qtpIyClDQrtLrORyRWTUicjwzJ5fxSRx-jCN-MkzrfvxyM9L1niMR5apZHJM5uSQpYZ_D14y5N0IReAJ7-U0aLa-FYS/s320/Andy+buck+01.JPG" title="“Andy Hahn” “disabled hunting” camotherapy “handicapped hunting”" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-46485096178182528872012-09-04T15:05:00.000-07:002012-10-14T10:44:22.234-07:00ON THE ROAD<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
My good friend Ron will arrive in <st1:place w:st="on">Rio</st1:place> on Sunday, September 9. We’ll be going for it and
get’n dirty on a hog hunt in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">Uruguay</st1:country>
Sept 10-14.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Right now
I’m busy organizing my gear and packing for the trip, so don’t expect any new
posts before September 17.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Hasta la
vuelta, Amigos!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Ron and me</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<st1:place w:st="on"><b><st1:city w:st="on">Ehrhardt</st1:city>,
<st1:state w:st="on">SC</st1:state></b></st1:place></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>April 2009</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4cVkkSabphPN_vtvRdYJepP9pdcmQfkPbaokOo6CoAAYPf84WxLnEeNvc9WGWm-26rbxfdL1h8uMRwnCzJIiP1aMLM4tsQFg7dyr2w85X9dsD2R-vXmHy0SC_2RoJhSLL8X6UvEUKJLL/s1600/Ron+n+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4cVkkSabphPN_vtvRdYJepP9pdcmQfkPbaokOo6CoAAYPf84WxLnEeNvc9WGWm-26rbxfdL1h8uMRwnCzJIiP1aMLM4tsQFg7dyr2w85X9dsD2R-vXmHy0SC_2RoJhSLL8X6UvEUKJLL/s320/Ron+n+me.jpg" title="“Andy Hahn” “disabled hunting” camotherapy “handicapped hunting”" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-11097932001114571682012-09-01T19:15:00.000-07:002012-10-14T10:45:01.817-07:00“KINDNESS OF STRANGERS” TOUR (Part 5 of 6)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the autumn of 2006, shortly after I was diagnosed with
ALS, my wife and I embarked on a two-week whitetail safari in the Southeast. My
hunts in <st1:state w:st="on">North <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8309445289374629943" name="OLE_LINK1"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8309445289374629943" name="OLE_LINK2">Carolina</a></st1:state>, <st1:state w:st="on">South Carolina</st1:state> and <st1:place w:st="on">Georgia</st1:place> went smoothly thanks to the
help and generosity of people we hadn’t met before this trip.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Here’s the story of a busy morning in <st1:state w:st="on">South Carolina</st1:state>:</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b></b><br />
<a name='more'></a><b>The Come-Back Doe</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the
second morning of my <st1:state w:st="on">South Carolina</st1:state>
hunt, Ray picked me up before daylight and helped me into a box blind that
watched over a feeder (baiting is legal in SC). The drizzly dawn revealed
another gray day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
automatic feeder scattered a dose of corn at 7:30, and soon afterward a slender
8-point strolled into view. The young deer nibbled at the corn for 15 minutes,
and then looked intently into the woods to my right. A larger 8-point with a
long-tined, symmetrical rack emerged from the trees, prompting the smaller buck
to walk off in the opposite direction.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since I
couldn’t shoot bucks, I sat back to enjoy the show as the big boy fed and took
frequent pauses to rub his face and antlers on overhanging branches. When Ray
pulled up in the Kubota at 8:30, the deer—80 yards away—stood and stared our
way for several minutes. It didn’t bolt until Ray took a few steps toward the
feeder.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s a
nice buck,” Ray said. “In a year or two it might be a shooter.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>I only understood that comment when I saw the homegrown
bruisers hanging on the clubhouse wall.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWU-APOFrOCc3xhi3Tln0xdN_QSkpqBaEWS7beDFBV44T6gzWwfvCsha-ROv2iOCE8_qllTAjKOzMAPZGojV26G_Ug1S4K31tn_YoSryUtKv0PQnZAPMNbQxeKdu0eG27AqVT5ipRwojMn/s1600/SC+club+wall+02.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWU-APOFrOCc3xhi3Tln0xdN_QSkpqBaEWS7beDFBV44T6gzWwfvCsha-ROv2iOCE8_qllTAjKOzMAPZGojV26G_Ug1S4K31tn_YoSryUtKv0PQnZAPMNbQxeKdu0eG27AqVT5ipRwojMn/s320/SC+club+wall+02.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Increasing
rainfall throughout the day convinced me to stay inside that afternoon, but I
was ready to hunt the next morning. Ray took me to a blind that sat 8 feet off
the ground in an area of mixed pines and hardwoods. He parked under the
entrance and helped me up into the Kubota’s bed, which shortened my ladder climb
to just four rungs.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
previous day’s rain yielded to a clear, bright dawn as I looked down a
15-foot-wide shooting lane that led to a feeder 70 yards away. At 7:30 a doe emerged
from the woods on my right and slowly walked toward the feeder. As I waited for
her to give me a good shot opportunity, she was joined by a smaller doe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the
larger doe turned broadside, facing left, I was ready. My heart raced and my
breathing was rapid, but I had a solid rest for the rifle, my legs weren’t
shaking, and I was shooting right-handed. I held the crosshairs on the
heart/lung area and squeezed. I’m sure I blinked from the recoil; in that split
second, both deer simply vanished. I had no idea which way they ran and I
didn’t see the doe’s reaction to the shot. I felt sure of a hit, though,
because the sight picture looked good. All I could do was chamber another
shell, flick on the safety and wait.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t
have to wait long. A half hour later, the smaller doe returned, approaching calmly
from the left. She began feeding, but offered no shot because she was facing
directly away from me. Then she turned slightly to the right, head down,
exposing her ribs at a steep quartering-away angle. Even though it would be a
tough one, I felt confident about taking the shot as I put the crosshairs on
the deer’s ribs. The doe collapsed at the shot and never moved.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Twenty
minutes after that shot, a 6-point buck appeared and began feeding nonchalantly
beside the dead doe. When Ray arrived at 8:45, the curious buck watched us for
a moment before it finally spooked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ray brought
some backup—fellow club members Dennis and Keith—to help assure my safe descent
from the blind. “I see you got one,” Ray said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“There’s
another one out there somewhere,” I said. “I don’t know which way she ran,
though.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was
no sign of a hit where the deer had been standing, so the guys spread out to
look for blood. Ray asked, “Which way was she facing when you shot?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I pointed
to the left. Ray took four steps in that direction and found a large splash of
bright red blood. “Here’s where she landed after the first jump. Over this way,
guys.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Keith,
Dennis and Ray disappeared in the woods as they followed the blood trail.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Soon they returned, carrying the deer.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1GsSCNMsZBn72mSRqKKCL9AjzN8DUj0voj-BOwwFD7Ln3Hmg8V9oDKkLa5YvJUJ9DQg9q0YKhb4AJ3GjrB4f-IghZlbD7QPjiFYsFjvKuRWXslHWVjGU4BtT5VsoWqpfkSdG0L0mNpUU3/s1600/SC+Keith+Dennis+Ray+03.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1GsSCNMsZBn72mSRqKKCL9AjzN8DUj0voj-BOwwFD7Ln3Hmg8V9oDKkLa5YvJUJ9DQg9q0YKhb4AJ3GjrB4f-IghZlbD7QPjiFYsFjvKuRWXslHWVjGU4BtT5VsoWqpfkSdG0L0mNpUU3/s320/SC+Keith+Dennis+Ray+03.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Dennis then examined the smaller
doe. “She was facing away from you? The bullet came out at the base of her neck
and severed the spine,” he said. “That’s good shooting for a guy who works for
a fishing magazine!”</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo4XcemKUghSHXsfUsN4-cfB96kwQAgAhz2F0LXO06RTxQGgrvsLMzv58EEC67bYWPmUt-XbsZKaOjMsvUj7SKNGv6XNTHPMMbHuWeS1xYEjdAkTO2ISzEHu-rO0N1zpy4zVK__q-s-DM1/s1600/SC+2+does+01.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo4XcemKUghSHXsfUsN4-cfB96kwQAgAhz2F0LXO06RTxQGgrvsLMzv58EEC67bYWPmUt-XbsZKaOjMsvUj7SKNGv6XNTHPMMbHuWeS1xYEjdAkTO2ISzEHu-rO0N1zpy4zVK__q-s-DM1/s320/SC+2+does+01.JPG" title="“Andy Hahn” “disabled hunting” camotherapy “handicapped hunting”" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-62311274828303372042012-08-25T18:27:00.000-07:002012-10-14T10:45:40.013-07:00“KINDNESS OF STRANGERS” TOUR (Part 4 of 6)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the autumn of 2006, shortly after I was diagnosed with
ALS, my wife and I embarked on a two-week whitetail safari in the Southeast. My
hunts in <st1:state w:st="on">North <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8309445289374629943" name="OLE_LINK2"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8309445289374629943" name="OLE_LINK1">Carolina</a></st1:state>, <st1:state w:st="on">South Carolina</st1:state> and <st1:place w:st="on">Georgia</st1:place> went smoothly thanks to the
help and generosity of people we hadn’t met before this trip.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Here’s the story of a rainy morning in <st1:state w:st="on">South Carolina</st1:state>:</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<b></b><br />
<a name='more'></a><b>Call me Lefty</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I met Mark Davis, PR man for
Shakespeare Fishing Tackle at that time, through my job at <i>Sport</i> <i>Fishing
</i>magazine. During a fishing trip—oops, I mean “business function”—Mark extended
an open invitation to hunt with him near his home in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Columbia</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">South Carolina</st1:state></st1:place>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
While plotting the itinerary for my
Southeast whitetail safari, I contacted Mark and told him which dates I could
spend in SC. “I’ll be hunting deer in <st1:place w:st="on">Missouri</st1:place>
that week,” he said. “But I’ll set something up for you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Mark put me in touch with Ray
Sedgwick, a professional bass angler sponsored by Shakespeare. Ray said I was
welcome to hunt with him, and he invited Ligia and me to stay as guests in one
of the rental cottages at the fish camp he owns.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
On the afternoon of Monday, November
6, we arrived in Cross, SC and found our way to the Canal Lakes Fish Camp,
situated just off Highway 45 on the canal between Lakes Marion and Moultrie. When
we entered the tackle shop to buy my hunting license, Ray’s mother greeted us
from behind the counter and kindly found freezer space for the venison I had
collected in <st1:state w:st="on">North Carolina</st1:state> and <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">Georgia</st1:country>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Ray came by later to introduce
himself and make plans for my hunt. His club leases a vast tract of land that
stretches from the <st1:place w:st="on">Santee River</st1:place> to Highway 45;
membership is limited to 25 hunters, and each is allowed to place three blinds
on the property. Members adhere to a rigorous deer management program that
requires commitment, effort and sacrifice. Each member may take two trophy
bucks (three years of age or older) and one lesser buck per season. That means
passing on a lot of fine-looking bucks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The club hires a wildlife biologist
to estimate the size of the deer herd on the property and determine how many
does should be harvested to maintain the population at sustainable levels.
“This year each member has to take five does,” Ray explained. “Unfortunately, I
can’t let you shoot any bucks, but you can help me with my doe quota.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Ray picked me up at 5:30 the next
morning for the short drive to the club. There, he wrote our names on a sign-in
sheet and put a pin in a wall map so others would know where we were hunting.
Then we rode his Kubota utility vehicle (stored in a shed on the premises) along
the club’s network of dirt roads to reach the blind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The floor of the box blind sat
about 5 feet off the ground. Ray steadied and helped lift me from behind as I
climbed the short ladder built of 2x4 lumber. I entered the blind on my knees
and gripped the sturdy frame for support while rising to my feet. Once I was
safely seated on a metal folding chair, Ray handed me a rifle (his son’s
Browning A-Bolt .270) and said, “I’ll be in a blind 400 yards from here. Good
luck!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
He pulled the curtain over the
blind’s entrance and when the putter of the Kubota’s engine faded in the
distance, the sound was replaced by the soft patter of drizzling rain. Pre-dawn
temperatures hovered in the high 50s.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I surveyed my surroundings as
daylight began sneaking past the low cloud cover. A 30-yard-wide field of green
clover extended 150 yards in front of me, bordered by mixed hardwoods on the
right. To my left, a huge patch of tall weeds and thick brush sat on the other
side of the dirt road. The blind consisted of a wooden frame covered by camo
canvas. A 6-by-12-inch viewing window was cut at eye level in the front, and a
similar hole let me look out the left side. I should say “at Ray’s eye level”
because he stands 5 feet 8 inches tall while I top out at 6 feet 4. So I
ignored Mom’s lectures on good posture and slouched a bit to see out the
windows. A hole below and to the right of the window served as a shooting port,
and I was glad to see that the blind’s frame included a thoughtfully placed 2x4
for a solid gun rest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>Can you see me now?</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3xhjuNBjE2pt6o_3oqSxhyphenhyphendLPoQjroOv4kgcI0LWmfGySScrrUeXiwVVqvAYOEEl4YMes8rp-ZWE2xdRSZbPJwC_QVcCQm6NOTUlu_FVhPIXJZmB_c2nRtUr5G9yyVKuLz0dV-KvzrBS-/s1600/SC+in+blind.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3xhjuNBjE2pt6o_3oqSxhyphenhyphendLPoQjroOv4kgcI0LWmfGySScrrUeXiwVVqvAYOEEl4YMes8rp-ZWE2xdRSZbPJwC_QVcCQm6NOTUlu_FVhPIXJZmB_c2nRtUr5G9yyVKuLz0dV-KvzrBS-/s320/SC+in+blind.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Other than a few early bird robins stalking
worms in the clover, the scene remained serene for the first 45 minutes of
daylight. I kept looking to my left at regular intervals because Ray had warned
me that deer often travelled the edge of the weed field. After one such gander
to the left, I returned my attention to the forward window and saw a deer in
the clover field, right in front of me, just 30 yards out. The full-grown doe
must have dropped in on a parachute because I never saw her coming. She was
completely broadside to me, walking from left to right.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The rifle leaned in the blind’s
front right corner, within easy reach, but I couldn’t grab it and thrust out
the barrel for fear of spooking the doe. I reached over, carefully picked up
the rifle and veeeery slowly pushed the muzzle out the shooting port. And I do
mean slowly. It took two minutes before I could shoulder the rifle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The doe had kept walking. She was
still only 30 yards in front of the blind, but by now was 20 yards to my right.
The angle was too steep for me to find her in the scope, and repositioning the
chair would surely make noise and alarm her. If I wanted to take a shot, I’d
have to do it left handed!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I shifted the .270 to my left
shoulder and leaned forward—far forward, because the shooting rail, tailored to
Ray’s dimensions, was a few inches low for me. Attaining and sustaining this
extreme lean required me to contract my abdominal muscles. BIG MISTAKE!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
One symptom at the onset of ALS is intense
and lengthy muscle cramping. I’m talking pit-bull-vicious cramps that bite your
calf and don’t let go, or screamers that seize a forearm and twist your hand
into a painful claw.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Right then, my abs locked up like a
bank vault. I stifled a groan and quickly leaned far back in an attempt to
stretch my belly and relieve the agonizing cramp. Thirty seconds later,
breathing more freely, I leaned forward—only to have my abs cramp up again. I
repeated the lean-cramp-stretch routine four times. With no sign of the cramps
letting up, I finally said, “This is gonna hurt that deer a lot more than it
will hurt me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Gritting my teeth, I leaned forward
and found the doe in the scope. She was facing me, head down, eating clover.
Not the ideal scenario, especially when shooting opposite-handed, but I was in
no position to wait for a better shot opportunity. I held the crosshairs at the
junction of her neck and shoulder blades, but she lifted her head before I
could shoot. I adjusted my aim to the center of her chest and squeezed the
trigger.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
At the shot, the deer hunched its
back and ran off to my right. It bounded noisily through the woods and then
crashed to the ground. After that, I heard only the gentle patter of rain on
the leaves.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Ray came by at 8:30 and showed
faith in my ability. He had obviously heard the shot, but instead of asking if
I got one, he pulled back the curtain and asked straight off, “OK, where is
she?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Laying in the woods, about 30
yards that way,” I said, pointing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Ray smiled and said, “You can wait
here while I go get her.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Fifteen minutes later he dragged
the doe onto the clover field. While helping me out of the blind, Ray said, “I
would have found her sooner, but you said ’30 yards.’ She only went 20.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>“I didn’t want to tell you until we
had a confirmed kill,” I said as Ray took my photo. “I had to shoot this doe
left handed.”</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkGDklncA_DB7QfrgefqtURF5G-bFgwCGN1wCb_xoK1fOCKaHTwvYd_7iunnPqLKO8KO2MZdi49Awx-RDJNWqVFE-1qPaulawHgTVobVJAAE7x6YB2Agxya4YB_d8GqApbH5K2URgBrvmQ/s1600/SC+lefty+04.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkGDklncA_DB7QfrgefqtURF5G-bFgwCGN1wCb_xoK1fOCKaHTwvYd_7iunnPqLKO8KO2MZdi49Awx-RDJNWqVFE-1qPaulawHgTVobVJAAE7x6YB2Agxya4YB_d8GqApbH5K2URgBrvmQ/s320/SC+lefty+04.JPG" title="“Andy Hahn” “disabled hunting” camotherapy “handicapped hunting”" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Back at the clubhouse Ray wrote the
deer’s sex and weight in the club’s harvest logbook. He also cut out a section
of the jawbone to send to a biologist, who determines a deer’s age by examining
the teeth. “We do this with every deer we shoot here,” Ray explained. “All the
info helps the biologist understand the deer herd’s overall health.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>Jawbone sample</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin0QEsYxCDDNdrB5sE13RrSThbNEPKtkD2GWpuRm-IeHd5FgJcJ7SpWkgVUMe9g8DwWABFNSPa5lozLw0m9tJYJ1AKgIYOc8tELfibzV2ZuPb3Luu7q2ftak415zxqb7XZQczdAC5t2N7F/s1600/jawbone+01.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin0QEsYxCDDNdrB5sE13RrSThbNEPKtkD2GWpuRm-IeHd5FgJcJ7SpWkgVUMe9g8DwWABFNSPa5lozLw0m9tJYJ1AKgIYOc8tELfibzV2ZuPb3Luu7q2ftak415zxqb7XZQczdAC5t2N7F/s320/jawbone+01.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Then Ray skinned and gutted the
deer, and hung it in the walk-in freezer. We found my mushroomed bullet lodged
just beneath the hide on the doe’s left flank. On the way through her body, the
bullet had clipped the top of the heart. I guess shooting southpaw didn’t cramp
my style.</div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8309445289374629943.post-44305749628254800082012-08-19T10:37:00.000-07:002012-10-14T10:46:23.781-07:00“KINDNESS OF STRANGERS” TOUR (Part 3 of 6)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the autumn of 2006, shortly after I was diagnosed with
ALS, my wife and I embarked on a two-week whitetail safari in the Southeast. My
hunts in <st1:state w:st="on">North <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8309445289374629943" name="OLE_LINK2"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8309445289374629943" name="OLE_LINK1">Carolina</a></st1:state>, <st1:state w:st="on">South Carolina</st1:state> and <st1:place w:st="on">Georgia</st1:place> went smoothly thanks to the
help and generosity of people we hadn’t met before this trip.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Here’s the story of my second-chance doe in <st1:place w:st="on">Georgia</st1:place>:</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Luck of the Draw</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the
morning of November 2, 2006, Ligia and I left <st1:city w:st="on">Wilmington</st1:city>
and headed south to the home of Spud and Chris Woodward in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Brunswick</st1:city>, <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">Georgia</st1:country></st1:place>.
I knew Chris because we both worked on the edit staff of Sport Fishing
magazine. Although we emailed back and forth nearly every day, we rarely saw
each other. I had never met her husband, Spud.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We paused at the Woodwards’ house just
long enough to stash our <st1:state w:st="on">North
Carolina</st1:state> venison in their freezer, transfer luggage
to Chris’ SUV and get on the road to their hunting camp. Spud followed us in
his pickup.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chris and
Spud don’t get excited about deer season but they are avid turkey hunters. The
hunting camp—actually a comfortable, two-story cabin surrounded by several
hundred acres of overgrown pine plantation near Baxley—belongs to their friend,
Glenn. When Spud asked, Glenn graciously agreed to let us use the cabin and
hunt deer on his property.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Early morning view of the pond behind the cabin</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMmTPLS4rb29HvkxIEvFGfjLj4WCOWE1xNLkWgAA5DzTdoDE1eaio-5J3ncdkXyLTuqDxfac9X-Vm7w4NpL13_jtVhsGwTJsR49erLpJt-TsmZOGuj9-ebe51WJo0RX6y7oO2__iIbt4O8/s1600/GA+pond+02.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMmTPLS4rb29HvkxIEvFGfjLj4WCOWE1xNLkWgAA5DzTdoDE1eaio-5J3ncdkXyLTuqDxfac9X-Vm7w4NpL13_jtVhsGwTJsR49erLpJt-TsmZOGuj9-ebe51WJo0RX6y7oO2__iIbt4O8/s320/GA+pond+02.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Spud had gone out to the property
the week before to anchor several pop-up blinds in likely spots and give the
deer time to get used to them. He took care to place them in locations
accessible by pickup, so I’d only have to shuffle about 10 yards after getting
out of the truck. With help from my walker, I could crouch through the blind’s
door and sit on a folding stool. The walker then stayed in front of me as a gun
rest. For this hunt I’d be using Chris’ Ithaca.243, powered by 95-grain Nosler handloads from Spud’s dad.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The first day I hunted over a
“beanfield” at the head of a draw just a quarter-mile from the cabin. The field
measured about 80 by 35 yards, but the area obviously wasn’t a bean-friendly
environment. The few, widely spaced plants that managed to survive in the sandy
soil were only 6 inches tall. Judging from the tracks, however, deer visited on
a regular basis.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The blind sat 5 yards inside the
pines on the beanfield’s east side, giving me a good view of the field and the
pines on the other side. The draw sloped downhill to my right, where it grew
thicker with mixed hardwoods. We hunted morning and evening, taking a midday
break for lunch and a siesta. I saw nothing larger than bluejays the first day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Spud hunted a different spot, but I
could tell where his mind really was. When he came to pick me up, his first
question was, “See any turkeys?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The next morning I saw only
songbirds while keeping vigil near the intersection of two deer trails in a
large stand of pines. I should have stayed closer to camp—on the front porch,
perhaps. Spud and I saw a deer as we drove back for lunch, and Ligia told us
she had seen four deer just 50 yards from the cabin when she went for a morning
walk.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I returned to the beanfield blind that
afternoon. As the sun dipped out of sight and the evening began to get chilly,
I noticed movement about 120 yards out front and to my right. A fox was walking
through the woods, headed up the draw toward me. Wait, that’s not a fox, it’s a
deer! Two deer!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The pair of does stopped at the
opposite edge of the beanfield, about 60 yards away, and looked around. I
shifted my position so I could shoot in that direction more comfortably. Before
I could take aim, the deer stepped into the open field and started walking to
my left. Within seconds, one doe was crossing in front of me, broadside at a
scant 30 yards.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>I flicked off the safety, moved the
rifle to my left to get slightly ahead of the moving deer and…</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTesUuuiWJKLMlIAzQq-0cO9Jts6nPUxg_Uvz12C6Ypd1XquZTgRlMVpgoHsMBs-bfZPX9BslNWRRHHcOfAy7oYCW7UK1wG5Da9SRg3lHnSSEsT7OtB0uRXKGjbkHaTmNHuT3TqZCkzay3/s1600/GA+blind+ext+04.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTesUuuiWJKLMlIAzQq-0cO9Jts6nPUxg_Uvz12C6Ypd1XquZTgRlMVpgoHsMBs-bfZPX9BslNWRRHHcOfAy7oYCW7UK1wG5Da9SRg3lHnSSEsT7OtB0uRXKGjbkHaTmNHuT3TqZCkzay3/s320/GA+blind+ext+04.JPG" title="“Andy Hahn” “disabled hunting” camotherapy “handicapped hunting”" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<b>BAM!</b></div>
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<b>Oh s**t!</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I bumped the trigger while
repositioning the .243 and sent a wild warning shot over the deer’s bow.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I cycled the bolt and kept my eye
on the deer as they sprinted directly away from me. To my amazement, they
stopped as soon as they reached the pines on the other side of the beanfield.
One doe stood broadside at 65 yards, her hindquarters hidden by a tree. But I
had a clear view of her front half, so I held the crosshairs behind the leg and
squeezed. I figured the deer dropped instantly because I saw only one white flag
bound away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Spud walked up soon after my second
shot. I told him the story in the gathering darkness and pointed toward the
spot where I expected him to find my deer. He radioed Chris—who, back at the
cabin with Ligia, had heard the shots—and asked her to bring the truck and a
strong flashlight.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When the ladies arrived, Ligia and
I waited by the truck while Spud and Chris went to retrieve the deer. Imagine
my surprise when I saw the flashlights bobbing in expanding circles, and a
20-minute search failed to produce a body. I felt sure of a hit because the
sight picture looked perfect and my walker provided a steady rest. And it had
happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to get the shakes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I’ll come out tomorrow to look in daylight,” Spud
said, and we all agreed that was the best plan. I wasn’t worried because I’ve
seen heart-shot whitetails run 100 yards while dead on their feet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I slept in while Spud took his
.25-06 for an early morning walk. Chris, Ligia and I were finishing breakfast
when Spud poked his head in the door and said, “I found Andy’s deer. I’m gonna take
the truck and get it now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The ladies cheered and I said, “I
knew it!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Spud said the deer apparently ran
70 yards after I shot it. Our autopsy of the deer revealed that my bullet had
hit high in the ribs and passed through without expanding much. The small, high
exit wound left no blood trail. It also damaged no meat, so the quarters and
backstraps were in excellent condition.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>Chris and I pose with my doe.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDeSiVQTl5X3xBLzH_FNenVqMI4N_niHjGcvcOXZQ7LkRyA67Kj1FKHepAx7sgKzlXiEmR8FnOuGnzBSwARh6-E04dmxFYJgnJ-Iw7CzTqWakJasy9YEdfSuRNTNqqFc686BtRMUwj-ZFZ/s1600/GA+Andy+Chris+01.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDeSiVQTl5X3xBLzH_FNenVqMI4N_niHjGcvcOXZQ7LkRyA67Kj1FKHepAx7sgKzlXiEmR8FnOuGnzBSwARh6-E04dmxFYJgnJ-Iw7CzTqWakJasy9YEdfSuRNTNqqFc686BtRMUwj-ZFZ/s320/GA+Andy+Chris+01.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>“We have fresh venison,” Ligia says
with a smile.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixBxTK5p6akRZkKHoBa7JmjRtq2WBnRZ811thigkak4T20T1p4fL-szOlEksL7TINHTco9wfDNX3AB3KfgPUh647d_eT8cuDZm2QHgDS0tWj8VdVhn7m9zcez1p-v8CbCqvyORNRK1fB9z/s1600/GA+Andy+Ligia+doe+01.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixBxTK5p6akRZkKHoBa7JmjRtq2WBnRZ811thigkak4T20T1p4fL-szOlEksL7TINHTco9wfDNX3AB3KfgPUh647d_eT8cuDZm2QHgDS0tWj8VdVhn7m9zcez1p-v8CbCqvyORNRK1fB9z/s320/GA+Andy+Ligia+doe+01.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b>Spud begins the task of skinning
the deer.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRRfNAFPpcyYHbut61F3bhQopOBgtQhBM3hEkIGzHWeuYGNSk9kX3Xz0jsS4anCcN-sNw44sgPDFwxp33P0qMhKuCqaaLH8GBk7EkwPaT90wVzMnJwSacuEkPVQTYNd0GPhqmf-cEPKAvI/s1600/GA+skin+01.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRRfNAFPpcyYHbut61F3bhQopOBgtQhBM3hEkIGzHWeuYGNSk9kX3Xz0jsS4anCcN-sNw44sgPDFwxp33P0qMhKuCqaaLH8GBk7EkwPaT90wVzMnJwSacuEkPVQTYNd0GPhqmf-cEPKAvI/s320/GA+skin+01.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
Andy Hahnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13888377493015310676noreply@blogger.com0