Outdoor Writer

That sounds ominously like you cheated. -TONY

Nope. Good tries, though. -TONY

Remember that adage: Be careful what you wish for. I heard the Navajos made Hillary an honorary tribal member. They bestowed the name Walking Eagle on her. One of the reporters covering the event asked the chief the significance of the name. The chief said it roughly translates into, "Bird so full of s*#t it can't fly." -TONY

A couple more Leopold quotes. -TONY A peculiar virtue in wildlife ethics is that the hunter ordinarily has no gallery to applaud or disapprove of his conduct. Whatever his acts, they are dictated by his own conscience, rather than by a mob of onlookers. It is difficult to exaggerate the importance of this fact Examine each question in terms of what is ethically and aesthetically right, as well as what is economically expedient.

Hillary. -TONY

Good show. 'Tis the man. Some consider ol' Aldo as the father of modern game management, and for the younger folks here who don't have a clue about him, pick up a copy Sand County Almanac at the library. -TONY

I have no idea if that was already in a thread here. It's a quote I have often referred to over the years, though, and posting it here reminded me of a LAST SHOT column I wrote in AZ HUNTER & ANGLER nearly 22 year ago on the very day my grandfather died. A copy of it went into the grave with him. It's reproduced below. He didn't know the person who wrote the quote above, but be sure to note that he held the same convictions about being ethical. -TONY A TRIBUTE TO POP At some point in nearly everyone's life, another person ultimately will influence one's behavior --- conduct, morals, principles, ethics, whatever. My life was no different. Early on, my grandfather, Luigi Migali, became that person. Everyone knew him as "Pop." Born in Sicily in 1891, Pop came to New Jersey as a teenager and worked construction jobs for most of his life. He battled through the Great Depression, saved enough money to build a house and eventually retired in the late 1950s. Although the hunting opportunities close to home were meager, Pop made the best of them. Each year he hunted for deer in the hardwoods and farm fields of upper New York State, and on Thanksgiving Day custom dictated that he and the other men in the family spend a cool, autumn morning searching for a few rabbits, squirrels or upland birds. The outings into the brightly-hued woods were only for grown-ups; I never went along with them. After learning how to shoot by sniping rats in a local dump, I eventually killed a spike buck on a hunt in New York State. I was 17 then and went with my cousin, who was also 17. Although I never hunted with my grandfather back then, I spent a lot of time with him; weekend family gatherings and Sunday dinners typified Italian traditions. Because I was the first and only grandson, Pop might have played favorites. I’m not sure, but I do know we were always close. Pop moved to Arizona with my parents in 1960, and my wife and I followed a few months later. At the time, he was already in his 70s. I had just turned 20. The hunting opportunities in our new home state excited us both. We immediately began a new relationship. In addition to being grandfather and grandson, we became hunting buddies. During the time we spent together, Pop taught me things my urban upbringing precluded. He showed me the fundamentals -- the proper way to sharpen a knife, pluck a bird, field dress a deer and other things kids who had spent their early years in the outdoors probably had learned before they were 14. I retained it all. But the philosophical things --- matters dealing with the moral or ethical side of hunting --- are what I remember most. Pop always told me, “Obey the law and do only what you feel is right. If there's a doubt, don't do it.” I’ve followed that advice for more than 35 years now. My two boys started to come along on our hunting trips before they were 10 years old. Their “Papa” taught them, as well. Sometimes they still acted contrary to what Pop felt was right. When that happened, he corrected them, usually with his favorite short and to the point reprimand --- "Shame on you." Like most youngsters growing up, my sons and daughter often shed tears as a result of a scolding or an insignificant hurt. Pop chided them with "Big boys (or girls) don't cry." That usually stemmed the flow of tears as it did for me throughout my childhood. For 15 years, Pop accompanied me on every hunting trip. We scattergunned for fast-flying doves and flushing quail, crawled through the sage for speedy pronghorns, climbed the foothills for the elusive javelina and stalked through the pines for the majestic elk. And yes, we hunted mule deer, too; Pop relished it. The North Kaibab usually produced venison for the freezer, so it became Pop's favorite hunting spot. I took him there whenever possible. In the early 1960s, Kaibab deer permits came easy. Later, however, after the drawing system went into effect, our hunting trips to the North Rim dwindled. If we failed to get a permit, Pop showed great disappointment. Pop rarely was sick. The years eventually took their toll, however. A strenuous day in the field often caused him to experience severe leg cramps in the middle of the night. I would then climb out of my toasty sleeping bag and rub the baseball-sized knots in his thighs until the pain subsided. It never discouraged him, though. He endured the hurts rather than miss the thing he cherished most. Despite the fact his physical ability lessened, his love for hunting persevered. While I spent my days stalking through the woods in search of good buck, Pop sat in one place for hours, waiting for a legal deer to show itself within range of his .30/06. Hoping to spook something toward him, I made a point of ending my day by circling toward his position. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn't. I could always count on finding Pop where I had left him, usually leaning up against a tree or sitting on a stump, watching and waiting. He marveled at the fact that I covered many miles in a day's hunting. When my boys were a bit older, they often came along on dove hunts, and the oldest, Keith, even went with us on a Kaibab deer hunt when he was 8. Pop had sliced an apple and made Keith put a couple hunks in his jacket pocket so the smell might keep deer from scenting them. He warned the boy not to tell me because I had already told Pop I didn't think the smell of apples in the Arizona woods was any better than human scent. My son, now in his mid-20s, and I still chuckle about it years later. Due to family circumstances, Pop moved back to New Jersey in 1976, and quit hunting about four years ago. He then visited every summer, and if I had killed some game the previous fall, he went home with a box of meat. Yet, his heart remained in Arizona; he longed to return for good. Last July, he got his wish. His stay was brief. On October 12, 1985, three months after he returned to the place he loved most, my hunting partner made his last stalk. Without a doubt, he's probably watching me struggle through this column and saying, "Shame on you. Big boys don't cry." Pop was rarely wrong. He would be this time.

Nope. Good guess, tho. -TONY

The new HE site is pretty neat because you can take multiple practice tests and actually get graded. Each test is based on 75 randomly selected questions. So can can take several and rarely see the same 75 questions. Direct link to the Practice Test page. -TONY

Following the logical progression, I guess we should be recommending shotguns for Coues deer. -TONY

. -TONY

Wonder if Jessica is housebroken? -TONY

Quite a lady, huh? Reminds me of a blind date I had in HS. -TONY

Hmmm. Guess that means I should cancel the mariachi band, huh? -TONY

Here's the link for the ONLINE course. -TONY

The above is a key element to the concerns about youngsters. It would be difficult to pass an exam if they don't grasp the concepts during the online portion. We should hope parents would serve as pseudo instructors if they elect to have their kids do it online. -TONY

Okay, I'm not familiar with that area. I hunted 'lopes north of Miles City about 15 years ago, and the terrain was like a moonscape. Though it was pretty in its own sort of way, it was ugly at the same time. -TONY

I started a new thread in this section from the one we were having in the Auction Hunt thread in Other Big game. So refer to that one for the earlier discussion. I had a discussion about this thread with one of my contacts at AZ G&FD and also mentioned the suggestions I made concerning elimination of ALL the special tags and replacing them with surcharges and/or a special habitat stamp that everyone pays. He said he could easily support such a move and told me to write it all up and e-mail it to the director's office to be distributed to the commission as a starting point. BUT...he also suggested such a move will get strong opposition from the various self-interest alphabet groups who will claim it will hinder their ability to raise funds at their banquets. I don't think the latter will happen, however, except for the actual money raised through the raffle/auction of the tags. And of course, the whole idea is that the surcharge/stamp revenue will replace that. I did mention that opposition might come from a couple guides, however. Comments??? -TONY

That does not sound to good for you Jim. Shortpants might find a mid 60's bruiser for ya. Jim, Congrats. Where abouts in the state? Anywhere near Miles City?? -TONY

Here's snippet from the article I did for Petersen's Hunting about that bear hunt. I had killed the smaller one on the first day. -TONY On the second day of the hunt, Pattison and I checked an area where he had seen a big bruin during the previous week. The bear had been feeding on a winter-killed moose close to the edge of a logging road. We arrived about two hours before dark and parked the truck about a half-mile away. Of course, because the road was gravel, Pattison insisted we leave our boots at the truck. This time, however, I was ready; after the experience of the first day, I wore two pairs of heavy socks. We walked about 200 yards before I saw a movement in the brush a short distance from the road. I stopped and grabbed Pattison's arm. He saw why almost immediately. "Geez, that's one of those chocolate grizzlies. Shoot him." I dropped to one knee and looked through the scope. "It's a black," I whispered. "No way," Pattison countered. "He's too big for a black. Shoot." The boom of the .338 shattered the eerie quiet, and the bullet penetrated through the willows, striking the bear behind the shoulder. The animal wheeled around and bit at the spot. "Shoot him again before he gets into the trees," Pattison yelled. I already had worked another cartridge into the Browning's chamber, but getting a good shot at the spinning bear was nearly impossible. I aimed at the middle of the whirling blur and fired. Again, the bullet hit with an audible "whap.". Pattison already had started toward the spot at a slow trot. "He's down, let's go." I chambered another round just in case and caught up to the guide. When we got close, we slowed to a careful walk. I held the rifle ready just in case the bear decided to be beligerent. But he was quite dead. Pattison looked at the motionless mound of fur and shook his head from side-to-side. "You were right. It is a black. Look at the size of that son-of-a-gun, though!" We skinned the big black the next morning. The hide measured 8 ft., 1 in. from the tip of its tail to the nose. Pattison estimated its weight at 500 pounds.

The lifesize bear is from British Columbia, as are the hides that are in my old trophy room. The rug on the wall in the old room is an AZ bear, however. I killed the latter during a spring hunt for turkey on the White Mt. Reservation near Cibecue in the 1960s. I guess you mean the lion hide on the trunk in the old room, no? If so, it's from AZ. I killed that on a horseback hunt many years ago with Josh Epperson's dad, Randy, in the Sycamore Canyon Wilderness Area. Here are some photos of the BC bears and the lion. This is the one I had mounted lifesize. Killed in 2003 just north of Prince George. Spot-&-stalk; one shot with 140-gr .264 Wmag. This is a better pix of the mount after I had just got it home. I built the roll-around base to match the woodwork in the house, and the mount and landscaping were done by Marc Plunkett at Wildlife Creations. The next two are bears I killed on my first hunt in the same place. The green hide of largest was 8'1" from the tip of the nose to the end of the tail. The other was 7'6". Both killed with .338 WM 225-gr. bullets from a Browning A-Bolt. This is the lion in the tree, and the 2nd is Randy Epperson with my lion.

'Nough said. E-mail me when you come up with a date. I can probably spend a couple days as long as you feed me good. -TONY

Okay, this thread will contain several messages describing my 10-day hunt in South Africa in 2003 with John X Safaris. Enjoy -- TONY On the first morning, we traveled about 5 hrs. north from the main lodge and stayed at another lodge. After checking our rifles on the range, we hunted gemsbok that afternoon on a concession that hadn't been hunted in years. Here's the result. Back to the lodge for a hearty dinner and a second night for my hunting partner Troy Morzelewski and me to ease the jet lag from the long flight. Next morning we went to another concession about an hour from the lodge to hunt springbok. There were hundreds of them, and they were about the fiddgitiest (is that even a word??) critters I’ve ever hunted. We spent a few hours glassing and trying to get close to several good bucks, but some other 'bok would always spook the herd. I finally told Ed Wilson, my PH, that I was perfectly comfortable shooting out to 300 yards with my .264 if necessary and suggested we just set up under a tree somewhere and wait for something to wander in range. Soooo...that's what we did. After about a 20 min. wait, a small herd that was about 1/2 mile distant started moving our way. We surmised my hunting partner and his PH were probably near them and unknowingly acted as our drivers while we were set up like stump hunters. I was already in a sitting position with my SnipePod, and as the herd moved parallel to us, my PH ranged the biggest buck at just over 200 yards. The 140-gr. bullet passed through, and the buck ran about 30 yards before he tumbled butt-over-tea kettle in a heap. I was quite pleased with both the length and lyre-like shape of the horns. After my partner killed his a while later, we took the photos, caped the animals, packed our gear at the lodge and then drove east to the lodge and concession owned by Troy's PH, Ray Kemp. When we arrived at Lalapa Safaris, we still had some daylight left so my PH and I went after a black wildebeest while Troy and Ray chased a blesbok. We glassed bulls in three different herds before I shot this one.

Ok, will do. Just don't count on it happening within the next few days. I have cases scattered all over in boxes, etc. So it will take me a while to take inventory, but I might have close to 200 or more. Hang loose a bit. -TONY

Yup, it was a VERY big cat. Hide measures nearly 9' from nose to tail tip. Not sure where it stands now, but I think it was the largest Randy had ever taken. The sad part is I never got to have it mounted and even lost the skull to a somewhat unscrupulous taxidermist. After I had the hide tanned, I stored it -- along with a bunch of other hides -- in black plastic trash bags in a closet until I could afford to have them mounted one at a time. I had the life-size lion and two black bears (in the pix above!), whitetail & blacktail deer capes, a 1/2 javelina and a life-size blackbuck. BUT...I kept them that way too long, so the tanning oils dried out. When I had Marc Plunkett mount the whitetail, the hide tore to pieces when he wet and stretched it. So he found me a replacement. He tested the lion hide by wetting a foot and trying to stretch it -- same result unfortunately. So now it's draped over a coffee table in my trophy room rather than the trunk as in the photo in the other thread. I had given the skull to the first taxidermist so he could have it "beetled" for me. He kept it in his freezer for a long time, then went out of business. He did give me a frozen and wrapped skull, but it was from a much smaller lion -- likely the one his son killed just months before. I didn't realize that until months later when I went to clean it myself. It was quite easy to tell because my lion had a chipped tooth and that one didn't. By then, getting any satisfaction would have been fruitless. -TONY