GC
Well-known member
I'm about sick over it. It wasn't much of a shot opportunity, but it was an opportunity and I couldn't pull it off.
Dad and I went to another of our honey holes. A long ridge with lot's of spur ridges left and right, a deep, deep, rough hollow on either side. This ridge has been timbered a long time ago and ever so often there are grown up clear-cuts along its length. There is an OLD logging trail down the spine of the ridge. This old trail has coyote tracks galore, going both ways. Lots of scat of different ages and sizes. AND, bobcat tracks!
At one point there is a real bottleneck where the ridgetop pinches hard together and gets real narrow and razorbacked. On the left there is a grown up real brushy side. Real thick. On the right there is an open face with scattered mature trees where the loggers selectivly cut. The old tops of the removed trees are scattered about the slope. On the left there is a spring in the deep hollow and some car sized boulders all down the bottom. Rough country. Usually has wild hog sign in there too.
The wind was quartering to me from the left to right. I set up looking down the old trail in a small saddle. Dad was over my right shoulder downwind. Visibility was limited to just the old trail in front of me. I wanted to call anything right down the trail into the saddle which would be my "kill zone." That's funny, "kill zone!"
Anyway, I'm working the Sceery AP-6 busy and high pitched, bird distress tailing the call off occasionally with just a hint of a courser pitch. I'm trying to call a cat because of the fresh tracks we've seen. After twenty minutes I suddenly realize there is a bobcat sitting beside a stump behind some tall yellow grass about 80 yards away at the far edge of the saddle. It's just sitting there watching me. When it arrived I have no clue, it's just suddently - THERE. My rifle is snugged into my shoulder, left hand on the forearm, balanced over my left knee. Right hand is holding the call on top of the stock. I'm telling you this so I hope you understand how little movement was required to let the call slip out of my hand and lower my face onto the stock behind the scope. I did this and the cat hunkered down behind the yellow grass. He's out of sight, but I'm loking through my scope set at 3X and I'm right on that yellow grass. I figure a lip squeak or two and I've got a cat. Yea, right. I lip squeaked and that cat took two big jumps away at a hard quartering angle across the trail and dissappeared. I snapped a shot at him as he cleared the trail but missed clean. As the shot broke I can still see the crosshair drift over his back, too late to stop the shot.
He was a biggun. I mean a real biggun. Long legged and dark gray, nearly black it seemed along his back. Oh well, such is hunting.
Dad and I went to another of our honey holes. A long ridge with lot's of spur ridges left and right, a deep, deep, rough hollow on either side. This ridge has been timbered a long time ago and ever so often there are grown up clear-cuts along its length. There is an OLD logging trail down the spine of the ridge. This old trail has coyote tracks galore, going both ways. Lots of scat of different ages and sizes. AND, bobcat tracks!
At one point there is a real bottleneck where the ridgetop pinches hard together and gets real narrow and razorbacked. On the left there is a grown up real brushy side. Real thick. On the right there is an open face with scattered mature trees where the loggers selectivly cut. The old tops of the removed trees are scattered about the slope. On the left there is a spring in the deep hollow and some car sized boulders all down the bottom. Rough country. Usually has wild hog sign in there too.
The wind was quartering to me from the left to right. I set up looking down the old trail in a small saddle. Dad was over my right shoulder downwind. Visibility was limited to just the old trail in front of me. I wanted to call anything right down the trail into the saddle which would be my "kill zone." That's funny, "kill zone!"
Anyway, I'm working the Sceery AP-6 busy and high pitched, bird distress tailing the call off occasionally with just a hint of a courser pitch. I'm trying to call a cat because of the fresh tracks we've seen. After twenty minutes I suddenly realize there is a bobcat sitting beside a stump behind some tall yellow grass about 80 yards away at the far edge of the saddle. It's just sitting there watching me. When it arrived I have no clue, it's just suddently - THERE. My rifle is snugged into my shoulder, left hand on the forearm, balanced over my left knee. Right hand is holding the call on top of the stock. I'm telling you this so I hope you understand how little movement was required to let the call slip out of my hand and lower my face onto the stock behind the scope. I did this and the cat hunkered down behind the yellow grass. He's out of sight, but I'm loking through my scope set at 3X and I'm right on that yellow grass. I figure a lip squeak or two and I've got a cat. Yea, right. I lip squeaked and that cat took two big jumps away at a hard quartering angle across the trail and dissappeared. I snapped a shot at him as he cleared the trail but missed clean. As the shot broke I can still see the crosshair drift over his back, too late to stop the shot.
He was a biggun. I mean a real biggun. Long legged and dark gray, nearly black it seemed along his back. Oh well, such is hunting.
But I'll keep working these areas. Way too much sign not to. Sooner or later! Jimmie
