Getting this close to a bear is never a wise idea

Bear hunting is a special brand of outdoor adventure where the hunted can become the hunter. It's where the tables can be rapidly turned on a sportsman, and where things can get very interesting very quickly.

It doesn't happen very often with black bears, but when one attacks, it's not good news. A grizzly will maul and bite a human, often inflicting horrific injuries, but the person often lives.

Black bear, even though they are the most common bruin of all, are perhaps the most dangerous. Their attack may continue until the victim is dead. It has happened many times across North America, and in many cases, the human doesn't survive such brutal maulings. In certain situation, the bruin makes a meal of its victim.

Someone in North America gets mauled by a black bear yearly. It's a matter of fact, and it has happened in Michigan several times over the years.

Anytime a bear is within 100 yards of you, there may be danger

I lay no claim to being a black bear expert, but have hunted bruins, photographed them, and have had them approach within three feet of me. Each experience is one to learn from, and to hope it never happens again. A human's best hope is he does everything right if a bear gets within three feet. One wrong move, and it can mean terrible trouble.

I've never been truly frightened of a black bear even when they've come within spitting distance on a dead run. Knowing some things about bears can help you cope with the animal when things turn sour, and an angry bear is only feet away. What you do may truly affect the outcome of the encounter.

This is not mean to frighten people, but the Michigan bear hunting seasons opens in September. However, during this mild winter, bruins can awaken in their den and now is about the time sow bears give birth to their cubs. Realize, first of all, black bears are unpredictable at any time, and a sow with little ones is something to steer clear of.

Whenever bears are baited or being run with hounds, and  humans may find themselves within close proximity of a bruin, and neither one knows it. Throw in the fact that the bear may be a sow with young cubs, and there is the potential for disaster.

Once while photographing a black bear in Canada's Northwest Territories I was downwind of a foraging bruin. It turned, looked in my direction just as I took a photo with a flash. It startled the animal, and it came walking slowly toward me. It was straight upwind of me.

I talked to the animal in a fairly soft voice. I kept my voice level, and it approached close enough that I could have touched it on the head, which I knew would probably be a major mistake. The animal continued to circle me, and as it moved around me, I turned with it and continued to face it and talk. The bear got downwind of me, caught my scent, and circled back the same path as before and slowly walked away.

Talk to a bear in a soft, level tone. Don't scream or shout. Whatever you do, don't get silly or hysterical. This isn't Disney World.

If a bear is seen, make some noise, don’t walk closer and it may leave

One important thing in bear encounters is to keep a clear head. Don't scream at the animal, and realize that a wild bear can sense anxiety and fear. The same is also true of a junkyard dog. Running from a bear is the worst thing to do. Watch the animal, and read the messages it gives you.

Know this: bears, and especially sows with cubs, will often make a false charge toward a person. They can walk, trot or run, but you'll hear teeth clacking, deep growling, and then the bear will stop at 10 to 20 feet and assess the situation.

It is defending its turf and its cubs, and a slow dignified retreat with soft talk while facing the animal can put an end to the whole business. However, it doesn't always end that way.

Know what to do, and do it, in a bear-man confrontation

The trick is to stand your ground until she stops. Step backwards slowly for a step or two, and talk to the bear. If it does nothing, take two or three more slow steps backwards. This allows the animal some space, and gives it a chance to save face. Its enemy is retreating to avoid what could be a deadly confrontation. Just don't make any quick moves, and pay some attention to your footing. If you fall down, it could trigger an attack that would be difficult to defend against.

Watch the bear. Keep a level head, and don't crowd the animal. If it comes, turn with it, but watch its head because the body will follow the head. Study its actions intensely. A bear that becomes increasingly agitated is now a deadly animal and the risk of an attack escalates.

A bear that approaches within 15 to 20 feet and stops, its ears laid back against its skull, and is clacking its teeth and growling, is a dangerous animal. A bear that does that, and then begins slamming its front feet against the ground, has become truly dangerous. Back up and try to defuse the situation with a slow retreat and a soft voice Don't step toward a bear that is stomping its front feet.

Do not run. Never run from a bear because it's like running from a mean dog: the chances are it will trigger a charge. A full-blown charge with foot stomping, growls, ears laid back, and clacking of teeth is something that will stir your guts into soup and give your mouth a coppery taste. This is no time to lose your head and do stupid things.

Continue to face the animal but try a slow-moving retreat. Chances are the bear doesn't want to force the issue, but this posturing can be a prelude to a mauling and death or a close call. In many cases, the human's movements or lack of them may act as a catalyst that triggers an attack.

Allow bears to save face; Give it a way out but don’t run

Saving face is no different with a bear than with a bar-room bully. Sometimes the issue can be resolved without incident; other times, it can only be resolved with force. A man alone, unarmed, is not capable of fighting a faster and stronger bear. A few instances have been noted of a bear-man fight, including one here in Michigan, and they are the stuff of wild tales ... except some of them are absolutely  true.

Few people will ever face a false charge, and even fewer will come to grips with a full-blown charge. Those who face the latter (and it's difficult to determine one from the other until the attack occurs) and live to tell the story are a rare breed in today's society.

I've faced three, and all were defused after several troubling minutes, but the best advice is to stand tall, make yourself look as big as possible, talk (don't scream) to the animal, and give the bear a chance to save face without injury to it or you.

Backing away or stepping aside when a bruin is very close can leave you with a wildly beating heart, a dry mouth and your life, providing you do everything right. The chance of a bear attack anywhere is rather remote, but it pays to have some knowledge of what to do well before such a need is standing only 10 feet away with its ears back.

Especially if the bear has a surly attitude and you are wondering how you ever got into such a situation. Just remember: keep your head, don't lose control, and you may have a hair-raising tale to tell.

Make a mistake at this crucial point, and even the best Hollywood make-up artist won't be able to make you recognizable to your best friends and family at the funeral.

This was the moment of truth with this big steelhead.

My net was pulled from under my belt behind my back. The fish was 10 feet upstream as my net went into the river, and George leaned back to get the fish up on the surface, and at just the right time, he dropped the tip and the fish dove into the net. My sole job was to lift it out of the water.

"Good dip," he said, as we waded ashore. The steelhead, a red-slashed male with bright cheeks and gill covers, was 16 pounds of broad-beamed raw power. George worked the No. 4 wiggler fly out, eased the big guy into the river, and with a splash he was gone. Our trips came and went like that fish.

Several years before George died in 2003, I took him caribou hunting in northern Quebec. From home to Montreal, I told him there were two things you don't do: never shoot the first caribou bull seen, and never shoot a cow caribou. They do have very small antlers.

We hunted together, and I ran him down the sprawling lake in a square-stern canoe with a small outboard motor, pointed to the top of a tall and open "baldie," a treeless hill-top where long-range visibility was superb.

He would use binoculars, and study any caribou seen. My plan was to scout the lake's south end. I found an area where caribou had traveled, and the trail looked like a cattle path. I was looking for a good downwind spot to sit when a shot rang out.

It could only be George. The others in our party were far to the north. I returned to the canoe, motored over to where I'd dropped him off, and saw him trudging down the hill, carrying something. The closer he got, the more it looked like a cow caribou head.

"Didn't I say not to shoot a cow?" I asked. He bowed his head in mock shame, and said: "But I'll have the biggest cow caribou rack in camp."

George admitted shooting a cow caribou and took the razzing.

The other hunters teased him about it, and he made up for it by shooting a very nice bull two days later. The razzing didn't bother him, and he had fun.

Another time we hunted Le Chateau Montebello, a famous Quebec resort. We were there to hunt whitetails, and our guide said we'd be lucky to see a deer. If we did, he said, it would be a shooter.

The guy put on one-man drives, and I've worked deer drives for many years. I can tell good drives from bad, and this guy was an expert. He walked softly, yipped like a beagle puppy occasionally, and never hurried the deer. They just moved slowly ahead of him.

Far off, on the third day, I heard him yip softly to let us know he was coming. It was a large area to watch, but 10 minutes later a white-antlered 8-pointer eased from the woods and stood, side-lit by the sun against a pine tree. It was a beautiful sight.

The buck came out, turned away from me, and I took the close shot.

He turned to look the opposite way, and I slowly raised the rifle and shot. He went down, and George almost beat me to the buck. It was the only deer we saw, but he wasn't disappointed. He loved listening to the wolves howl at night, and was happy that one of us took a good buck.

"Good shot, good buck, and where's the guide?" He asked. "This buck weighs well over 200 pounds, and we will need help moving it."

The guide showed up, we boiled a kettle for tea with our sandwiches, and walked four miles to his truck. It is the only whitetail I've taken in Quebec, but it's important because we shared the hunt in a unique Canadian location.

Neither of us have ever been competitive, but years ago before I wrote the first story about pink salmon runs in Upper Peninsula streams, George was with me to share what might be an adventure. We didn't know if we'd find the humpback salmon or not.

We fished pink salmon in the morning and hunted bears in the afternoon, and soon found fish in the Big Huron River. They usually spawn on odd-numbered years and we found hordes of them on the first gravel bar above the river-mouth.

We'd guided river fishermen for 10 years, and began catching pinkies on flies. An orange fly tied on a No 6 hook produced best, and they were some of George's tried-and-true original steelhead and salmon patterns. The fish weren't big but were aggressive.

Dueling it out for a Michigan state pink-salmon record.

Here's another one," he said. "I'm taking it to the store to weigh it. I figure he'll be just over two pounds. There's no state record for pink salmon so let's set one."

Back he came, and it weighed 2 lbs., 3 oz., and so I tried to beat him. Mine weighed 2 lbs., 4 oz. The next day we caught fish of 2 lbs., 5 oz, and then 2 lbs., six oz. On the last day George caught one that weighed 2 lbs., 7 oz. and it became a state record that stood for several years.

I was tickled for him, and he got a Master Angler award, and the mounted fish hung in the DNR offices in Lansing for years before his record was broken. He didn't care. He'd had his "15 minutes of fame."

And that was the neat thing about brother George. He could go with the flow, be happy doing anything outdoors, and greeted each day with a smile on his face. He had the capacity to make others feel good and feel as if they were the most important person in his life on that day.

He was game for almost anything. I set up a bear hunt in the Upper Peninsula one year, and although he had hunted bruins near St. Helens, he wanted an Upper Peninsula bruin.

We hunted near Marquette and near the Laughing Whitefish River, and it was there on a nice September day that he took a good animal.

It walked in, stopped near the edge of the swamp, stood up to survey the bait site, and slowly dropped to all fours. The bear was cagey and moved slowly to circle the bait. There was no wind, and scenting conditions were bad, but the bruin was cautious.

After catching pink salmon, George shot a nice black bear.

George could see the animal at times, watched the bracken ferns move as it walked through them, but could never see enough for an accurate shot. Finally, apparently satisfied that all was well, the bear strolled slowly into the bait site and stood facing him.

He waited until it turned and offered a broadside shot, and one shot from his 30-06 took out the heart and lungs, and broke the off-side shoulder. His bear weighed a bit over 200 pounds, and it was a wonderful animal for him.

George and I shared 64 years of great fishing and hunting adventures, and I made sure he could accompany me on some of these fishing and hunting trips. Summer is a great time to remember, and these fond memories of the Richey twins on the outdoor trail will always stick with me.

Perhaps one day soon, I'll tell of many other fishing and hunting trips where he and I had wonderful times outdoors, together and sharing our common love for the outdoors. He was a great companion, and I certainly miss him.

The author (left) took this 350-pound sow in the U.P. Tony Knight with 450--pounder.

The Traverse City Record-Eagle newspaper had bear photos on the paper earlier this week. At least two black bears came to town for a brief visit. They were probably both boars (male) bears looking for a sow (female) to breed.

There was one photo of a Michigan State Police (I think) officer a few feet from the wild animal, and a man standing on his porch (also close), and neither person acted concerned. Often when bruins come visiting, the animal climbs a tree and a crowd gathers below.

No one seems to act as if this is a wild animal, one that is fiercely fast and strong, and could harm or kill a human. If a bear shows up, everyone calls their friends and neighbors, and the whole crew surrounds the animal. That someone hasn’t been seriously injured with their foolish actions, is a miracle. A black bear and out-run a horse for 40 yards, and I don’t care how fast you could run the 100-yard dash in high school, any time a human is within 100 yards of a bear, they are in potential danger.

Black bears, no matter how cute and cuddly they look, cannot be trusted.

During my 44 years of outdoor writing, I have deliberately put myself close to wild bears for the purpose of taking photos. Sometimes I’ve been armed but often I am not. I know a good bit about the unpredictability of black bears, and whenever I’ve been close, I am well aware of the problems. One can get close to some bears, and other animals will attack. I’ve had many close encounters with bruins, have written bear attack stories for Outdoor Life magazine years ago, and have faced many bluffing charges.

The difference between a bluff charge is like bluffing on a poker bet.

The problem is few people can tell the difference. If a bear bluffs, and the human runs, he/she may be attacked and seriously hurt or killed. Never run from a mean dog, and never run from any bear unless the bear is far away and you are close to cover.

A black  bear might look cute and cuddly, but people who live in bear country know (or should know) that looks can be deceiving. Never, ever turn your back on a bear.

Bears, right now, are moving around. This is the beginning of their breeding period, and boars are looking for sows. Those sows with nearly two-year-old cubs are sending the kids off on their own so they can breed with the largest boar in the area. This means that people who frequent cedar swamps, other dense and thick areas, could encounter a bruin.

Folks who live in and around Traverse City obviously live in bear country. Don’t forget that we do live near bruins even though we seldom see them.

Never trust a black bear of any age. They are unpredictable animals.

Some black bears attack. Some do not, but people shouldn't walk around without being aware of what is going on in the woods around them. A sow with cubs is always a potential threat, and boars occasionally attack as well.

Black bear encounters can be sticky or the bruin may run at the first sight or smell of a human. But here are some recorded black bear attacks by animals that didn't play by the rules. As you will see, some paid with their life.

Some documented Michigan black bear attacks.

•The Early 1900s: Frank Devereaux, of the Cheboygan area, was attacked by a bruin after he shot the animal in the flank with a muzzleloader. The bear struck the man on the head and killed him after biting him on the leg. The animal was later found dead a short distance from Devereaux's body.

A wood sign was placed at his grave site and it reads: "Here lies F. Devereaux, killed by the ferocity of a famous bear, in whose memory this monument has been erected out of generosity of his grandson." A marble headstone was added years later.

•July 7, 1948: Three-year-old Carol Ann Pomranky lived with her parents in the Upper Peninsula in a remote U.S. Forest Service fire-tower cabin near Brimley. The girl was playing outside when a 125-pound bear pulled her off the cabin porch. The animal dragged her into the woods, killed her by biting through her neck -- severing her spine -- and fed on the body. The bear was killed the same day as it returned to feed on the little girl’s corpse.

Some people survived bear attacks and some did not.

•June 5, 1960: Arthur DeGault, 71, of Engadine was attacked by a sow with three cubs. The man happened on the bears by accident, and when he tried to get away, she attacked and bit his thigh. He hit the sow with his fist, and it stood erect to swat and bite him as he tried to back away. He drew a knife and stabbed the bear several times. The bruin fled, and he walked a mile to his home. His injuries required 100 stitches.

•July, 1975: Paul Cameron, 16, of Dearborn, was camping in the Upper

Peninsula’s Porcupine Mountains. He awoke in the morning and heard a bear prowling around. The animal knocked his tent down and began dragging it away.

Cameron rolled from the tent, lay motionless on the ground, and the bruin grabbed him by the throat with its teeth. He screamed, and the bear dropped him and ran away. A 125-pound sow with two cubs were later killed as they ransacked his abandoned tent.

•Autumn, 1976: Joe Newman, Sr. of Palmer was grouse hunting and nearly stepped on two sleeping bear cubs. They squalled, and Newman was charged by the sow. The bear was shot three times at point-blank range with a 20-gauge shotgun. Newman was not injured.

•June, 1978: Michael Patterson, 19, of Alma, was attacked by a boar and climbed a balsam tree to escape. His back and legs had been bitten and scratched by a bear, but he died of a ruptured lung and kidney. It's thought a bear pulled the man from the tree, and the fall killed him.

•September 19, 1982: John Skosnik of Warren was bear hunting and apparently shot a sow that was accompanied by unseen cubs. The wounded sow charged the hunter and bit him numerous times before leaving.

Bears are very unpredictable. There have been several very close encounters between me and adult black bears but I have never had a major problem. But the next bruin I meet may prove to be an exception to the rule. Never trust a black bear, and whenever possible, avoid any confrontation.

Black bears that visit Michigan’s cities are not tame. Stay away from them.

Bears have invaded Traverse City, and these wandering critters of late spring and early summer are almost always young two-year-old boars. All are trying to find a new home, somewhere where larger bears won’t be running them off or trying to eat them. Besides the local bruins, bears have been seen in the Thumb area, near Midland, Lansing, Grand Rapids, and even down the Michigan-Indiana border. Bears are moving around and people should be aware of their surroundings. One of the Traverse City bears was seen wandering the streets that day.

I think it’s neat that bruins can live fairly close to civilization. However, too many bears near large population centers frighten little old men and women and children. How people react to bears at close range can determine the outcome of such encounters.

Whatever you do, never run from a black bear. It can cause the animal to chase you, and bears can out-run a galloping horse for 100 yards. Stand your ground, make yourself look as large as possible, and talk – don’t shout – at the animal. If it’s possible try to back away but never turn your back to a bear.

Know some of the rules of bear-human confrontations.

This bear is the size of the largest bruin in Traverse City, Michigan. It is over 400 pounds.

Over many years I’ve had quite a number of face-to-face encounters with a bear. I’ve yet to be attacked, but have had a few bruins conduct a false charge. Trust me, if you’ve never been at the end of a false charge, you’ll think the bear is going to eat you alive. Often, it’s possible to softly talk a bear out of continue the charge,.

Softly spoken words, and standing face to face with a bear, calls for some courage. Turn and try to run under such circumstances and an encounters can quickly turn into a real attack. Common sense, remaining as calm as possible, and time may cause the bear to walk away, and that’s always a good thing.

Sound, scientific management can help control bear numbers. Contrary to some thoughts, bears are best managed by hunting. If a specific area starts seeing far more bears than normal, an increase in the number of bear harvest permits can be increased. Hunting the animals is the best way to keep bear numbers at acceptable levels.

There are black, brown, grizzly and polar bears. The three larger bears can be unpredictable, but if they charge and cause and bear-human encounter, may bat you around, bite a few times and walk away. The black bear is the most unpredictable: if it charges and makes contact, the results can be fatal.

If you see a bear in the back yard, watch it from the house. Call the DNR or police, but don’t stress out the animal by calling a bunch of people. Left alone, the animal will usually move on. Disturbed and stressed by people, can make bears edgy,  and after many close encounters, I know that most people can live a long life without up-close action.

This jake isn't huge but he's a legal bird

Many people think the only time to hunt gobblers is at the crack of dawn. Nancy and Roger Kerby of Honor know better.

Both of them have day jobs, and Roger can occasionally sneak away from his welding job for a bit of hunting. Nancy, a nurse at an Empire doctor's office, did the same thing several years ago during the first turkey season in Area K.

They got home about 4:30 p.m., jumped into their camouflage clothing, and Nancy grabbed the shotgun. Roger always goes for the last season simply because it offers him more hunting time while Nancy likes the earlier hunts.

Kerby knows his hunting area intimately

Roger hunts deer in the fall in Leelanau County, coyotes in the winter and gobblers in the spring. He knows what is state land, private land and what belongs to the Federal government as part of the Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore property along Lake Michigan.

Knowing the terrain is a key to successful turkey hunting, and he had been preseason scouting for gobblers before the late-seasom opener. Nancy couldn't get away on Monday so they headed out Tuesday afternoon.

They cruised down some of the same roads, scoping out the state and federal lands they hunt during the fall, and it took 30 minutes to spot a big gobbler out in an open field. Much of this land offers long-range spotting conditions, but the hardest part is moving in close enough to call to a gobbler.

It was that in-between time when the gobblers are off on a stroll and before they meet up with the hens at fly-up time. This bird was by himself, on the move, and they watched for several minutes to determine his direction of travel.

Knowing travel routes tell them where to set up to intercept birds

"We got him figured out, turned around, and drove around the mile-square section," Nancy said. "We knew where we could get into the timber, get fairly close to him, and with luck, call him right in."

They parked the vehicle, uncased her shotgun, and she loaded up, checked the safety, and they headed off at a fast walk. Five minutes later they spotted the gobbler at a distance. He was still heading in their general direction, but had stopped to watch traffic out on the road.

Roger gave a soft yelp and the gobbler greeted them like he'd been waiting for a long-distance phone call. The bird went into a strut, danced around in a circle, and gobbled again. He didn't seem ready to head their way so they decided to duck into a nearby gully and move closer. This bird acted like he expected the hen to come dancing his way.

They ducked down into the gully, and ran down it for 100 yards while remaining out of sight of the gobbler. They finally ran out of cover, and stopped. The bird was still 150 yards away, and he was still at full strut, wingtips dragging in the dirt, but wasn't coming any closer.

Nancy got set up for a possible shot, and Roger climbed a hill just behind his wife, and they sat motionless watching the bird display. Finally, the bird decided perhaps the hen he had heard wasn't coming, so he gobbled again. Roger stayed silent, let the old boy get himself worked up a bit.

The longbeard gobbled, and still Roger remained silent. The bird strutted, his tail spread in a broad fan, and gobbled again. He then double-gobbled, and his head was flashing red, white and blue.

Roger decided the bird might be ready for a little persuasion. He stroked out a soft yelp, and it was immediately answered by another double-gobble. He stayed silent,and the bird gobbled again, and one more soft yelp got the bird lined up and headed their way.

He strutted, gobbled, and came 20 yards closer. Roger stayed silent, and the bird gobbled two more times, and took a few tentative steps in their direction. He gobbled yet again, and Kerby whined and clucked, and that did the trick.

Watching gobblers and figuring out where they'll go is the secret.

The bird had his running shoes on, and came charging right up to within 25 yards of Nancy as she sat with her knees up and the shotgun to her shoulder. The bird stopped 25 yards away, his head tucked into his shoulders, went into a strut, and as his tail fan started down, Roger whispered "Get ready" and clucked softly.

The gobbler's head shot into the air as he tried to spot the hen, and with one shot Nancy downed her gobbler. The bird had a 10 1/2-inch beard and weighed over 20 pounds.

"The neat thing about turkey hunting," Roger said, "is working the bird. They don't always come to the call this well, but when everything comes together, it is a wonderful afternoon in the woods. And best of all, hunters have very little competition for birds."

I thumped this bruin with two well-placed rocks. He left us alone.

There's something about storms that light my fire. I'm not certain just why I find them so intriguing, but I suspect it began near Flint when brother George and I were 10 years old.

We were outside playing catch. Even though I had (still have) small hands, I could throw a knuckle-ball. George was the person who could catch it.

He had a little nickel curve ball and I had my wobbling knuckler. It's what we did in the early 1950s. Occasionally one of us would uncork a wild pitch, and one of us would go chasing the ball down the street.

Head for cover when the big winds come blowing in.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, up came a big wind. Mind you: we were skinny little kids, and I doubt either of us weighed over 60 pounds. The wind was so strong we had to push hard against it to get indoors.

What we had felt was the outside winds of a massive tornado that followed an east-west road about seven miles south of our home and in the north end of Flint, and it covered two or three miles before lifting back up into the turbulent clouds and disappeared. It left nothing but death and destruction behind.

Several people were killed, and the big wind would destroy three or four houses in a row, lift up to dodge a house or two, and drop down again for more devastation.

It made a big impact on me, and several years later, Max Donovan of Clio and I were traveling back-roads. He had me drive, and we were in Tuscola County when I saw a twister coming across a field at us.

"Out-run it," Max hollered. He had an old gutless station wagon, and it was no contest. The tornado hit us, lifted the car two or three feet into the air, and then slammed us back down. My foot was still standing on the accelerator, and away we went, no worse for wear.

In 1970, my father and I joined another father-son team from Ontario, for a northern Ontario fly-in trip. We were crossing a large shallow lake that was filled with big pike when a storm popped up. We fought to keep from capsizing for two hours, and finally wallowed ashore on a deserted island. We waited until the storm passed, bailed out our boats, and went fishing, again none the worse for wear.

The Indian guides blamed me for pointing at the unnamed island.

That storm was the edge of a tornado that hammered its way through Sudbury, Ontario, causing massive destruction. We weren't in the actual tornado but caught some of the heavier winds generated by it.

This Arctic grayling was caught on the Northwest Territories Great Bear Lake.

Some years ago, the sky turned that dark greenish-purple color as clouds rolled and tumbled in the southwestern sky with an ominous sound. The direction was a good clue for possible severe weather, and I watched the tops of nearby maple trees bend almost flat as my wife screamed for me to come inside.

No twister for us, but a neighbor a mile away watched a tornado demolish his brand-new garage. Again. no injuries and the neighbor had insurance on his garage. It was a big inconvenience, that's all.

Kay and I got caught in a hellish big storm on Great Bear Lake in Canada's Northwest Territories in the late 1970s. This lake is just slightly smaller than Lake Michigan. The lodge owner came by in a much larger boat, and took Kay with him. My guide and I followed the larger boat for miles, rising 12 feet into the air on the crest of a wave, and then we'd plunge into the trough with water all around us.

Up we'd go, and there would be the larger boat with Kay aboard, and it was pulling slowly away from us. We traveled into the waves within 10 feet of a sheer rock wall six feet away, and one mistake would find the waves pounding us and our boat into bloody tin foil against the rocks.

We made it into a safe haven called Gunbarrel Inlet, and there were several boats milling about with smoke rising from a small wood fire on shore. I asked someone why they were not up near the fire.

A bear had reportedly "chased" them from shore and out into their boats.

"A bear chased us away," came a reply. I told my guide to head for shore. I put more wood on the fire, shucked out of my rain-soaked rain gear, and stood steaming near the roaring blaze. The first head we'd had in hours..

Someone hollered "Bear!" from a boat, and pointed down the shore. Here come a 200-pound black bear, and I picked up a rock and hollered at him. The bruin stopped momentarily, and I took several steps closer, and my old pitching days came through. No knuckle-ball ball this time but a high hard one that thumped his rump. The second rock was a bean-ball, and he ran off. We returned to the warming fire. We were chilled to the bone.

So the snowstorm and it's eight inches of snow a few nights ago really didn't seem to be anything special. We may see lots of snow, some strong winds and moaning sounds from the eaves, but as far as storms go, this one didn't have the making of anything worth writing about.

But what am I writing about. I've already mention tonight's storm, so in some way, it does influence my thoughts. Personally, I'd just as soon seen it get cold and freeze up the slop for two or three days and then go away.

The most recent storm can't even compare with a few of them during the winter when we'd see 15-20 inches of snow. Storms are interesting, but these little guys are nothing but a little bump in the highway of life. Storms that can kill a guy are those worthy of great respect.

The author shot this bear from the ground at a range of six feet.

Anyone who has bow hunted more than a few days should know the importance of sitting still. Knowing that, and doing it right, are two entirely different things.

Sitting still means at least two different things. It means being motionless and quiet. One without the other makes little sense, and it will spook game.

I seldom hunt with another person, but in the past when my kids and grandkids were young, they would go out with me. Most adults can't sit still, and even fewer children can do so.

Solitary hunters often do better at bow hunting than will two or three buddies.

One of my grandchildren was fidgeting when I whispered to him to sit still. He whispered back that he was sitting still.

I told him his idea and my idea of being motionless and quiet were not the same.It's taken years to master the art of silent sitting. I've taken more black bears than I have fingers and toes, and have learned some of the tricks to sitting as still as a stone for long periods of time.

"The first bear I shot," another savvy hunter told me, "was on Sept. 10, opening day of Upper Peninsula bear season. This was well over 30 years ago, and tree stand hunting wasn't legal. I sat alongside but downwind of an active bear trail with my back against a big cedar root-wad on a warm autumn day. The trail was only six feet away.

"Sometime later, I awoke from my dozing and cracked one eye lid to see a black bear walking past. I made a smooth draw and an clean bow shot that took the bruin behind the front shoulder. It ran only 25 yards into tall marsh gras and dropped."

The hunter said he was absolutely motionless when the bear walked by because he was sound asleep. He admits it was an accident, but he's since learned to sit without movement or sound for long periods of time.

Over many years of hunting bears and deer, I've discovered the trick to being still is to be comfortable, and a hunter must learn how to relax and be at ease with himself and his surroundings if he hopes to be motionless and quiet. The first step is to remove anything that can cause discomfort while sitting

My primary problem is it's necessary to remove my billfold from my back pocket. If it is left in, my sitting time is 30 minutes or less before my hip begins to hurt from an old injury. No one can sit still if their butt is painfully sore.

Find a place where the human body can be comfortable and then relax.

Sit on the ground, and a root an inch under the dirt will put a crease in your butt, and you'll start moving to get comfortable. I make certain if I'm in a tree stand that no branch stub is digging into my hip, ribs or spine. A stone in the dirt under you hind end will feel like a boulder after 30 minutes.

Check out each spot wherever you hunt. Remove offending branches or broken branch stubs. Many tree stands have uncomfortable seats because the seat is too low, and your knees are up under your chin and that makes for an uncomfortable seat. Just as bad or worse is a seat that is too high, and you have to sit on the edge of the seat to keep your feet steady on the platform. This cuts off blood flow to your legs, and your toes and feet go to sleep, which leads to more movement.

Learn to get physically comfortable first, and then learn to relax your body and mind. A man told me once that he meditates while in a stand, and although his eyes may be closed and his heartbeat and respiratory system slows down, he can hear the rustle of bear hair against bracken ferns or the faint twig snap of a wandering buck.

This isn't recommended for someone unaccustomed to meditation. What works for most of us is to free our brain of all thought, to feel comfortable and relaxed, and to will yourself to being motionless. I've had bucks approach to within several feet of me without seeing any movement, and that is part of the secret. Keep your mind uncluttered by unnecessary details, and it's much easier to remain still.

One trick of mine is to fix your attention on a distant object, and stare at it. It will blur, come back into focus, and blur again. Stick with it, and don't think of deer or work or anything else, and try to become one with your surroundings. Get comfortable and don't feel like an intruder in the woods.

That works for me and some other people I know, but it may not work for you without a great deal of concentrated practice. The first and foremost thing is to be comfortable. Once the human body is comfortable, start working on the mind.

Soon, with continuous practice, it will be possible to sit motionless for 30 minutes. Then start working on being motionless for an hour. If you can get up to two or three hours, many of your hunting problems will be solved.

Expect sudden noises like flushing grouse, snorting deer or chattering squirrels.

Learn to expect sudden noises, such as a red squirrel chattering. Don't be startled when a bear or deer steps through dry leaves. Be alert but motionless and still. Sooner or later whatever made the noise will step into view. Never turn to look behind you.

The old Negro League pitcher 59 years ago  -- Satchell Paige -- had it right when he once said: "Don't look back. Something might be gaining on you." That thought should be considered by hunters who wish to remain motionless.

If you are not moving, you won't be making noise (unless you snore). Without movement or noise, the only thing you must worry about is being winded. Stay downwind of where bear or deer travel, and you will have removed most of the key things that can spook animals.

Turkey season opens in a couple of month, and movement or  sound (except a turkey call) will spook birds. Their vision is like you or me looking through 10-power binoculars. I wear a camo face mask that covers  my face, ears and glasses, and wear brown gloves on my hand. The trick to shooting a gobble-bird is to be ready for a shot when he steps within range. Sit with the shotgun across your knees, and try to raise it and aim at a bird, abd all you'll see will be tailfeathers going away.

Practice now, long before turkey or bow season opens, to sit still and motionless in a non-hunting environment. If you can pull that off for two hours, and you follow the other common-sense hunting rules, there won't be a bear, deer or gobbler that will be safe around you.

Sitting still and not moving any part of your body except your eyes is simply a case of mind over matter. Humans do have a brain, and once they condition it to silent inactivity, their hunting skills will go up.

It's quiet. There is no noise. The phone isn't ringing, no one is buzzing the door bell, and right now, it is a world without sound.

I sat there thinking about silence and what it means to me. It is a cedar swamp just before dark, as I count down the waning minutes to the end of legal shooting time while hoping a bruin will walk past me with that head-swinging gait before the day is done.

Outdoors, the sounds of silence precede most of the action.

A few days ago, as I sat trying to puzzle out where the big Platte Lake walleyes seem to have disappeared, and had a very strange but wonderful thought.

It's quiet. There is no noise. The phone isn't ringing, no one is buzzing the door bell, and right now, it is a world without sound.

I sat there thinking about silence and what it means to me. It is a cedar swamp just before dark, as I count down the waning minutes to the end of legal shooting time while hoping a bruin will walk past me with that head-swinging gait before the day is done.

It is a tree stand in October, and a hush has fallen over the land as dark clouds gather to the west, the first indication of a coming storm. It seems as if everything is holding its breath, and there I sit, reveling in the sounds of silence.

Silence is that hush we all hear and feel as we step in front of a pointer. We know the thunderous flushing roar of a ruffed grouse is imminent, but there is that split-second when all is still. It's a wonderful moment in time, and it's something to savor.

There is no better evidence of silence that when fishing brown trout during the Hex hatch. The fish has been timed by the soft hissing sips as the big trout lips a big mayfly off the surface. We know in five or 10 seconds the trout will rise again for another sip, and we hope in that momentary slice of silence, that the feeding brown trout will take our imitation rather than a natural drifting along beside it.

It happened last year, when I worked a gobbler, it came slow and cautiously to the call. He often gobbled or double-gobbled, but it's those long seconds or minutes when the bird moves but doesn't gobble, that put us on full alert. The silence is exquisitely wonderful.

Picture that gobbler coming to the call with an occasional double-gobble.

We often can see the bird coming, white head glowing in the woods 100 yards away, but an awesome silence has dropped a muffling blanket over the woods. The bird disappears from sight, and you know he is circling and on his way, and yet you can hear a pin drop.

And then, ever so softly but it seems so intense and loud after the silence, comes the "hhmmm-phfft" as the gobbler drums and spits nearby. You know the bird is close because this barely audible sound is often overlooked and unheard, and then more silence. The bird is moving, you are sitting still, and suddenly, there he is over your shotgun barrel. A slight adjustment, a soft click as the safety is clicked off, and then the blast of a 3-inch 12 gauge shotgun.

There may be silence again, but the ringing in your ears from the shotgun discharge has caused its own noise. Slowly the hearing returns to normal, and you kneel, in silence, over a gobbler that you just killed and examine the beautiful feathers, the full beard, and those spurs.

Silence is sitting on shore, early in the spring, and watching a buck and hen steelhead spawning on a shallow gravel bar. There is an intricate underwater ballet going on, and the hen and buck roll on their sides as she emits a golden stream of eggs and he a white jet of milt, and then the ballet ends. There isn't a sound made to draw one's attention to this underwater tableau, and there is little thought of hooking that male fish.

Watching salmon or steelhead spawn is really quite exciting.

This is a ritual as old as the many generations of steelhead before it, and only rarely is there an audible splash. It is like watching an old silent movie, and that makes watching this scene much more interesting. The same scene is played out many time during the fall as salmon spawn and that brings to mind the old saying: Pacific salmon die childless, and are born orphans.

Too many folks surround themselves with noise. Me, I much prefer silence to noise. I want to hear no man-made noise, and if as a buck eases through the woods and crinkles a fallen oak autumn leaf or steps on a brittle twig, I want to hear and experience every moment of it.

It's the silence of nature that captures my soul. The unexpended flush of a woodcock twittering up through a tag alder run is my kind of noise. If I can't or won't shoot, the silence fits me as perfectly as a hand in a warm glove. It is the one thing about fishing and hunting that I've come to seek, to nurture while it is there, and to remember when it is gone.

 

Dawn was blushing the eastern sky with a blaze of fiery color when a drake and hen mallard slanted down over the treetops, lost altitude in a banking left turn and settled to the river in front of me.

One day soon, I thought, we may meet again during the duck hunting season. Those thoughts carried me back to past hunts where I asked myself why I hunt.

It's a question hunters quiz themselves about. Few can answer for others, butt simply stated,  hunting means different things to different people.

Hunting is a matter of choice for those who love the outdoors.

Some hunt to enjoy the whisper of duck wings ghosting over a marsh before dawn; others like the damp, musty odor of the autumn woods; and others seek the challenge of spotting and stalking wild game.

The challenge of pitting knowledge and skill against a wild animal is part of the reason, but other factors often enter the picture. For many,  it can mean the chance to eat wild game at every meal.

Perhaps it's knowing that the hunter's role in conservation has always been one of keeping game bird and animal populations in line with their food supplies and habitat requirements, and protecting them if needed.

Michigan's hunting seasons are winding down but they offer millions of licensed sportsmen the freedom to work the woods and fields, lawfully carry a firearm or bow and arrow, and peaceably follow a pastime as old as man himself.

Hunting means many things to me, as it does to almost anyone that shares my love of wild places and wild things. The out-of-doors has so much to offer,  both to hunters and non-hunters alike.

Hunting is a privilege that most sportsmen hold dear.

Hunting has never contributed to the decline of any game animal or bird during modern times. Many times hunter license dollars and taxes on equipment have been used to increase game habitat, hunter education, fund studies or any number of other wildlife-related programs.

An overpopulation of any wild game results in death by starvation, surely a less humane way to perish than by a hunter's arrow or bullet.

But the actual killing of wild game is something I've never been terribly comfortable with although I've taken my share of bear, bobcat, caribou, coyotes, deer, elk, grouse, hares, moose, muskox, quail, pheasants, rabbits, sharptails, squirrels, waterfowl and woodcock.

The tinge of remorse I feel doesn't mean I am against hunting, but it means I hold my hunted animals in deep respect. My belief is that hunting plays a definite role in wildlife conservation. Man cannot be a sophisticated hunter without respect and love for the wild game we hunt.

Hunting is a serious feeling, something described by many as a deep inner experience. Man, as the ultimate predator, holds the power of life and death in his hands. Hunters know and accept this honorably.

This power means that hunters must know their equipment, know what it can do, and be skilled enough to place a shot so the animal or bird is killed cleanly, without suffering. It also means that hunters must know and obey hunting laws and respect the rights and property of others.

A hunting license gives no one the right to a full game bag, or a two-buck limit. It grants sportsmen the opportunity and privilege of hunting ... nothing more, nothing less.

Hunting promises nothing except the opportunity to be outdoors with bow or firearm in hand.

I hunt because I need to hunt. It satisfies a need within myself to go afield in pursuit of wild game and enjoy the wonders of nature.

It offers me the thrill of an exciting stalk through thin cover, the fleeting glimpse of a wide-antlered buck, the explosive sound of a ruffed grouse thundering from an alder run, or simply the chance to hunt and be afield.

The taking of game is secondary, ranking far below the mental and physical experience of the hunt.

The hunt, and not the kill, is what hunting is all about. And it is enough for me.

Guess what? Fishing and hunting isn't the same as it was 10 years ago, and it won't be the same in the future as it is now. Many changes have taken place over the past several years.

And not all of them are for the better. Fishing and hunting has become fragmented. How so? There are many ways to look at our natural resource problems, such as:

Years ago, a bear hunter bought a license and went hunting. Now, we have sound, scientific wildlife management, and that means more bears are being killed each year under a quota system than were ever killed under the old rules when anyone could by a tag and hunt bruins.

And that's OK for now because we have more bears than ever before, and the animals are moving into new territories, and management means determining the social carrying capacity of bruins. How many bears will people tolerate near their homes before they start squawking?

We have elk hunts now with some rather new rules. The rules only affect those who draw an elk tag from now on. I've applied for an elk tag ever since they had their first hunt in 1964. I've never been drawn, but instead of drawing names from those who have applied and have missed being picked, the DNRE are enforcing the newer rules.

Bear numbers are up and the animals are spreading out.

And frankly, I'm not the only one who has applied and been denied. It means that hunters who drew an elk tag years ago can still draw another one. Does this make sense? Is it sour grapes on my part? No, it just means that me and many people are dissatisfied with a system that makes no sense. No one should ever draw another elk tag if they've already drawn one but that's not how it works now.

The DNRE has had ample opportunities to allow Region II turkey hunters to obtain some private-land turkey tags that would guarantee them a first- or second-season hunt for those applicants who own property up here, but pressure from other groups is louder than the mumbles of regional landowners. So, private-land turkey tags can be obtained in the Upper Peninsula in those counties where birds are hunted, and throughout southern Lower Peninsula counties, but again Region II landowners get the short and dirty end of the turkey-permit stick.

It appears the DNRE is caving in to special interest groups. In case you haven't noticed, the special interest groups are in the face of the DNRE biologists to get what they want, not what is fair to the general public.

Do you remember when Michigan had their statewide trout season opener on the last Saturday in April? And then, in hopes of streamlining our fishing seasons, the DNRE allowed Lower Peninsula muskie, pike and walleye fishing to open at the same time as the trout season. There are many sport shops in the Lower Peninsula, and this ruling 10-15 years ago, denied sportsmen two opening days -- trout and walleye, etc., and simply lumped them all together.

There is nothing streamlined about our fishing or hunting regulations. Some conservation officers say they must reader the annual fishing or hunting digests time and again before trying to enforce the law. The language is stilted and cumbersome, and an attorney would probably have trouble defining what some of the DNRE legalese language really means. Some rules can make violators out of perfectly honest people. Make anything too difficult, and many give up for fear of unwittingly breaking the law.

Guess which one season most people prefer, and in resounding fashion? It isn't trout, which are harder to catch. Those people who once opened the trout season, and then on May 15, opened the walleye season years ago, jumped for joy. They got more than two additional weeks of walleye fishing, and the sporting goods stores lost a wonderful chance to make money on the second opener, which is now gone.

The DNRE, currently backed into a corner by angry deer hunters, have been taking it on the chin. The DNRE's little dog-and-pony show went on the road to discuss issues with deer hunters several years ago, and they were confronted by many angry people who were tired of not seeing deer and even more tired of horrible deer management policies.

Deer numbers are down in Regions I and II.

Trust me, in many parts of the state, the chances of seeing and killing a deer is as high as drawing one of the aforementioned elk tags. Southern Michigan counties still have lots of deer, but such is not the case in the Upper Peninsula and northern Lower Peninsula.

These hunters were and still are clamoring for change, and rightfully so. I've backed the DNR for more years than I can remember, but things are changing ... and frankly folks, it's not for the better. Deer are plumb hard to find in the U.P., and things aren't much better in the northern half of the Lower Peninsula. But guess where the deer are: on private land in the southern Lower Peninsula counties. The big numbers aren't Up North, no matter what anyone says.

This deal over deer and deer hunting is far from over. The DNR needs to begin mandatory deer registration, and do away with the two-license deal. If they want to make more money, make it mandatory that hunters register their first deer before they can buy a second license. Hunters no longer believe the estimated Oct. 1 deer numbers, and they certainly don't believe the  final totals that show deer kills higher than what anyone believes, especially those sportsmen who do not see a whitetail buck during the combined hunting seasons.

Last year was the first time in history that I can remember when the DNRE came out and positively admitted the deer kill was down dramatically. Is this a harbinger of things to come? I suspect it is.

Now, in an effort to raise more money and to potentially alienate more people, the DNRE will be selling some permits for some of the species that are difficult to draw -- like the bull elk tags. If you've got enough money, you too can bypass the lottery system, and bid lots of money. This further tips the scales away from the ordinary sportsman, and will become the most direct cause of higher license fees and perhaps even fewer hunters.

And, while we are at it, it means the rich get what they want while the average sportsman get little or nothing. Go over to Germany and try to hunt. It will cost an arm and a leg, and a lengthy training session before you'll take your firearm into the woods.

Now, because of one case of the Chronic Wasting Disease scare in Kent County a few years ago, baiting has been eliminated in the entire Lower Peninsula. In the meantime, baiting continues in the Upper Peninsula. Many people began cheating in the Lower Peninsula where they continue to bait. Does it make sense to have legal baiting in one part of the state but not in the rest? Not to me it doesn't.

Ask the DNRE about the compliance rate for not baiting. They maintain the compliance rate is high, but bait is still being sold at gas stations, and someone is certainly buying and using it.

And all of this mess because of one CWD disease in a private enclosure. Everyone must pay the price for that solitary animal. Did people resent this, and is it sound scientific management? It makes one wonder. The DNRE and Department of Agriculture should get their collective acts together.

Has deer and turkeys suffered in the northern Lower Peninsula. You bet. Folks, where I live we had more than 180 inches of snow two winter ago and more than125 inches so far this season. I've seen very few gobblers, and only a few hen turkeys this winter. If the DNRE's weird sense of having turkey feeding sites weren't so laughable, I'd cry.

If we have fewer turkeys this spring than in the past, we can look to a lack of a winter feeding program. Turkeys are big birds and burn a lot of energy launching into flight from the ground, but to expect birds to burn up even more fat reserves during winter months by flying up to an elevated position for corn, is a bit silly. Besides, the birds scatter the feed from above, and the deer come to it on the ground, thereby creating another problem.

But never mind me. I get a bit peckish after snowblowing for three months, getting the blower stuck once in deep snow three weeks ago, and watching the road plow fill in my driveway. Some things, like silly management policies, get me hacked off.

Am I in a bit of a nasty mood? You bet! Michigan hunters once stood tall and proud of their DNRE, our deer management policies, and the fact that we had more combined deer hunters and man-days of deer hunting than any other state in the nation was something we were proud of.

We don't have much to be proud of now except in areas where there is a Quality Deer Management program. Hunters in such areas are now seeing more bucks and larger animals in some of those counties than ever before.

The state's deer numbers are down in Regions 1 and II.

Folks, it goes against the grain of Mother Nature to try to maintain a status quo, year after year. It's impossible to accomplish, and management of our deer herd is sorely lacking in its focus.

I never see a wildlife biologist in the field, and in the words of a fine wildlife biologist who retired a few years ago, "the new wildlife biologists don't have any dirt on their boots."

One might wonder if they even own a pair of boots. They spend little, if any time, in the field. They manage by building computer models, and I for one, know that this philosophy really isn't working.

And sadly, the biologists seldom want to talk with landowners and hunters, especially in northern counties. They know they'll get an ear full, and most of the anger generated their way these days is justified.
Perhaps we need a shake-up in state government.

One doesn't have to look hard or into a crystal ball to see that state government has wrecked the economy, our jobs and our livlihood, and politicians have left taxpayers holding the bag ... once again.

This is the adult version of the old snipe hunt trick we played on other kids when we were young. It was funny back then, but nobody is laughing now because many of us are left holding that empty bag. It's difficult to compare deer hunting 20 years ago with what we now have because there can't be a comparison. It gets worse every year.

And excuse me for not being politically correct. The DNRE is no longer correct and proper. The proper alphabet soup name is now DNRE. The "E" is for Environment, and where the DNR once rolled easily off our tongue, adding an "E" doesn't seem to have done much for this once-proud state agency.

The people who are most visible to the public -- our conservation officers -- are often seen in the field but the same cannot be said for many of the DNRE's wildlife biologists. What a sad situation., especially when it comes to some of them and their people skills.

Fortunately, we still have some good wildlife biologists. Not many but some good people still remain, but when they retire, who will we have to carry on proper wildlife management of our natural resources?

It makes me wonder.

Anyone who has bow hunted more than once knows the importance of sitting quiet and still. Knowing that, and practicing it while hunting, are two entirely different things.

I seldom hunt with another person, but in the past when my kids and grandkids were young, they would go out with me. Most adults can't sit still, and even fewer children can do so.

One of my grandchildren was fidgeting when I whispered to him to sit still. He whispered back that he was sitting still.

Your idea and my idea of being motionless and quiet may not jibe. It's taken years to master the art of silent sitting. I've taken more black bears than I have fingers and toes, and have learned some of the tricks to sitting as still as a stone for long periods of time. Doing so can lead to success.

"The first bear I shot," another savvy hunter said, "was on Sept. 10, opening day of the Upper Peninsula bear season. This was well over 30 years ago, and tree stand hunting wasn't legal. I sat alongside but downwind of an active bear trail with my back against a big cedar root-wad on a warm day.

This black bear was only 10 yards away when I took this photo. He never knew I  was nearby.

"Sometime later, I awoke from dozing and cracked one eye to see a black bear walking past at eight feet. The animal walked past, and a smooth draw and an clean bow shot took that bruin behind the front shoulder. It ran only 25 yards and dropped."

The bear didn't go far, and the hunter said he was absolutely motionless when the bear walked by because he was asleep. He admits that was an accident, but he's since learned to sit without movement or sound.

Over many years of hunting bears and deer, I've found one trick to being still is to be comfortable, and a hunter must learn how to relax and be at ease with himself and his surroundings if he hopes to be motionless and quiet. The first step is to remove anything that can cause discomfort while sitting. My primary problem is it's necessary to remove my wallet from my back pocket. If it is left in, my sitting time is 30 minutes or less before my hip hurts. No one can sit still if their butt is painfully sore.

Sit on the ground, and a root an inch under the dirt will put a crease in one butt cheek, and you'll start moving to get comfortable. I make certain if I'm in a tree stand that no branch stub is digging into my ribs or spine. A stone in the dirt under you butt will feel like a boulder after 30 minutes.

One big secret to sitting still is to be comfortable.

Check out each spot wherever you hunt. Remove offending branches or broken branch stubs. Many tree stands have uncomfortable seats because the seat is too low, and your knees are up under your chin and that makes for an uncomfortable seat. Just as bad or worse is a seat that is too high, and you have to sit on the edge of the seat to keep your feet steady on the platform. This cuts off blood flow to your legs, and your toes and feet go to sleep, which leads to more movement.

Learn to get physically comfortable first, and then learn to relax your body and mind. A man told me once that he meditates while in a stand, and although his eyes may be closed and his heartbeat and respiration slows down, he can hear the rustle of bear hair against bracken ferns or the faint twig snap of a wandering buck. One day, while following his example, I sat still all day within 20 feet of a bear bait, and nine different bears came to visit but none knew I was there.

This isn't recommended for someone unaccustomed to meditation. What works for most of us is to free our brain of all thought, to feel comfortable and relaxed, and to will yourself to be motionless. I've had bucks approach to within several feet of me without seeing any movement, and that is part of the secret. Keep your mind uncluttered by unnecessary details, and it's much easier to remain still.

One trick of mine is to fix my attention on a distant object, and stare at it. It will blur, come back into focus, and blur again. Stick with it, and don't think of deer or work or anything else, and try to become one with your surroundings. Get comfortable and relaxed, and don't feel like an intruder. Relax and become one with nature.

That works for me and some other people I know, but it may not work for you without a great deal of concentrated practice. The first and foremost thing is to be comfortable. Once the human body is comfortable, start working on the mind.

Sitting motionless and quiet is nothing but mind over matter. Start practicing now and you'll be ready for a nice spring gobbler or a buck this fall.

Soon, with continuous practice, it will be possible to sit motionless for 30 minutes. Then start working on being motionless for an hour. If you can get up to two or three hours, many of your hunting problems will be solved.

Learn to expect sudden noises, such as a red squirrel chattering or running through the leaves. Don't be started when a bear or deer steps through dry leaves. Be alert but motionless and still. Sooner or later whatever made the noise will step into view. Never turn to look behind you.

The old Negro League and big league pitcher, Satchell Paige, had it right when he once said: "Never look back. Something may be gaining on you." That thought should be considered by hunters.

If you are not moving, you won't be making noise (unless you snore). Without movement or noise, the only thing you must worry about is being winded. Stay downwind of where bear or deer travel, and you will have removed most of the key things that spook animals.

Turkey season opens in a bit more than a month, and movement or any sound (except a turkey call) will spook birds. Their vision is like you or me looking through 10-power binoculars. I wear a camo mask that covers  my face, ears and glasses, and wear brown glove on my hands. The trick to shooting a gobble-bird is to be ready for a shot when he steps within range. If you sit with the shotgun across your lap, and try to raise and aim at a bird, all you'll probably see will be tailfeathers rapidly getting further away.

Practice now, long before turkey or bow season opens, to sit still and motionless in a non-hunting environment. If you can pull that off for two hours, and you follow the other common-sense hunting rules, there won't be a bear, deer or gobbler that will be safe around you.

Sitting still and not moving any part of your body except your eyes is simply a case of mind over matter. Humans do have a brain, and once they condition it to silent inactivity, their hunting skills will increase.