When I was just a boy, my family were fishing out in the Gulf of Mexico. The fish weren't biting at all. It was hot, muggy, and uncomfortable. You know, a typical Florida summer day. Like a little kid I complained about the injustice of it all. How dare the fish not bite when we put all this work making it 20 miles off the coast?
My Dad told me something profound that day. I didn't know it then, but as I've gotten older I have come to appreciate his advice. He told me, "That's why they call it fishing. Not catching."
That brings me to this hunting trip. This trip was the pure definition of why they call it "Hunting," and not "Getting." A lot went wrong with this trip. I didn't get to take too many photos. I kept aiming to, but all sorts of things went wrong. Here's what happened day by day.
Friday December 20th:
We drove up to Starke, Fl. to hunt at Camp Blanding. Things went pretty smoothly. Since Camp Blanding is within military property, hunters aren't allowed to scout ahead of time. Luckily, I had viewed the woods with Google Earth. I marked a few places that I thought would be good.
Saturday December 21st:
We drove to a few spots within the dog hunt area. We found a spot, and decided to try it out so we could just get into the woods. As I was climbing a tree I heard dogs all around. They ended up coming within twenty yards of me. They were all beagles except for one bloodhound. The bloodhound ended up coming within ten yards of me.
When I yelled, "Hey boy! Good doggie!" He kind of freaked out and ran away. Later on I had a beagles come by me. The dogs were howling almost all morning. However, I never saw the deer they were supposed to be chasing.
Our hunting party ended up eating lunch after the morning hunt. We then continued to drive around the compound and scout. I had driven down a road that dead ended. So I made a U-turn, and was driving back when a giant doe crossed the road. I put on the brakes and just watched her. She trotted over to a small trail on the other side of the road.
One of the dog hunters drove up. He asked me, "Which way did he cross?" I said, "It was a doe, and she crossed down the small trail where the palmettos cover." He said he, "Was going to see if the dogs could pick up a scent." Again, I mentioned that, "She was a doe."
Something didn't sit right with me. I thought, he might just want to let the dogs run. He also might be after that doe which was illegal to shoot. I wasn't sure.
I continued scouting/driving on the Eastside of the compound. There were a lot of dog hunters there. I was driving when I looked to my left. Standing ten yards off the main road was a buck. I hadn't seen a buck while driving around in over twenty years. I slammed on my brakes.
Now, anyone who has driven down a dirt road knows what happens when you slam your brakes on it. My truck ended up skidding, and making a lot of noise. I jumped out of my truck trying to get a shot at the buck, but it was long gone.
Actually what happened was I saw the buck, and went "Hurrrr!" The buck saw me and went... well, this photo says it all.
Yeah, we both surprised each other pretty good. So I can say I saw two deer the first day. The funny part, is that, it wasn't while in my tree stand. It was from driving around.
There was one thing bothering me. The locals were none too friendly. No one would wave at me when I passed by. I got the feeling that they didn't like still hunters in their dog hunt area. Also, I had the feeling that they didn't like people how weren't from around there.
Sunday December 22nd:
It rained pretty much all day. I didn't let that stop me. I was up at my usual hunting time of 5 AM. I walked out the door by 6 AM. I made it to the check station at 6:30 AM.
I went over a couple of the new rules with the game warden. I wanted some clarification on a few of the rules for that area.
Since it continued to rain, I drove around the WMA and scouted. I only found one other spot that looked good besides the spots I found the previous day.
I was driving on one of the blacktop roads (In the WMA) when a young deer walked out in front of me. This deer was so young I started looking for spots on it's side. I didn't see any. What was funny, was that, this deer was skinny with very long legs.
If you've ever raised a big dog from the time it was born, you know how they hit a phase where they have these extremely long legs, but are thin. That's what this deer looked like. It was still young and hadn't filled out yet.
After driving around for two hours I met up with my Dad and John W. at the check station. We decided to go over and check out another part of Camp Blanding. So we traveled over to Check Station #1. While over there I saw some spots along one road I thought were okay, but it was nothing special.
While I was driving I spotted a bunch of turkeys. Luckily, I carry my camera with me, and took quite a few photos. John W. said he counted 14 turkeys in the bunch.
I ended up driving over 100 miles that day. The Dog Hunt area of Camp Blanding is 10 miles by 12 miles. I drove up and down quite a few roads in the compound. Then I did it again in Still Hunt area #1. Heck, I drove for two straight hours just in the Dog Hunt area. I could see the mileage adding up.
I never did get out into the woods. Namely, because it wouldn't stop raining. So I had to wait for the next day.
Monday December 23rd:
Monday wasn't a great day. A lot of little things added up. Our hunting group was delayed due to all the rain. I had a terrible time getting out of bed. Somehow I made it out of bed though. I drove to a spot I liked. Dad and John W. went to a different spot quite a few miles from me. I went to grab my tree stand from the back of my truck, and realized it was still in the back of Dad's truck.
So I walked around the place for about three hours. I can say I got my cardio in for the day. I walked a path from one road to another. I then followed the main road back to my truck. That walk alone took just under two hours.
When I was walking back along the main road I saw a spot I liked. So I marked it with an orange ribbon to come back to later. After I ate a little food and rehydrated I drove back to the orange ribbon.
I walked around a bit, and found another path. I really liked it. So I marked it with orange ribbons. However, this time I made sure to take photos so I could show Dad and John W.
I found a spot for myself, but I had to make sure to find a spot for Dad. Most of the area in Camp Blanding was either so thick you couldn't walk through it, or so wide open that no deer would dare walk there. This area was the best I could find that was just thick enough, and had big enough trees for a climbing tree stand.
Here's the spot I found for Dad. I marked this tree just off the path.
When you stood at that tree you could see a couple of trees about 75 yards from it. I marked the tree with a ribbon that I thought Dad would like.
You can see what I mean about just how tall/big those pine trees were. For me, I found a spot right on the path where there was a bend in the road. Here's a few photos of it.
I walked that area for an hour. I felt that I finally found a spot that I liked. However, something happened that made me think about going back to that spot. I got back into my truck, and left to meet up with my Dad and John W.
I had barely driven down the road when I cornered a turn and saw a deer lying on the top of a dog hunter's box (in his truck.) The deer's antlers didn't appear to be long enough or have enough points for it to be legal.
I said something to the guys at the check station. I described their vehicle. One of the men asked, "Was it an older model truck?" I said, "It wasn't new. In fact, it was probably about ten years old, but it was in great condition." I left, and met up with my hunting party at another part of the compound.
As I though about it, the FWC had changed a few of the rules recently. A youth hunter (under the age of 16) is allowed to take an anterless deer. Some of the dog hunters did have kids with them. So the kids are legally able to harvest the deer. Although, I'm not sure if it was one of the kids who actually shot the deer?
I ended up deciding I would hunt the other location with my Dad and John W. I was upset that I spent a good portion of Sunday driving around scouting, and three hours scouting Monday only to have to give up on that location.
I just didn't feel safe hunting those woods. I got the hebby-jeebes from the local dog hunters. I'm wasn't crazy about the other location where Dad and John W. were, but it was safer than the place I liked. Again, I just couldn't shake the feeling I received from the locals.
Tuesday December 24th:
It was raining... again. The previous night I opened up Google Earth. I wanted to take a peek at the territory of Camp Blanding we would be hunting. We drove around to a few spots. It had stopped raining, but it was misting pretty good. I decided to hunt over a field that measured about 800 yards by 800 yards.
I took these photos while sitting high up in my tree-stand. I took them from left to right.
These were the woods behind me on the left.
And these were the woods behind me to the right.
I decided to take a few long distance photos.
Here are two video clips I took while up in the tree. You can see the rain/mist collecting on my camera lens as I film the area.
After a few hours in the tree-stand I met with my hunting group back at the truck. We had lunch, and decided to scout around some more. Since it was getting colder and raining again we decided to call it a day.
The Evening of Tuesday December 24th:
When I came back to our camping trailer I checked my computer. I noticed I had a comment, message, and friend request from an unknown person on Facebook. This person asked if I had been hunting at Camp Blanding, and described the make/model/color of my truck.
Now, I hadn't given my name to the locals. The only place I gave my information to was the Check Station. They had you fill out a card with your name, address, phone number, make, model, tag of your truck, as well as, your hunting ID number. Again, that was the only place I gave my information to. So how did this guy find out who I was?
Well, let me backtrack a little. To get back to where we were staying we had to pass by the entrance to the dog hunt area. There were three FWC trucks there (on Tuesday) Previously there had only been one Game Warden. Remember when I reported that suspected illegal deer the previous day? Well, the FWC Wardens were probably there tossing trucks and inspecting anything and everything they could.
I could be wrong, but I had a sneaking suspicion that one of the good ole' boys at the check station gave my name and information to the locals. If the Game Warden caught anyone with an illegal deer he could have confiscated their vehicle(s), guns, equipment, fined them, or ban them from hunting for quite a while.
I felt that the Game Warden had probably done that, and the locals were none too happy. I didn't feel like going back into the woods where there were fifty of them vs. one of me. Honestly, they were real clannish around there. I'd never seen anything like it.
I told Dad what was going on, and he immediately felt bad about the entire situation. He was the first to say, "Let's get out of here in the morning." So we did just that.
Wednesday December 25th:
We didn't stop to buy food, gas, or coffee in Starke. We drove down the road to purchase what we needed. So we were back home two days early. The hunting was terrible. The townspeople were worse. And we are never going there again. I don't feel like taking on 50 rednecks with guns.
I always wondered what it would be like getting run out of town? Now I know. It's not great. I don't write this to be mean. I don't write this to troll anyone on the internet. I just want to warn anyone else who's deciding their quota hunt to flat out avoid Camp Blanding.
When I would hunt various places at Perry, Fl. the town would have signs saying, "Welcome hunters." Perry was exceptionally nice to the hunters who would come to town. I want to be clear, in saying, they did not kiss our collective asses. No, they were Southern nice. As in, that old timey kindness you would find in the South.
Starke was nothing like that. They were clannish, cold, mean, and generally didn't like folks who were not local. The dog hunters didn't like others hunting on "their" turf. I've never felt less welcome any place in Florida than I have in Starke.
Needless to say, we are not going back there to hunt. If we have to pass through Starke on US-301 we aren't stopping period. Again, I'm not trying to be mean or troll. It's just not a nice place.
