46 Outdoors Adventure Files: Sunday Funday

Photo: Chris Carson

The Malibu Kayaks are finally in at Twisted Oak.  They arrived in mid August right before school started.  As you may or may not remember, we gave Cole his very own Mini-X from Malibu Kayaks for his birthday back in June. He has been waiting patiently all summer for it to arrive.

As they were expected to arrive the week prior to heading back to school, he had a plan to spend the last day of summer kayaking with the family on Canyon Lake.  The poor guy's hopes and dreams were dashed again by mother nature.  That weekend, we had along steady tropical type of rain that had the Guadalupe River running high and fast.  Since it was raining, I spent the whole weekend at the Unfair Lures booth at the San Antonio Texas Trophy Hunters Extravaganza with Paul and the crew.

Photo: Chris Carson

Baseball, football, and a little hog hunting warm up for deer season have stolen every weekend since then, so yesterday was the first opportunity we had to get the yaks wet.  All three kids had a blast, but I'm sure if you ask the teenager, she will tell you how grueling our paddle was and how Cole doesn't know how to paddle a kayak and how adorable Cody is, but her smiles paint the real picture! I have faith that she will soon let go of the sibling rivalry and accept things for what they are and learn to enjoy life as it comes. Until then, I will continue to exercise my patience and she will continue to test their limits!

Practicing his Taekwando.           Photo: Chris Carson

Cole and Cody on the other hand were quite happy with the experience.  We launched at Boat Ramp 11 (Rebecca Creek) and paddled upstream on Rebecca Creek for about a half mile or so.  Cody decided he wanted to go swimming, so he "fell" into the water while I was messing with my fishing rods. So, I told the kids they could take a swim.  They abandoned their yaks under the tree they were sitting under and headed for the middle of the creek to splash and play. Cody swam over to them as well and all three kids had a blast floating around in their PFD's.  Ater about 20 minutes or so of that, we headed back toward the boat ramp doing a little fishing along the way.  "Little" being the key word.

Malibu Mini-X serves as a cannonball platform.
Photo: Chris Carson

Cody lost yet another fishing rod to the murky depths of Rebecca Creek.  In my younger days, I
probably would have gone in after it, but you know what the song says... I'm not as good as I once was!  We paddled back and past the boat ramp, and headed to the Guadalupe River.  Then headed upstream for about 20 minutes.  It was during this paddle that our ears were assaulted with the soud of my daughter hurling every insult she could think of at her brother who probably could have out-paddled me.  Did I mention that she had the fastest boat and the paddle that moved the most water?

After awhile, we stopped at a bend in the river where the kids enjoyed more shenanigans.
 Flips, belly flops, and cannon balls were all in order from the Malibu Kayaks Mini-X.  This boat has some pretty exceptional stability as does my Stealth 14.  All in all, we all had a great time.  It was an absolutely wonderful way to enjoy creation, spend a little family time together and thank God for our blessings on a beautiful Sunday afternoon.

Cole on his Mini-X
Photo: Chris Carson

Brothers
Photo: Chris Carson

Cody's attempt at a cannonball
Photo: Chris Carson

A little after 6 PM, I decided it was time to start back.  Cole who had what I thought was the lightest paddle with the least surface area and no scoop, traded me for the heaviest paddle.  Which I then traded to Caitlyn,(so, they effectively traded paddles) to give her (what I thought was) the lighter paddle that Cole was using (turns out that hers was pretty light too) and low and behold, you would have thought I put a motor on her boat.  She beat us both back.  I don't know if it was the psychology of having what she was convinced was the better paddle (that her brother had been hogging the whole trip) or if having a paddle that displaced less water actually helped the situation.  I will probably never know.

We were very pleased with our Malibu Kayaks.  My Spider Angler seat from Crack Of Dawn Paddlesports was comfortable for a 4 1/2 hour trip and I could have gone longer.  Stability was great on both boats.  I'm a stealthy 265 lbs, and I can swing both legs to one side of the boat to look in my crate or reach the cooler.  I will have a more in depth review coming after I spend more time in it and actually get to fish rather than babysit, but for now, come check them out at Twisted Oak Hunting & Outfitter Supply.  You won't be disappointed!

46 Outdoors Adventure Files: Whitetail FAIL and What I Learned

Take a kid HUNTING!
Photo: Chris Carson

Usually, my final hunt of deer season is an annual hunt with my brother, his in-laws, and a few of his friends.  We share stories and pictures, eat some incredible meals, catch up with each other, and enjoy fellowship with family and friends.  Almost secondarily, we hunt, we kill, and we process much of the meat that will become meals for our families and friends.

I say secondarily, but in reality, this is a high fenced ranch under MLD permits, and we are there to do a job.  We are usually tasked with shooting does to keep the herd in balance and occasionally, we get a "hit list" of certain deer that need to be removed because of poor genetics or some other reason. Aside from the food, friends, family, and fellowship, we get to see some magnificent deer.

The last few years, for differing reasons, I have only been able to make it down for a day or even just an evening hunt.  This past season was no exception to that as I arrived about 2:30 on Friday afternoon and had to get back for something (probably baseball) on Saturday morning.

I met the guys at the skinning rack where they were finishing boning out a few deer shot the night before.  Once that was done, we headed back to the bunkhouse and began preparing for the evening hunt and getting an idea on where everyone was going to hunt.

My brother had asked his father-in-law (the land owner) about a buck he had seen that morning.  He was an 8 point that had been fighting and had broken off all his points on one side. The decision was made to take this deer out if it was seen.  I was also told to shoot a 6 point that had long hair and it's tongue was hanging out if I had a shot.

I was set up in a blind with an oat patch to the southwest, and a sendero to the northwest.  The wind was blowing from the south east.  It was early to mid January in South Texas a couple weeks or so post-rut.  A young buck came out shortly after I was dropped off to feed on the corn dropped in the road as my ride left to drop someone else.

About an hour later, with the young buck still eating, a few yearlings and young bucks came out down the sendero near the feeder.  I watched them for a good 20 minutes or so when a few more bucks started showing up, one of which was a buck that had a main beam with all three broken tines on the right and 4 points on the left.  I texted my brother to let him know what I was seeing and whether this was the deer he was talking about.  We decided that this deer was much younger than the one he had seen and passed.

I settled into watching the deer I couldn't shoot, when a big deer came to the feeder.  This was one of the group of deer known as "The Bubbas".  I had a great view of this deer through my binoculars.  I wanted to get a good picture of it, but all I had was my iPhone.  At 100 yards, a zoomed in photo was grainy and the deer looked small.  Without the zoom, this big bruiser looked like an ant with a bush on it's head.  I really do need to invest in a good camera!

As the evening wore on, the bucks all slowly left the sendero and a whole herd of does and yearlings
started showing up in the oats.  I quickly began to try to track which ones had fawns and which ones didn't.  As more and more deer showed up, it became increasingly more difficult to tell does from button bucks.  I noticed a deer on it's own on the south side of the pasture.  I looked her over and decided this was an old doe with no fawns making her a great candidate.  The way the blind was oriented, I put my rifle through the window on my left and set up for that shot.  I put the cross hairs on the old doe and waited for her to turn broadside.  As I was waiting, I was continually looking out the window that was in front of me to check on the rest of the herd to make sure I wasn't getting busted by them.

What seemed like an eternity later, I glanced out that window and saw something weird.  I did a double take.  My rifle still hanging out the window to my left, I brought my binoculars up and looked over the stock to see if I could identify this deer.  The best way I can describe it is that it looked like a miniature elk.  It was the strangest thing.  It had long hair on it's neck and shoulders; maybe a little reddish or brindle in color.

I moved my rifle from one window to the other.  Immediately, I began looking for a tongue that was hanging out.  The sun was beginning to set behind an overcast sky and while it looked up, I saw something dangling from it's mouth.  I couldn't be sure it was his tongue though and it gave me pause.  I kept looking.

I confirmed 6 points and was thinking this had to be the freak of nature they were describing.  I kept looking for the tongue to confirm the three characteristics I was given.  As my scope actually gathers more light than my bino's do, I was looking through the scope to confirm this deer's identity.  This deer must have had it's head down between rows for a good 5 minutes at a time.  Finally, he looked up and I saw that tongue just dangling out of the side of it's mouth.  This was a "hit list buck".  I was ready.  I settled into a comfortable position and waited for this deer to give me a good shot. When it did, I squeezed the trigger.

Take another kid HUNTING!
Photo: Chris Carson

The deer jumped forward, turned around and began running across the field.  I knew something didn't seem right.  I watched as this deer high tailed it across the pasture expecting it to crash or stop and keel over.  About 1/2 way across the field, I realized that wasn't going to happen.  I had already racked another shell, because I make it a habit to do so for just this situation, but I lost the angle on him and had to pull the rifle out of one window and put it back in the other.  I got back on him just in time to see him jump the fence and disappear into the brush.

I got down and went looking for blood or hair or any sign that my bullet made contact with the freak of nature, but sadly... I MISSED!

I couldn't believe it.  I don't miss very often.  In fact, I can't remember the last time I flat out missed an animal altogether.  I've mad some bad shots before and had to track them a ways, but I don't think I ever remember a flat out miss since I was a kid trying to shoot my first deer.

I have waited several months to write this, because I wanted to confirm my suspicions.  I recently took a trip to the range and confirmed my theorey.

That day, when I was getting ready, I realized as I was loading my rifle that I had two different rounds for that caliber.  I knew I had only bought one box of ammo.  It took me about a week or so to remember that a friend had found a box of Nossler bullets he knew I liked and bought them for me.  They were a different grain than what I had sighted in with and as such I put the box away in my gun case.  I guess I must have left a few in my backpack though and they mad their way into the pocket I keep where I keep my ammo.  One was longer and one was shorter.  I guess I picked the wrong one, Because the other shell I had in my hand that day hit the bullseye at 100 yards.

I was disappointed that I missed, but I always try to learn something from my mistakes.  My lesson here is to always check your packs, keep them organized and store your equipment properly.  It's a pain to pack and unpack every time you go, but a little extra time spent packing and unpacking won't be too painful.  I for one, assume that I have what I need in my backpack, because I never unpack it. Several years ago, I scouted the morning of opening day of rifle season because I went to the blind a left my magazine and shells at camp.  The fact of the matter is you don't know if it's there unless you pack it yourself... and even then it's sketchy at best (at least for me anyway)!  

 

Adventure Files: Did Someone Say Chupacabra?

Bergheim Pet Hospital & Clinic
Built By Chris Carson Contracting Co.
Photo: JM Photos

In what now almost seems like a previous life, I was a builder and remodeler.  I still dabble in that business from time to time, but nevertheless, it is safe to say that my career path has taken a detour.  In June of 2007, after a wet Spring, as I was in the process of building a vet clinic.  We were getting it “dried in” and my bricklayers were on site.  I had been discussing hunting with my masonry contractor, John, and he mentioned that he had never hunted hogs before.  He was born and raised in Midland, TX and lived in Central and South Texas for quite awhile.  How this man reached the age of 50 years old in Texas without ever hunting a hog was baffling, and I quickly decided that I would change that.

When I wrote him his check for the final payment of an outstanding job, I asked him if he was free the next weekend for a hog hunt and he was eager to go! We planned to go the following Friday evening.  We met at what was then the Super S Food Store in Castroville to pick up some snacks and drinks.  He was now working on some modifications on a tamale plant in San Antonio and brought some of the most delicious tamales I think I have ever had.

Suzuki Samurai Outfitted For Hunting
Photo: Chris Carson

We headed for my lease near Hondo, TX.  At the time, I had a Suzuki Samurai modeled outfitted much like the one in the photo.  The plan was pretty simple.  Corn the roads in specific places where I
knew hogs crossed and wait for them.  We also used some hog attractant and a pig call. 

After a few hours of prep work and showing John the lease, we headed over to one of the sites we corned, which was around a protein feeder that we had seen pictures of hogs trying to reach the feeder tubes.  We set up on the road about 50-60 yards downwind from the feeder.  We were slightly down hill and the weeds were very tall from all the rain we had been having.  I was a little concerned that a shot on a hog might be kind of tough because of the weed growth (even with the elevated rear seat), but we decided to stick it out and see what happened.

We settled into eating tamales and trading hunting stories.  If we weren’t fast friends yet, we were on our way.  He told me about bird hunting oil leases in West Texas and I told him about hunting hogs in East Texas.  Our whispered conversation was almost continuous.  About the time I thought that we didn’t have anything else to talk about, we would find another topic.

As sundown approached, we had a few deer come in to the protein feeder.  We watched as they milled around.  Most ate the corn.  I used this opportunity to judge where we did and didn’t have clear shots through the weeds. Surprisingly there were more clear shots than I thought, but they were doing a number on the corn.  I was glad to see them at the protein feeder though, because I could see a few inches of antler growth on every deer in this little bachelor group.

Corned Road Somewhere In South Texas
Photo: Chris Carson

As I was watching intently and looking at the antler growth on what seemed to be the dominant buck, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.  I looked up unable to refocus quickly enough with the difference in light from my binoculars to actual daylight, but something crossed the road about 15 yards in front of us.  John leaned in and whispered “what was that?”.  About the time I leaned back to say “I think it was a deer.” All the deer at the feeder disappeared.

I sat back up tall and began to replay what I had seen in my head while listening and scanning the brush line.  This animal bounded in from the right.  Then it smoothly eased across the road and back into the brush.  It dawned on me that the color I saw looked like a lighter toned deer, but it didn’t move like a deer and there seemed to be something moving behind it.  I leaned back in toward John and whispered “I don’t think that was a deer.” He whispered back “me either.” 

By this time, the hair on the back of my neck was standing at attention! John leaned over and asked “What do you think it was?”  I knew what I thought it was, but I didn’t want to say it for fear of being that guy. You know, the one that always has an outlandish tale that doesn’t seem plausible.  Honestly, I didn’t REALLY see it, so I just shrugged him off.  Being from South Texas, I had to make the obligatory Chupacabra joke to lighten the mood.

Then I began thinking about the fact that just a few months prior, I hunted this property on foot because in our hasty move from our lease in Grapeland, TX, I didn’t have a chance to get everything set up because I was so busy trying to clear my backlog of jobs so I could start the vet clinic on time.  I made makeshift ground blinds out of whatever twigs and fencing were laying around.  Fallen trees, small bushes and just plain old laying on my belly had been my preferred method of hunting and quite honestly it was one of the best hunting seasons I had ever experienced. 

As if all of this weren’t unnerving enough, I realized that we were in the one area on that side of the lease
where there were large mesquite trees with horizontal limbs that were about a foot or more in diameter.  Yep, now I was pretty sure what I had seen was a Mountain Lion.  I could tell John was a little sketchy about this situation too.  His eyes were darting around and it was pretty much completely dark by this time.  I leaned in a told John “I think that was a cat.”  To which he replied “I think that was a BIG CAT!” I breathed a sigh of relief for a moment knowing that he had seen what I thought I had seen.

John's Hog
Photo: Chris Carson

We sat there for a few minutes squirming around and I pointed out the fact that the trees over our heads and behind us were large enough to support a Mountain Lion. so we mutually agreed that it was in our best interests that we move on.

We checked a few other spots and I finally put John on some hogs, but he missed.  I took him several times that summer and if memory serves, he missed a couple times.  We finally got him his hog one night in August.  We had a heck of an experience together.  One I will never forget.  I kept the Mountain Lion sighting to myself for a few months not wanting to be that guy.  I hoped that somebody would get a pic of it on a trail cam, but nothing definitive.  Lots of blurry images, and maybes.  You can see just about anything you think you want to in those photos sometimes.  Then one day, talking to the ranch owner, he told me that a neighbor had seen a Mountain Lion.  I sighed in relief again knowing I wasn’t crazy!  It was finally time to let the cat out of the bag so to speak.  

About seven years later, I was deer hunting from a blind on the other side of the lease with my son Cole.  When it got to be prime time (that 20-30 minutes of gaslight when the sun goes down and the woods come alive), I thought I had seen something out the side window about 15-20 yards from the blind.  I had no idea what it was, but I was certain that a deer must have busted me took off in the brush.  Several minutes later, I shot a Bobcat.  We gave it the usual 10-15 minutes or so to let the nerves settle before we approached it.  I told Cole to open the door and start crawling down and as soon as he opened the door, he said "What's that?" I was still packing up and wasn't in a position to see what he was talking about. He said "Is that another Bobcat? It's huge!"  I said "Where?" and moved over to look out the window and Cole said "It's gone." I said which way did it go?" and he pointed north.  We quickly hopped in the truck and tried to follow, but what ever it was, was gone.

Bobcat From The Deer Blind

On the way home that night, I quizzed him about what he saw.  He was certain it was not a deer, and it was "way bigger than a bobcat".  When I got home, I showed him a picture of a Mountain Lion and he said "That's it!" He was 7 or 8 then.  I don't think he even knew what a Mountain Lion was until I explained it to him.  He has never been one to tell tall tales, so I tend to believe that (at the very least) he thinks he saw a Mountain Lion.  Chupacabra maybe?  Who knows?!?

Have you had any “hair raising” experiences outdoors?  Comment below or on the 46 Outdoors Facebook page and share them.  

Adventure Files: Too Hot To Fish? NEVER!

Cole is ready for his first trip
 to the salt.

Tomorrow, we leave for the sequel to this trip with the idea that we will try to win some scholarship money for Cole.  We plan to target flounder.  Who knows if success is in our future, but the adventure awaits!  We'll see what happens...


As most trips do, this one began with frustration as I scoured the house time after time, snapping at anyone who wasn’t helping me look for my sunglasses.  My 10 year old son, Cole was excited and had already loaded the truck. He was ready to roll.  Once we finally got on the road, we ran into traffic caused by an accident.  We re-routed and ran into more traffic.  After stopping for drinks, ice, and sunflower seeds, we eased our way out of town, headed south for Port Mansfield, TX.  My nerves calmed and Cole and I settled into what was going to be a great fishing trip.

After clipping the north side of Corpus Christi, we headed south on Hwy 77 and stopped at my favorite Dairy Queen south of Robstown (it’s my favorite because I only stop there on the way to go fishing with my brother), we settled in for the last stretch of the drive through what was and to some extent still is the King Ranch.  I told Cole that when I was a kid I could remember seeing a sign that said something to the effect of “No fuel next 100 miles”.  He was astonished.  I was too, as I learned that civilization apparently moves in at a rate of a mile per year, because there is still a sign, but 35 years later it reads “65 miles”. 

After making our way through the mesmerizing windmills dotted along the road east of Raymondville, we arrived at my brother Chuck’s little weekend getaway cabin.  Chuck was working on his boat trailer when we got there.  We made short work of finishing that off, went to the harbor to pick up the boat and got it ready for the weekend of fishing we were about to be blessed with.

As we went to bed, Cole asked me “Dad, do you think Uncle Chuck was serious about waking us up at 5:30 to go fishing and I’m going to get to drive the boat?”  He was elated to know it was true!

Saturday began at 5:30 AM with a knock at the door. Cole shot out of bed like rocket.  He was dressed and ready by the time I stumbled out of the bathroom. A quick ride to Poco Loco Marina and the boat was in the water.  Cole was behind the wheel under the watchful eye of Uncle Chuck!  Our live bait of choice was croaker, and there was no croaker to be found in port, so we knew there was a cast net in our future.  As we got out of the harbor and throttled up the boat, we began to encounter a choppy bay and Cole yielded the wheel.  Though he didn’t want to admit it, he was a little scared.

Morning run out of Port Mansfield, TX

We stopped along the South Padre Island shoreline of the East Cut to throw the cast net.  After a few throws, a couple boats went by. I looked back to check on the boat which was adrift about 10’ off the shoreline where we beached her and headed further out despite the Power Pole.  We all ran back, Cole was the first one there and decided that he was not going to be a hero when he took three running steps into the water and was chest deep.  Being the second one there, I swam after it and was immediately reminded of how difficult it is to enter a boat from the water without a ladder.  

MENTAL NOTE… All of my future boats will have a ladder (just like Chuck has carried a set of pliers with wire cutters on the boat since 1985, but that’s another story).   

With bait in the baitwell, we headed out to the jetties.  There was a boat where we wanted to fish, so we eased further down the jetties and caught a few White Trout and moved on.  We headed toward the North Cut and flagged down a croaker boat along the way.  We circled him for a few minutes as he was dealing with some issues on board.  We bought a few dozen croaker.  The exchange there was a little dicey with the choppy condtitions.  The larger vessel swamped us with water, but the Mosca Flats Raider handled it with ease.  Cole however was not so sure about that sequence of events. 

Cole fighting his first speck

Finally, we eased into the North Cut after a rough ride and Chuck got us set up.  He told Cole to cast upstream into the current and feather out line giving it a little bounce as it drifted and before he could really finish, he said “Look, see the line going?  There is probably a fish on there.”  He let it run for a few seconds and set the hook.  Cole reeled it in and there was his first Speckled Seatrout.  It was fun to see him learn just as I did from my brother.

Soon he was baiting his own hooks, making his own casts and catching his own fish.  But, as it goes with a 10 year old, inevitably he started doing his own thing and we would have to get him redirected. 

After about 30 or 45 minutes, and a few redirections, Chuck said “Let’s try something different”. He took a rod with a baitcaster and began tossing a 3” Pearl White Gulp! Shrimp around a nearby dock and let him reel it up showing him how to work the bait.  This went on for a few minutes and ultimately Cole got snagged on the dock.  They waded over to it, got the snag out and began fishing from the dock.  At this point, Cole was basically fishing vertically.  He would just drop it in and bounce it off the bottom and walk along the dock so he didn’t have to cast.  A minute or so later, he thought he had a snag.  As he pulled it up, he realized the he caught his first Flounder.  As they landed it, the fish flopped along the dock just ahead of Chuck trying to pick it up. Cole laughed and said “Are you taking my Flounder for a walk?”  Within an hour he caught his first Flounder and his first Trout

As the day wore on and Cole continued to experience success (when he did it the way he was told) and failure (when he lost focus and began doing his own thing), I was amazed to be witnessing the learning curve taught by success and failure.  Even more amazing to me was that this did not keep the distractions at bay.  I guess when you’re 10 years old, casting and reeling is just as fun as catching.  Trying to experience it as an adult through the eyes of a 10 year old is a strange dichotomy. 

Cole's first Flounder

Day 1

We worked several trout holes and probed for flounder along the way. We moved on up the North Cut to a channel that must have been cut for an oil well years ago.  We were attempting with no real luck to sight cast for Redfish.  After that we worked our trout holes again on the way back. 

We had steady success and ended the day with eleven trout and one flounder. We also caught an assortment of the usual hardheads, gar, and skipjack.  After splitting the duties of cleaning fish and cleaning up the boat and getting it ready for day 2, we had some Sausage and BBQ for dinner and relived the tales of the day. 

Day 2 began much like day 1 in that there was no croaker to be found.  So, with our trusty cast net, we headed straight to our trout holes along the North Cut.  As we were pulling into our first spot, a local guide pulled up right behind us and began fishing the same honey hole that all the guides take their clients to fish.  Chuck and Cole headed out to hunt baitfish while I stayed and got a head start on fishing with a Gulp! Shrimp.  I skipped it up under and around the dock we were next to hoping a nice doormat sized flounder was ready for breakfast, but no such luck!

While Chuck and Cole caught a bunch of bait, I landed a dink trout that needed to grow a little more, so I threw it back.  I could hear the guide giving his lessons and directing his customers.  About the time Chuck got back with the bait, the guide lowered the motor and took off.  I switched to live bait and put the first trout in the box on the next cast.  We joked that the guide saw he was about to take a butt whoopin’ from us and didn’t want to be showed up by a redneck with a cast net in front of the family that just bought bait and paid him $500 to put them on the fish.

Day 2

We put 7 fish in the box in short order.  I know, because I counted.  I think that jinxed us though, because the bite slowed after I counted, so we moved on.  We fished the middle of the cut, the mouth of the channel we fished the day before and further up the west shoreline of the North Cut.  

After a couple hours of coming up empty there, we came back and set up in our favorite trout hole and finished out our limits.  We stayed catching and releasing as the bites continued.  We never got a real total, but I figure we must undersize or over our bag limit. 

have had 15 keeper trout and we probably released 10 that were either

As the day was moving along quickly and we still had a long drive back to San Antonio, we left the trout biting (something I have never done before) and made about a 40 minute run to the jetties at the East Cut to see if we could hook up with Mr. Redfish.

31" Redfish

We pulled up to our spot and put lines in.  Almost immediately I started getting hits.  I slowly bounced my live mullet and the hits got harder. Finally, I had a fish on!  I set the hook and started reeling.  Before I had two cranks on the reel the drag started screaming.  That fish had me running laps around the boat, which is not easy with a 10 year old on board that just wants to see everything. I chased and he kept taking line.  As I got him close to the boat, off he went and thus began Round 2.  This time, he took a little more line and I let him run a bit.  When he got back to the boat he wasn’t ready for round 3.  Chuck, however was ready with the net and I was glad because I wasn’t sure I had a round 3 in me either.  This was my PERSONAL BEST Drum at 31” in length and weighing about 11 pounds. I must have put on a pretty good show, because the guys fishing from the jetties were cheering for me as I took my spot on the deck at the bow of the boat for a photo op. Poor Cole never got his line in the water before all that broke loose.

After we got Cole fishing, I baited up again and tossed it out and began working it back.  I got a few hits and jerked one out of some unsuspecting fish’s mouth.  I guess I was still a little punchy after that fight. The next cast I reeled in a slot red which put up a good fight, but nothing like the first one. About 10 minutes later, I hooked up again and the fight was on!  Again! 

41" Redfish and release  #CPR

This one, I knew, had to be bigger.  This fish took what seemed like endless amounts of line.  I recall Chuck wondering if it might be a Tarpon. He had me running laps again for awhile.  Then Chuck suggested I let Cole fight him for awhile, so we exchanged rods and I reeled his up and grabbed the video camera.  As I was taking video, he said “Take it.”  I put down the camera and watched him a bit longer as the fish kept taking line until he said “Take it” again. I took the rod back and the fish took me to the stern and tried to get me tangled up with the motor and the Power Pole.  Then back to the front and back around again.  I finally got him close to the surface and he swirled and went back down.  It looked like a red, but we didn’t see the tell tale spot, so we were thinking maybe this was a Black Drum.  What ever it was we knew it was big.  I fought hard to bring him back to the surface and noticed a tiny little dot near it’s tail.  I joked later that he had outgrown his dot.  After one more dive, and several tries with the net, we finally landed this monster redfish.  He barely fit in the net. 

Again I took my stage at the front of the boat to the cheers and congratulations of the onlookers from the jetties.  One asked what its length was and I proudly proclaimed it to be 41”.  My new and current Personal Best Red Drum was now 41” and I have no idea how much he weighed.  The scale on the Boga Grip bottomed out at 15 lbs. I would venture to say it was double that.

Cole's first Redfish  27 3/4"

After releasing the biggest fish I have ever caught, I sat on the cooler and drank a Gatorade in the 100+ degree heat of August, catching my breath once again.  I was trying to recall who it was that just told me it was too hot to fish a week earlier.  Cole hooked up with his own Redfish.  It gave him a pretty good fight that I enjoyed watching, but was no match for the strong 10 year old.  Cole’s fish measured in at 27 ¾”. 

We called it a day and headed in proud of our catch, and satisfied with a great fishing trip!  Chuck cleaned the fish again while I hosed down the boat and packed up. 

We said our good byes and thanked Chuck for a great fishing trip.  Cole was already asleep by the time we left Port Mansfield which takes all of about 3 minutes.  As HWY 186 turns east back toward Raymondville, I saw a pair of White Wing Dove fly across the road in front of me headed South and realized… Dove Season is right around the corner!

Introducing Adventure Files: 46 Outdoors Adventure Series

One of my favorite photos taken by Chuck Crowsey at a
ranch in South Texas 

I once heard adventure defined as: "an exciting or wild undertaking of uncertain outcome".  That sounds like the plan for most of my outdoors experiences.  Isn't that truly what many of us are after?

If you asked me why I hunt and fish, of course feeding my family would be high on that list.  I would also argue that the meat I harvest is as organic and naturally free ranging as anything you can buy in a grocery store and probably more so.  I would further point out that these wild animals are leaner and since I process my own meat, it is void of many of the chemicals and  growth hormones found in your local grocery store or meat market, but that is a conversation for another day.  What I am really after is the thrill of the hunt. I want a memorable experience.  Not only do I want to come home safely with a cooler full of meat or fish, I want to bring home a story.  I want a memorable experience to share with my friends and family.  I want an ADVENTURE.

In the series that follows, I will chronicle and share with you these adventures when they unfold. I
have found these experiences to be fairly entertaining and at least somewhat educational. Much like my Kayak Fail a couple weeks ago... If you haven't seen that post, click on the link. It's pretty entertaining! Many of these exciting undertakings will involve my kids and the trials and tribulations of exploring the outdoors with kids in tow. Other installments will include some throwback stories. These may be some of the best of this series as there was probably more true adventure in my younger, wilder days. However, I have found that my kids can take me on adventures too. You just never know what will happen.

The essence of that is what drives me to live life in the great outdoors. How many adventures do you have indoors?  How many adventures do your kids have indoors?  I for one can tell you, if you don't tell them to put down the tablet and go outside, the only adventure they will find is a new world in Minecraft or some other ridiculous game.

My 10 year old son played 4 baseball games this weekend.  Our 4 year old son has a blast at these tournaments.  He races pebbles down hills like race cars, plays in the sand, and runs the bases after the games. They don't like to be indoors.  Their imagination runs wild when they are outdoors. When they have the chance to go hunting or fishing, there is never a question as to weather or not they "want" to go.  I think the older one would truly not be able to decide if I gave him the choice of baseball or fishing. When we are at home, they play their share of video games (much to my dismay). Fortunately, that is not at all very often.  In fact, the real issue is keeping him off the screens so he can get his homework done.

My daughter spends less time outdoors willingly.  However, sometimes she surprises me and wants to go. This may be more about the age (age 12) than anything else.  She used to like going to the lease with me to fill feeders and just poke around when she was younger. I always laugh, when we leave her at home and go to a baseball game. We almost always get the call... "When are you coming home? I'm bored!"  I like this call, I think it means we are one day closer to her coming back around. At least that's what I tell myself!

It is my sincere hope, that one of these days, I will have the time and means to produce enough content to fill a weekly series.  Until then I will attempt to fill in with throwback content...  Enjoy!