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Gone, gone
I hate having missed the Spanish bite last weekend and the first part of the week, but I finished most of my trail mowing and spent a couple of days making firewood out of some oak and hickory tops and butts that loggers considerately left for me last summer, which leads me to this observation: Age and time are such subtle thieves, stealing your strength and stamina in increments so small that you don't notice until the time that you must reach for them and there is nothing left of them but a shell and small driblets. Good Lord, my back hurts. It took me three times longer to get in half as much firewood than I would have just a few years back.
Things were improved late yesterday evening when a large feral boar wandered into the field in front of the camp and dallied long enough for me to get my .270 out of the gun safe. He then ignored the doe that snorted at me when I opened the door and held his ground long enough for me to plant a 130 gr. psp in his vitals. It knocked him down, but he jumped up and ran across the field like the hounds of hell were after him---that ridge of hair on his spine was fully erect and he was boogieing. I got a flashlight and went to where he'd fallen and quickly found blood, then a blood trail which is something you don't always get with a wild hog. I followed him into the thick woods and found myself grinning---there I was, blood trailing a wounded boar through thick brush, alone, at night with only two cartridges left in my rifle. It just doesn't get much better than that. God is good.
Found him a little way down a steep hill and went back and got the tractor and was able to hold my breath and stand on the brakes long enough to get close enough to load him in the front end loader. Then, I had to back up through that unfriendly terrain with only a little flashlight to see by---but it all worked out all right.
The family up on the main road was glad to get him---he wasn't quite so big that he'd taste strong---and I didn't have to fool with cleaning him. Good way to start the fall.
See y'all in a day or two.
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Haywire...I feel your pain ..
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I do have a power log splitter but nothing like the video. It now takes me all week to do what I used to call a days work. I work a little and then rest a little. As the day goes on the work vs rest get shorter vs longer. Somehow I manage to get it done. I have learned to depend upon tools and leverage instead of brute strength.
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There was an old black man named Rance Evans that I turkey hunted on his land years ago.....i was sitting on the porch talking to him one day and noticed hand built stools all over his yard and garden...I asked him about them and he had a stool for every place he got tired....:congratulatory:...
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You better believe I graduated from a splitting maul a loooong time ago and have a hydraulic splitter that runs off my tractor hydraulics. However, those chain saws are still hand-operated. No matter how hard I try, I can only levitate two or three chunks before my telekinetic powers fade away, and I have to start picking them up and putting them in the splitter by hand. Grunting real loud helps. Loading, hauling and stacking are boring, but it's all worth it when (if) the weather turns cold---I keep going outside just so I can smell the wood smoke from the chimney. When I win the Powerball lottery, right after I buy the GS Pier, I'm going to build a house with turbocharged air conditioning and have a fireplace in every room.
That story about the old man and the stools is priceless. There was nothing wrong with the old fellow's mental acuity or his priorities. I don't think it'll be too much longer before I'll be taking his advice---I already have a number of designated "leaning spots".
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gonna take another shot at seeing yall veterans day weekend,,kayak fishing yesterday helped my arms quit aching from woodsplitting and climbing stand a few times,,,only 1 lil bass in 2 hrs paddling,,but the exercise sure helped my arms,,getting old sux grits,,,then there is the alternative,,chuckster
