From Beach Bum to Mountain Man

It had been a good day, all things considered. The tourist season was just beginning to take off again and I'd happily spent my morning taking tourists kayaking in Salt Run off of Saint Augustine Beach. With the warmer weather already here, I was looking forward to a nice long season of guiding. 

 

Things had changed a little bit from my time living in Casa De Pantelones. I still hung out with all my usual friends, but as crazy as it sounds (really crazy actually), now that I simply lived on the other side of A1A with no regular beach access, I hardly spent time on the actual beach. If anything, I'd walk down to the neighborhood pool and relax there. So yes, I lived within 600 yards of the ocean, but no, I rarely wandered across the highway, down several blocks, and then over the sand dunes to the water. When you're that big of a bum, you can't be bothered. 

We were living in a gated community just off A1A and given that it was gated, we were the youngest residents in the neighborhood by about an eon. There were a few decent neighbors, but absolutely no shortage of nosy ancients who had nothing better to do than watch our every move and write HOA about the slightest infractions. Nastygram letters never ceased to arrive in the mail, and we even had one neighbor who went so far as to dig through our recycle, discover we were putting pizza boxes in said recycle bin, and write us a letter explaining how we aren't supposed to do that (you can recycle them, FYI). 

There was one afternoon, in fact, where my roommate Brad and I were swimming at the pool and enjoying a beer. Two older men walked into the pool deck, picked where they were going to sit, then proceeded to give us the stink eye for a while. After finally realizing that awkwardly staring at us wasn't effective, one of  them finally piped up. 

"How'd y'all get in here?" he asked, rather uppity. 

"Through...The gate?" I responded, taking a swig of beer and motioning toward the pool gate. 

"No, smartass. How'd you get into Seagate (the community)?" 

And with giant grins, both Brad and I responded, 

"We live here"

"Where?" asked the now grumpier old man

"Clambake Court", I told him flatly. (Yes I realize all the jokes you can make from Clambake, we already made them all)

It took the old man a second to register what he'd heard, and he disbelievingly removed his sunglasses to reveal a pair of untanned, sunken, and wrinkly eyes. 

"Holy shit. There's people living in Seagate under the age of 50?"

Interactions like this became relatively common. At least until the whole neighborhood knew who we were. But the nosiness and rude letters never ended. 

It wasn't until I got home from my day of guiding that I checked my mail to discover a letter from our landlord. And upon reading it, my day went from pretty good, to pretty awful. For the SECOND time, our landlord was reneging on our lease agreement and kicking us out early so he and his wife could move back in. 

I won't bore you with the details of the following weeks, but just know that Bruce Philips of Saint Augustine is right up there was some of the biggest pieces of shit I've ever had the misfortune of dealing with. 

So we were all set to be homeless. Again. And the thought of going through the motions of finding a new place made me physically ill. 

From the time I moved away for college in 2009 until this particular day in 2017, I had moved at least twice a year, every year. I didn't own many things, in order to make moving that much less painful. But it's painful regardless. I was exhausted. 

Over the past two years I had visited Montana a couple of times and began seriously wondering if it was a place I could live in. I knew the winters would be brutal for someone like myself, but the place seemed awesome. So I told myself if I had to move one more time, I was going to just pack it all up and go to Montana to give it a try. 

So as I sat there, reading the letter informing us that we were getting kicked out, I realized what was about to happen. 

"Looks like I'm moving to Montana". 

------

Everything from that point on happened pretty fast. I sold the Gheenoe along with most of my other junk. I kept a dresser, some clothes, my kayaks/fishing gear, and my fish tank. I shotgunned my resume out to a bunch of different employers within the Wildlife Ecology field (I spent all that time getting the degree afterall), and within a couple of weeks had received an offer from the Bureau of Land Management in Butte, MT as a seasonal wildlife technician. 

Aside from being two hours from Missoula MT, I knew nothing about Butte. And to be honest, I didn't really care. It was a job that I managed to land before I even had a place to stay. So I took it. I soon found a place to rent in Missoula and before I knew it, I had loaded everything into the truck and was driving west.   

If you've never physically driven across our great country, consider yourself lucky. Its terrible. Just fly for Christ's sake. 

I lucked out in that I have friends scattered all across the country. So I made the drive from Saint Augustine to Pensacola to see my family. Then Pensacola to Bentonville Arkansas to stay with a friend. Then Arkansas to Denver to stay with others. Finally Denver to Missoula. 

When I finally arrived in Missoula, I swore to myself that I'd never drive anywhere ever again. I really didn't enjoy the drive. But I was now in a new city, and excited to be there. Sure I'd moved a ton in Florida. But aside from -barely- living in southern Georgia, I'd never resided outside of the sunshine state. 

My "new" place was (and still is at the time of writing this), just an old house right in the middle of town. But it's close enough to downtown to walk, and I have a little yard with a garden, and a garage for my kayaks and my brand new toy:

No sense in having a Gheenoe out here, so why not a raft? Over the years I learned to not only appreciate but also enjoy coldwater fly fishing, so it only seemed logical to own a raft. 

--------

The job with BLM was actually pretty fun. I dealt with Aspen research and to make a long story short, I essentially got paid to hike around the mountains with a chainsaw. 

The only drawback of the job was that it was in Butte. Not only is Butte and pretty terrible town to begin with, it's also two hours from Missoula; a daily commute I couldn't commit to. So rather than drive back and forth, I opted to use the camper shell on the back of the truck for its intended use and actually camp. I'd leave Missoula at 4am Monday mornings, camp out of the truck Tuesday through Thursday night, then drive back after work on Friday evening. 

The whole concept doesn't sound too terrible on paper. But the logistics and reality of it got old VERY quickly. I'd wrap up a long day of working in the woods only to drive back into the woods again to camp. I was lucky enough to have access to a shower at work, but there's certainly no toilet out in the woods. Fun fact: it can start snowing in AUGUST. I woke up one morning to discover snow had built up enough outside to seal the tailgate shut and trapped me inside. Cooking? I either had to pick up fast food while I was in town, or...

Bottom line, it got old. So as thankful as I was to have had such an easy transition across the country, I was thankful when the job ended and I found myself back in Missoula full time. With hunting season right around the corner, I looked forward to what this new change in lifestyle would bring, and couldn't help but think how different things were going to be now that I wasn't a beach bum anymore. 

You Underestimate The Sneakiness

First of all, my apologies for being relatively absent the past month. I've started field work again this year and that means no internet access. So the only real time I have to post is on the rare occasion that I enter some sort of town.

Sadly, as far as hunting and fishing goes, my field work so far has been lacking. We've only encountered a handful of pigs and I've been fishing for Crappie once in the past month. Turkey season is, however, right around the corner and hopefully it won't be long before I actually have something worthwhile to right about.

But just because I haven't been actively hunting it doesn't mean I haven't been brushing up on my hunting skills. Last year during darting season I managed to spot and stalk a doe out of a group and successfully dart her. The whole process consisted of an incredible amount of luck and the right circumstances. For the most part, I counted the whole thing as fluke. But a few nights back, I decided "Why not try it again"

While sitting in the stand one evening, the does that had been regularly showing up...didn't. And rather than sit around in the dark all night and not see anything, I opted to climb out of the stand and see if I could find any deer on foot.

About 1/4 mile from the stand is a giant field that pretty regularly has deer in it. I headed that way and sure enough, spotted out a group of 7 does in the FLIR. The question then arose: "How do I cross 300 yards of open field without them hearing or seeing me?" I should mention that it WAS night, but my silhouette could be easily seen by a deer paying any sort of attention. So instead of heading straight across the field at the group, I decided to use the terrain to my advantage. Across the middle of the field runs a road and it happens to be raised approximately 3 feet higher than the surrounding fields.

After scanning the field with the FLIR, I noticed that all of the deer were on one side of the raised road. So with a quick check in wind direction, I decided to move around and position myself on the back side of the raised road and keep it between myself and the deer. For the next 45 minutes, I crouch walked nearly 300 yards until I was within 50 yards of the group.

What amazes me is how in 35 degree weather, I can literally be dripping sweat while stalking. Crouch walking and carrying a dart gun and nightvision is actually exhausting. So every time I tossed up the nightvision scope, my hands would shake from being so tired. I had now managed to close the distance, but I needed to get closer. Our dart guns are sighted in for 15 yards, and a 20 yard shot is beginning to push it. Through some tall grass, I could see the group of does milling around on the other side of the raised road. Some had actually began to bed down. There was, however, a serious problem beginning to arise: Two does were flanking around to my right and were getting dangerously close to moving directly down wind of me.

One of the issues with trying to be sneaky in complete darkness is that it's almost impossible to see what you're stepping on. Noisy, dried sticks and leaves remain unseen and only make their presence known once they've been stepped on. And unfortunately for me, I had walked into a thick area of the noisiest sticks on the county. Unable to move, I watched as the does walked back and forth at about 50 yards. And to my dismay, I watched as the two does on my right got closer and closer to being dead down wind of me. Knowing that I only had a few moments before I got busted, I cranked up the pressure on the dart gun, tossed up the nightvision scope, picked out the closest doe, and "winged it".

It seemed like the dart was in the air for close to an hour and I saw the blinking little dart track from over the top of the shoulder and drop close to two feet. But the next thing I heard was a loud "THWACK" and watched as the doe ran off with a dart in her side. Through the FLIR, I saw the doe stop at 100 yards and look back over her shoulder...then topple over.

The next day we ranged my shot at 42 yards. I got incredibly lucky, but I think at least a little bit of it had to do with being sneaky and taking advantage of my surroundings. My friends seemed shocked that I'd managed to sneak up on 7 does, and I imagine it's just because they underestimate the sneakiness.

I'm going to work hard to keep up with my writing better. I've got some plans in the making for buying a trailer for the kayak in the near future and that will mean A LOT more kayak fishing. Stay tuned!

A Look Back at 2012

So it's a new year. And since I (sort of) keep up with my writing, I suppose I'm required to make some sort of post that reflects on the last year. Right?

Everyone's doing it, after all.

2012 was bizarre to say the least. With the exception of graduating college, there was practically -nothing- that happened to me over the course of the year that I actually saw coming. So here's a list of things I absolutely was not expecting in 2012 (Picture heavy):

My first pig.

Wishing I'd played football so I could tackle deer better.

Becoming a giant fan of craft beer.
Killing multiple deer with darts, yet failing to kill one with actual rifles/bows
Playing with awesome technology (including FLIR)

Sightfishing for Bonito

Having multiple writing opportunites open up
Being single for the first time in seven years
Nearly stepping on a giant rattler

Catching my biggest bass

Then doing it again

Getting a Facebook, Twitter, AND Smartphone (I've almost caught up with everyone else my age)
Discovering Tannerite

Making life-long friends in the middle of no-where
Realizing that fawns get eaten like hot-cakes

Killing my first coyote
Killing my first boar with a pistol

Going Crappie fishing for the first time

Getting VERY little kayak fishing done
Becoming an uncle

Fishing out of a Gheenoe

Catching my first Snook on the fly

Discovering Mullet isn't good when grilled

Practically becoming a radio telemetry master
Realizing how important family and true friends are
Having the Jeep attempt to kill me on multiple occasions
Realizing the Jeep will float (for a second)
Discovering that bow hunting for pigs from the ground is easier said than done

Going on my first muzzle loader hunt

Getting momentarily burned out on hunting for the first time
Actually -wanting- to be around people/civilization
Confirming the fact that I absolutely -cannot- work in an office cubicle with no windows
Learning what "Business Casual" means
Becoming a firm believer in the ThermaCell

Getting paid to write
Getting a new girlfriend
Killing my biggest boar

Learning to play one of the greatest games ever invented:  "Stump Game" (I'd suggest googling it)
Learning that deer can actually growl
And finally,
Deciding to go back to school

Though this isn't an exhaustive list, I feel like I've hit the big moments. I purposefully -don't- write about everything that happens to me in the outdoors. It's important to me to do this as I often find myself becoming disengaged as I try to take pictures, or failing to really appreciate the experience by rushing to write down the events. Certain things make it on the blog, while others are saved to be told first hand around a campfire, on long drives, or when the bite is slow. The love of simply telling a story often outweighs the love of writing about it.

2012 was a pretty wild ride and brought an absurd amount of unexpected events. If I could change just one thing, it'd be to get more kayak fishing done. I really barely got out in the bright yellow yak. So even though I'm never one to make a new years resolution, I guess if I -had- to, it would be to fish out of the kayak more in 2013. Sounds reasonable...no?

I will be back out in the woods again this spring to tackle unsuspecting deer. I've also got one more whitetail hunt planned before the season ends for good. I know that things won't go at all like I expect them to in 2013, but I look forward to the unexpected. After all, the unexpected is what makes for good stories.

Stay tuned!

Bambi Never Wore a Collar

“FAWN!”, I yelled as it became clear that the gangly little creature behind the Doe in the road was, in fact, its offspring. And it was un-collared. My job is relatively simple…Put radio collars on fawns, and track them. Like so…

My head jerked back is the Hemi roared up to speed, but I kept my eyes focused on the fawn. It and its mother tore off into the bushes as the truck approached where we had spotted them. The fawn was still in that awkward stage where it can’t run really well. Maybe a week old. I had it in my sights. Radio collar in hand, I opened the passenger door to the truck and bailed out…

While we were still moving.

I realized my mistake only after my feet hit the ground. To “hit the ground running” is much easier said than done. And generally isn’t a phrase that’s supposed to be taken literally. The truck was luckily moving slow enough that I managed to keep my balance and only stumble into the roadside ditch.

My feet soon caught up with my body and with my balance regained I charged full speed toward the brush, watching as a tiny white tail disappeared at shin level. From the truck, the brush looked no more than knee high. It wasn’t until I leaped full speed into the thicket that I realized the brush was closer to chest height.

Now considerably slower, I high stepped my way through the brush, tight on the heels of my spotted little target. I was getting closer. Only a stride or two behind the little guy when it suddenly changed directions and made a 90 degree turn. I did my best to follow, but running full speed through high brush doesn’t really allow for quick turns. And almost as if on queue, I began to lose my balance.

There’s a bizarre slowing of time that happens when one is about to fall. Not the kind of falls where you just end up flat on your backside, but rather the falls that you think you can recover from. Slipping on that slimy rock in the river. The slick boat launch at dawn. Tripping over that cypress knee, or even tilting just a -little- too far back in your chair. This was one of those instances. I struggled to catch myself for a good 10 yards (I got this, I got this, I got-) before finally, (I don’t got this) I fell. Hard

Quail plantations are relatively unique in that almost everything that grows can cut, prick, or outright stab you. So when I finally hit the ground, I wasn’t welcomed by a cushion of soft grass, but rather a healthy mixture of briars, Devil’s Walkingstick, and blackberry bushes.

I should get up and keep chasing that deer, is what ran through my mind. Nature, however, had other ideas as I realized I was practically pinned with thorns. I rolled over onto my back and attempted to get up only to discover I’d managed to wrap myself up tighter in the briars. My adrenaline faded fast as I lay on my back and stared through the body shaped hole in the brush to the blue sky beyond. I became suddenly aware of how scratched up I was.

“Did you get it!? Alex? I’ve got the scale!…Where are you?!”, my boss’ voice drifted up from the direction of the truck.

“Ow”, I answered back. My voice slightly muffled. Something was across my face, pinning my lip back. Ah, another briar…lovely.

It took me a couple of minutes to break free from my vegetative hell. I made my way back toward the truck, bits and pieces of thorns and briars trailing behind me.

I can’t believe I got juked by a deer barely old enough to walk.

“I take it you didn’t catch it…”

“Psh…You think?” I chuckled back as I walked toward the truck through the brush. “I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in..”

I was cut short as I heard something moving not ten feet away. I caught a glimpse of the spotted little fawn as it got up from its hiding place. It had been staying still and quiet right next to where I’d fallen. I watched as it made an awkward break for some even thicker cover, and disappeared completely.

You win…

Big News

Well...I found out earlier this week...

I GOT A WILDLIFE JOB!!

*Cheering and applause*


It's been since last summer that I had a job. During that one I worked as an intern for the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission and I enjoyed every minute of it. So when I heard that I'd landed this new job, I literally jumped up and down.

Why so excited?

Well, aside from the fact that I'm flat broke, and it's relatively hard to find a job right now, and it's a wildlife job...It's working with Whitetail Deer!

I'm helping out a PH.D student with his project through the University of Florida. The study involves examining the effects of Coyotes on Whitetail Deer. In order to do this, I'll get to essentially hunt does with night vision goggles and a tranquilizer gun, radio collar them, and later use telemetry to track them down and check on the fawns. Two different areas will be compared to examine deer mortality with the presence and absence of coyote control.

Oh yeah...and I'll be getting paid to do this. The study is on a large piece of private land that I've also been given access to hunt and fish on. So excited isn't even the right word.

This job sounds like -exactly- the kind of experience I'd like and I'm truly thankful (and lucky) to have gotten it. I start in February, so hopefully I'll start getting pictures and what not by then. 'Till, then, I'll just have to fill my time with some fishing reports (that should be coming soon as well).

End of an internship

Well, that's about it for my summer internship with FWC at Three Lakes Wildlife Management Area. I can't even begin to describe how much experience I gained in the 3 short months that I worked there. It was great to finally get an idea of the kind of work environment I might end up in with my school major.

My last day of work had me searching for more Kogon grass. I took that opportunity to drive out to an area I'd never been to. I drove the four wheeler out to the far side of lake Jackson for some pictures. I took a short break out there, admired the view, and then drove back to the office for the last time. I really enjoyed the internship as a whole and I don't regret a second of my summer.

Trip up the fire tower

The office out at Three Lakes WMA has a fire tower behind it and it wasn't until I had to take pictures from the top of it that I realized I'd never been up. From below, it doesn't look THAT high, but after climbing flight after flight of stairs, I realized I was way up there.
Whoever designed the door on tower failed. It opens from the bottom like a hatch. The problem is that this hatch swings into the room and the stairs run directly into the wall. This means that in order to climb inside, one has to climb to the top of the stairs, spin around in a circle, and leap over the hatch to the safety of the room floor. The picture below is a view of the hatch from above. Note that the green vegetation is the top of 60+ ft. oak trees. The room didn't have much inside. There were two chairs, an old radio, a pair of binoculars, and a table with a compass on it.

It was rather roomy for being a big wooden box sitting on top of a steel tower. The only thing unsettling was the fact that I had chosen a windy day to climb up. Every time a gust of wind hit the room, the entire thing would vibrate and an eerie "whoosh" sound could be heard all around. It only took me a few minutes to take the pictures I needed, and I got a chance to have a bird's eye view of the entire surrounding area. I never realized how far one could see out of those fire towers and I'm betting it would be fairly easy to actually spot a wild fire.The climb down was uneventful, but I did manage to take a few pictures of the view straight down the stairs. The whole fire tower experience is certainly not for someone who's afraid of heights.

Deer Spotlighting

Well, I managed to slack off for a few months now in my writing (it's what, October now?). I figure with the way I'm going, any chances of catching up and posting recent events have been dashed. So what's the rush? Anywho, let's take a trip down memory lane and visit more of July.

In July, Along with Photopoints and Dove trapping, I got a chance to do deer spotlight counts. Basically...It's something I'd do for fun, even if I wasn't getting paid. It requires 3 people to do the surveys. One to drive, and two to sit on the back of the truck and shine the lights/use the rangefinder on the deer. Every time a deer is spotted, the driver stops and takes a GPS point. The two people on the back get a range and bearing on the deer along with sex and number of deer. The driver writes down all this information which is later plugged into a computer. So what's the problem with riding around the woods shining deer all night?
Nothing really. Except for the 'all night' part.
It's understood in the outdoor community that all wildlife, particularly game animals, keep terrible hours. Ask any hunter or fisherman when the best time to go out is and the answer will always be some God awful hour of the morning or long into the darkness of night. Most animals are active right after sun up and right before dark. Deer, however, are the exception to this rule because deer...are crazy. They generally don't come out until it is FAR into the night, long after even the most avid hunter has left the stand, driven home, showered, eaten, and climbed into bed. Sure one might see a deer in the middle of the day. But these are simply the insomniacs of the deer herd. The rest are hiding in the bushes until the earth has rotated a full 180 degrees. It is because of this, that we do deer surveys at night.
Oh, and because their eyes glow and are easy to see. But it's mainly because they're crazy.

Deer surveys started at 8:00 pm and lasted until about 2:00 or 3:00 am. For some reason (and I never got a straight answer as to why) FWC stopped conducting surveys on Three Lakes. Instead, the surveys are done at Triple N Ranch, Bull Creek, and Fort Drum WMA's. All of these areas are at least a 45 min drive from Three Lakes so my hours usually started about 7 and ended around 4.

Over the course of the month, I help conduct about 8 different surveys and I thoroughly enjoyed each and every one of them. Every one was different and it was exciting to see the different bucks and admire them as they stared, zombie like, back at the spotlight. By far, the biggest were located on Ft. Drum back toward the Turnpike. I found that the reason for this was because it was close to 2 miles through swamp from the entrance to the back of the WMA and vehicles weren't allowed. Meaning, that one had to walk to the back.
Unfortunately, I was unable to snap any pictures of the deer. Even if I had tried, my flash probably would have ruined it. Not the mention the fact that they were usually anywhere from 80-300 yards away from the truck.

The hours certainly managed to take their toll on me. I would usually do an 8-4 during the day, rest and then head back at 7 until 2 or 3. Rest, and get back up to work at 8 again. Luckily, FWC won't pay interns overtime so I'd usually hit my 40 hours for the week very early and then have a few days off. I did, at least, try to take it relatively easy during the days. I was really only whooped if we had to do a prescribed burn the day before a survey. I was able to snap a picture of something I'd only read about previously. A Pyrocumulus cloud:
Apparently its produced from large amounts of smoke. Under the right conditions, water vapor from the smoke manages to boil up into a storm. So, in a sense, we're busy raining ourselves out when we burn. Kinda counterproductive, huh?

Attack of the ninja turkeys!

July began the month of dove trapping. The state issued our office 30 bands and it was my responsibility to set the traps and band these doves. I've always been aware that doves aren't exactly high up on the intelligence scale. In fact, I was certain the scale went: Chimps, dolphins, dogs, parrots, horses, cows, mullet, and doves.After seeing and setting the traps, I came to the realization that doves are actually dumber than originally believed. The dove trap is a square cage with tunnels on the sides. One places seed in a line leading through the tunnel and into the cage....and that's it. The doves follow the seed in and can't figure out how to go back through the tunnel. The trap follows the same principle as a crawfish trap, but I've at least seen crawfish escape before. I've now had to revise the intelligence scale to this: Chimps, dolphins, dogs, 90% of the people encountered in Wal-mart, parrots, horses, cows, mullet, an oak tree, a brick, ABC's: The View, and finally doves.

Bands were put on the right leg and each band had its own ID number. I had to check each bird's molt stage, age, and sex. After this they were free to go...sometimes. On three separate occasions I released a dove only to have it sit in my hand and not fly away. I had to drop it in order for it to realize it could escape.
I set traps at four different locations around the WMA and had to check them every hour because of the heat. After all, no one likes roasted dove....well...maybe...but you get my point. My first day of trapping produced 10 dove and I had high hopes for knocking out the entire month's worth of banding in under a week. After that day, I never caught more than 3 in a day. I point the blame to turkeys. Ninja turkeys at that.

Over the course of a few weeks, the turkeys figured out that every time a truck drove up, seed magically appeared around the traps. After the truck left, they were free to eat all the seed around the trap and as far into the tunnel as their necks could reach. With that, they'd slip silently back into the bushes to await my next hour's visit. Each and every time I'd show up...the seed was gone and I'd have to re-bait. I knew it was turkey from the tracks. I just couldn't catch them in the act. At one point, I waited only 15 minutes rather than an hour only to find that they'd sneaked in, eaten all the seed, and disappeared (like a ninja) back into the bushes.
The abundance of turkeys brings me to my next point: Turkey hunters not trying hard enough.

I was assigned the (riveting) task of logging ALL comments on the back of hunter check cards from the previous hunting seasons. Yes, all of them. Even the: "Why the $@%* did you cut down so many trees?!" and the "Found some *%&hole in my treestand this morning!".

Several clever hunters had the audacity to write: "Stock with more turkey". If they only realized all they have to do is park their truck, act like their throwing seed, hide, and wait, then they'd have a turkey in under 15 minutes. Three Lakes is actually WELL known for its Osceola Turkey hunting and I've probably seen more turkey than I have deer since I've been here. Therefore, I feel I must place these whining turkey hunters on my intelligence scale. Somewhere between the mullet and an oak tree. Or maybe just below the brick.

To my surprise, the traps actually caught more than just Mourning Doves. They also caught Ground Doves:
And one (slightly angry) Mockingbird:
On a side note, I'm busy compiling a list of all creatures one might encounter that bite. I'm pleased to announce the the Mockingbird has been added to this list.

Overall, the dove trapping proved to be quite fun when I wasn't being sabotaged by ninja turkeys. I was almost bummed when I caught and banded my 30th dove since I knew it would be right back to spraying for exotics again.

Real squirrels don't go "woof"

The week following the truck drowning incident consisted of even MORE photopoints!
The heat became unbearable from the four wheeler so I took Shrek out again. If figured it would be OK since I wasn't going near any wet areas on this particular part of the management area. I worked till around noon and decided that I'd take a break and eat some lunch. I turned down a road and found some shade. I then turned the truck around in a fire break and went to park it underneath the shade. As I approached the shady area, I noticed something sitting in the middle of the road about 60 yards away.
Wow, that's one goofy looking fox squirrel, I thought to myself as I drove the truck toward it. Why is it sitting like that? There's not even any oaks for it around here. It's...oh...What the?

My thoughts drifted as I realized what it was as it ran right to the truck. A dog! I really small dog. It hopped up in my lap when I opened the door.
A yorkie. WAY out in the management area (over 5 miles in). He looked quite hot, so I poured some water that I had in my cooler out for him and gave him a drink. I had no idea how long he'd been in the wild, so I also gave him a dog's natural food of choice: Cheetos.

Not knowing what to do with the dog, I drove back to the office to see if I could dump the responsibility off to someone else. Naturally, no one was at the office when I returned. I had no choice but to lock him in my bathroom with some water and a bowl of Cheetos. I then returned to work for the day. When the end of the day rolled around, I took the dog back to the office and told my boss (as I held the dog out with one hand): "I found this out in the woods today...What should I do with him?"

Luckily he was cute, so my boss took him home and some of my fellow employees set about looking for the owners. The next day, we discovered the owners had lost the dog up on Highway 441 about 6 or 7 miles away. Why the dog ran all the way out there, and how he didn't get eaten by eagles/hawks/bobcats/coyotes/gators/a big snake or crushed by cows/trucks/cars will remain a mystery.
Goes to show that not every animal you find in the wild is considered "wildlife".

I can drive a tractor...How convenient

Going back to work after the Glades trip wasn't easy. I got rather spoiled by getting to eat out, watch TV, use the computer from my room, and, of course, fishing all day every day.
As I work down here, I try to notice things that I've never done and pounce all over the chance to do them/learn them. Since July begins the month where dove trapping and deer spotlighting begins, some of the dove fields need to be tilled. This obviously requires some tractor use and I asked if I could be shown how to drive the tractor. Sure enough, Tuesday morning I got my wish.
The tractor was actually more complicated than I had originally thought. One actually needs four feet, three hands, and an extra set of eyes on the back of the head. The tractor has a clutch, two brakes (one for each side), and a gas pedal. It then has a hand throttle, and two gear shifters along with various other levers that deal with the disks behind the tractor and the bucket in the front. After a crash course lesson on how to drive it, I was given the keys and told where to go disk. The tractor reaches an astounding 20 mph on the highway and doesn't exactly fit in the lanes. This made going by sod trucks and other semi's kind of scary.
I had to go disk a field on Lucky L ranch just down the road. This property was recently purchased by the state and isn't part of the WMA yet. Disking took very little time and I actually got the hang of driving the tractor around by the time I made it back to the office.

The rest of the week I got the task of continuing photo points. I had started doing them before I went down to the glades but forgot to mention them. Yes, they're that much fun.

A photo point is a tiny pole buried in the ground. These are scattered all around the 62000 acres of Three Lakes. With a map and a GPS, it's my job to go out and find these poles in the palmettos. The posts are never where the GPS says and it usually takes anywhere from 5 minutes to an hour to find the stupid thing in the bushes. Once I've found the pole, I take another pole with a camera mount and attach it. I then take pictures in a 360 degree rotation. The pictures are used to determine how high the vegetation has grown so that they can decide what areas need to be burned and when.

Prior to going down to the glades, I got stranded on the prairie for about 2.5 hours. Shrek decided that he was sick of the constant physical and verbal abuse I put him through every day while off road so he just decided to quit working. I radioed in for help and the only person available was Michelle. Since I picked a spot on the other side of the WMA to get stranded, it took a while for the rescue truck to come. After about 30 minutes of baking in the sun and drinking ALL of my water, the rescue truck came to give me a jump. I hooked up the jumper cables and...Nothing. Shrek was dead. I then crawled underneath the truck and hooked up the tow straps. All was going according to plan until the rescue truck hit a giant mud hole/pond on the way to the main road. The rescue truck then sunk in the mud. I managed to get the truck unstuck after only a few minutes and tried to pull Shrek myself. I was surprised that the V10 rescue truck was having so much trouble. I was even more surprised when I smelled smoke.

I jumped out of the truck like it was on fire. Which was good news because...well...IT WAS. The truck was dripping flames into the mud. Luckily, the fire stopped shortly after I cut the engine. I could hear both Shrek and the V10 snickering as I sloshed through the shin deep mud to go find my radio.
By this time, the lone and unsuspecting tech, Murray, was about to end his shift. I can picture him now leaping for joy when he heard me on the radio stating that there were now TWO trucks stranded out on the prairie.
Murray arrived fairly quickly and somehow got Shrek to cooperate for about 100 yards. Turned out the battery was completely dead. So dead that if I didn't keep the gas on, it died. He finally towed me all the way back to the office and the V10 limped behind.

Fast forward to the week following the glades trip: The Wednesday following my tractor lesson found my doing more photo points on the prairie. Shrek decided that he really did enjoy his job and decided to work properly. I drove down to the Highway 60 entrance and went along a firebreak paralleling private property. About 1/2 mile down the firebreak, I came across a mud hole. Ah, I can make it through this easy, I thought to myself. 45 minutes later I was eating that thought as I waded out of the pond.
I radioed for help and unfortunately, no truck with a winch was available (they were all out burning). I walked back to the main road and hitched a ride back to the office. I spent the whole day doing photo points from the four wheeler which was a nightmare. Around 1500, I went back to the office to see if someone could help me yank Shrek from the lake (yes, it was upgraded from mud hole, to pond, to lake). Emily's truck had a winch, so we drove down to the lake and got ready to winch the truck out. The winch's free spool was jammed, so we had to back the line all the way out. The process managed to suck ALL of the battery from Emily's truck and...of course...the rescue truck died. Apparently, when I get stuck, it takes at LEAST two trucks to pull me out. Carlton drove down to help us after we radioed in. He managed to give Emily's truck a jump and we decided that Shrek was too far gone for today and that it would take the tractor the following morning. Convenient that I just learned how to drive it.

The next morning Carlton and I drove back down to the small bay to rescue Shrek. I managed to bottom out both front and rear axles and it took quite a bit of pulling (and the help of two more techs, Murray and Stony) to finally free the truck. The rest of the week was more, uneventful, photo points from the four wheeler.

Snakes on a plane!...err...Truck!

Note: I've successfully not caught up like I planned. Everything from last week seems to have blended into one big work day so I'll hit the high points.

I had to deal with more RCW stuff last week. As I was driving to meet Cliff, I noticed two Black Racers in the middle of the road. Not wishing to run them both over, I hopped out of the truck and began prodding them along with my boot. One slithered off into the bushes, while the other one went under my truck. I then watched in shock, as the snake lifted itself up and wrapped itself around the rear axle and up under the truck frame. I quickly produced a stick and rolled underneath the truck to start trying to remove the snake. Only moments later, I looked over to see the second snake had returned and had begun climbing up the front tire. I rolled out from underneath the truck and grabbed the second snake by the tail as it started to go into the engine. We were then at a stalemate. I couldn't pull the snake any harder since he would probably pop in half and I couldn't give in since he'd just go deeper into the truck. I snapped a picture because I knew no one would believe me.
After about 10 minutes I decided to let him go inside the engine. I popped the hood, and successfully chased him out. About that time, the first snake plopped out of the back and slithered off into the bushes to join his friend.

I had water monitoring to do last week as well. It seems that only on the days I wear dark colored shirts that I have to do water monitoring. There isn't an ounce of shade and I therefore melt. After water monitoring, I had to take the four wheeler out to check a few more wood duck boxes. I managed to check only two of them before a storm brewed up and the bottom fell out. I got soaked and had to drive the four wheeler a few miles back in the rain.
Once the rain stopped. I dried off and hopped in Shrek to go make sure I knew where the transect was for the quail survey I had to do the next morning. On the way there, I had the usual herd of cattle in the road. One cow stuck out in particular and I deemed it picture worthy.
Had to do several quail surveys as well last week so I woke up early and got off early. I was too tired, however, on those days to fish so I came home and fell asleep. Thursday was a hoot. My four wheeler stopped working completely then the one I was given quite working as well. The following day I had to spray (yay) and I spent most of the morning taking the herbicide tank off of the old four wheeler and putting it on the new one. One thing was wrong after another and four hours later I had the pump working so that I could spray. I fished the Jackson-Kissimmie canal after work on Friday and had a good bit of luck. 3 bass and about 10 Stumpknockers made the evening.Saturday I traveled into Orlando to meet with friends to watch the World Cup. I'm rooting for Argentina so I made sure to catch their game. I unfortunately missed the first (and only) goal in the 8th minute of the game so I watched close to an hour and a half of nothing. I later got to watch the US vs. England game and I was surprised to see a tie at 1:1.

Sunday I waded a borrow pit close to the WMA entrance. I forgot the camera and therefore had a great afternoon of fishing. I landed about 8 bass, one of which was my biggest on the fly. I also lost one that was even bigger. I landed a few keeper bluegill as well.

And there you have it. (Nearly) caught up. I'm just a day behind now :)