Showing posts with label Chronicles' Classics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chronicles' Classics. Show all posts

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Great Young Florida Hunters and Hunting

Fellow Florida Hunters and Fishermen!
© 2009-2011 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
$g&m f9bd 45kd q!?5. trochronicles.blogspot.com
Photo Credits: "Buck" Bevillee
I had the opportunity to run into a couple of young Florida hunters recently. Both are very accomplished deer and turkey hunters here in Florida.


"Buck" Beville was kind enough to forward me a few pictures of some of the game he has taken.

To the left is a nine pointer that Buck took when he was a very young fellow. That's a deer anyone would be proud to take!

Below is a very nice 8 point he recently took.



A great archery Oceola Tom Turkey!

Nice Boar! Note the cutters.

As I meet more Florida Sportsmen, I'll be sharing their stories and successes with you. I might add that it was my pleasure to meet both these young men, and with good fellows like these as our next generation of hunters, we are definitely heading in the right direction.


Best Regards,
Albert A Rasch
Member:  Skull Mountain Tent Club
Member: Hunting Sportsmen of the United States HSUS (Let 'em sue me.)
The Hunt Continues...


The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles, Albert A Rasch, Hunting in Florida

Other Stories of Interest:
Best Boar Hunting Rifle Calibers: Part I

Thursday, October 6, 2011

What Are You Doing for the Environment?

How you can help the environment!© 2010, 2011 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
$g&m f9bd 45kd q!?5.

If you were able to do one thing to help our environment and/or it's wildlife what would that one thing be?
Rick Kratzke

The environment...

I am certain you see the abuse we heap on it every day. From trash tossed out onto the roads, to oil spills that dwarf comprehension. Ever wonder how we manage to survive?

Rick Kratzke of Whitetail Woods asked something that we all should be contemplating consciously on a regular basis. He asked, "If you were able to do one thing to help our environment and/or it's wildlife what would that one thing be?"

What a great, though provoking question. I gave it great thought, and decided I wanted it to be something simple, doable, repeatable, practical, and shareable.

When I walk to my local Starbucks, I traverse Uelin Park and the beautiful large freshwater lake that we boat and fish in. The amount of trash strewn around isn't great, but it is enough to distract one from an otherwise idyllic view.

It struck me then, I will stop and pick up trash everyday at every opportunity!

I was already doing it. But I wasn't systematic or consistent. I would do it if it was convenient and it didn't take me too far out of my way.

Now I have made the decision that if I see it and I can get to it, I will pick it up. A plastic shopping bag doesn't take up any room in my pocket, and recycling it as a trash bag is a plus. Every piece of trash I pick up, is one less thing that may end up in the water or woods, endangering both plants and animals.

There is something else I do regularly.

I hate Brazillian Pepper trees with a passion! Every time I see a seedling I yank it out. If it's a sapling, I try to pull it out. I have gone as far as to return to my garage and grab a machete and even the hatchet, and hacked them to pieces. Invasive plant species are as bad as any other invasive species, and those Pepper trees are my pet peeve!  They're not even edible like pigs are.

A mornings haul...

There are two pieces of PVC in that pile, those ended up in my shop, stored in a milk crate with other pieces of PVC. You never know when you might need some.

So my friends, what are you doing to help the environment?

Best Regards,
Albert A Rasch
Member:Kandahar Tent Club
Member: Hunting Sportsmen of the United States HSUS (Let 'em sue me.)
The Hunt Continues...

Though he spends most of his time writing and keeping the world safe for democracy, Albert Rasch was actually a student of biology. Really. But after a stint as a lab tech performing repetitious and mind-numbing processes that a trained capuchin monkey could do better, he never returned to the field. Rather he became a bartender. As he once said, "Hell, I was feeding mice all sorts of concoctions. At the club I did the same thing; except I got paid a lot better, and the rats where bigger." He has followed the science of QDM for many years, and fancies himself an aficionado. If you have any questions, or just want to get more information, reach him via TheRaschOutdoorChronicles(at)MSN(dot)com.



The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles

Friday, June 24, 2011

The Dangers of Fly Fishing! Englishmen Beware!

Hunting and Fishing in America!
© 2011 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles

From the "I Really Can't Believe I'm Reading This," file comes the following:

Tourist Fly Fishermen visiting North America are in danger of being killed or seriously injured !!!

“I am very serious. Non Americans fishing in America are in danger of being killed or of being seriously injured. There are hazards like bears, alligators, stingrays, poison ivy, hunters with guns and monster sharks that can cause you harm if not fatal damage.”


Well, I’ve read it a couple of times now. I’m pretty sure it was written as a legitimate, yet misinformed warning, maybe as an attempt to dissuade English folk from visiting our shores, but I don’t think it was a comedic piece done tongue in cheek.

I think the fellow that owns it is Craig Moore, but I’m not 100% certain so I don’t want to quote him, but the site says,

Here in Britain there are no dangerous animals to interrupt a great day's fishing.”

Yeah, but you guys have soccer hooligans! So there!

Oh by the way, they really have some beautiful flies at The English Fly Fishing Shop. They are all hand tied, and they also hand tie custom flies. So if you’re into the fly fishing hobby, stop by and take a look.

All of the information is certainly valid; you shouldn’t tow fish on a stringer, off your hip, while wade fishing in Florida, and you probably shouldn’t walk around grizzly country unprepared nor unarmed. I suppose that gators might be a concern too, but I have never had any problems with them. Except for the one in that lady’s garage. He was really fat and heavy and no one wanted to help me get him back into the lake he came from. The Mrs. and both the boys finally had to help me out on that one. Mosquitoes, now that’s a different story. I got torn to shreds while in the US Army, but a mosquito did more harm to me, hurt worse, and laid me low for a lot longer!

But I do take exception to the statement about hunters.

Yes, while it is true that we Americans are frequently well armed during hunting season. (It must be very intimidating to our English friends to know that I and the citizens of this great nation are as heavily armed as we are, yet more than capable of governing ourselves without bloodshed or civil unrest. Must be a lesson in there somewhere…) It is also equally true that rarely does anyone get shot by accident during hunting season. On occasion, people get shot on purpose, that’s true, but usually they got it coming to them. Well… sometimes not, but we have the Law to sort those things out.

Anyway, as far as I know, no fisherman has ever been bagged out of season. That’s if they’re even on the books as legal game. Come to think of it, I don’t even think they have a season on fishing folk, even in the western states. Furthermore, any English fly fishing sportsman would be a transient or migratory species and would require a special and expensive stamp; same for an Irish or French one. Well, I don't know, but the French might be considered an invasive or nuisance species and might not have any legal protection from any laws, like the starling, walking catfish, and Norway rat. Don’t quote me on that, I’m no legal expert on game laws outside of Florida. Anyway I figure anyone that lives in such a damp and cool climate as the British Isles is bound to be oily and gamey. I know that sometimes I’m a little gamey sometimes on account of the dampness. So no sense in shooting one anyway.

Grizzlies are pretty placid if you give them their space, and anyway you should be fishing with a guide, who likely will carry a Ruger Redhawk in 44 magnum. I personally prefer the 45 Long Colt; more oomph at lower pressure. If they made a 46 Colt I would carry that instead.

Now mountain lions are little different. They go after the weak and infirm. And they really like people on mountain bikes. Now I don’t have any specifics as to which bikes they prefer, and with the new 29s coming out the whole paradigm may change, so stay tuned. You can figure that unless you’re riding a bike to your fishing spot, you should be ok.

Bull elks and moose in general, don’t usually do the cross species thing. They find it distasteful. Remember what happened to those caribou that ended up hanging out with that fat guy in the red suit? They got funny names and have to haul butt under less than tolerable conditions! Where’s the RSPCA when you need it? That’s why they don’t take any unnecessary chances with us humans.

Shuffle your feet, and stingrays won’t stick you a good one. Though if you do happen to screw up and get stuck, get some meat tenderizer on it as soon as possible.

Ask me what I think the most dangerous thing is and I will tell you what it is:

It is stupidity.

If you’re stupid, don’t go and do stuff that will get you killed. I know that stupid people don’t know any better, but if you have any question, and one of the outcomes can lead to dismemberment or worse, it would probably behoove you not to go that way. Politicians are excluded for obvious reasons. Just a little advice.

So my English friends, believe you me that fishing in the United States is much, much safer than taking a walk through Londonistan. No one is going to take out a fatwah on you because you use a fresh water fly in the briny. Just don’t get mad at us when we ask you if you are from Australia. That’s probably the worse affront we might commit, other than mangling the Queen’s English. And drink beer ice cold.

Seriously, if you really want to worry about something, worry about how contagious American Freedom is. I’ve met a lot of people from around the world. Just recently Jordan Bear made three new friends from South Africa. The thing they most remarked on was how overwhelmed they were at first, by the unbridled freedom they found. The freedom to make choices, along with the responsibility, can be intoxicating.

So don’t sweat the “dangers.” We Americans will see to it that you all don’t get into more trouble than you can handle, and we have proven over and over that we will always come to your aid, even when it hurts.

And don't forget the great Winston Churchill said, "Americans will always do the right thing... After they have tried everything else!"


Best Regards,
Albert A Rasch
Member: Qalat City Tent Club
Member: Hunting Sportsmen of the United States HSUS (Let 'em sue me.)
The Hunt Continues...


The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles, Albert A Rasch, Hunting in Florida


Albert Rasch,HunterThough he spends most of his time writing and keeping the world safe for democracy, Albert was actually a student of biology. Really. But after a stint as a lab tech performing repetitious and mind-numbing processes that a trained capuchin monkey could do better, he never returned to the field. Rather he became a bartender. As he once said, "Hell, I was feeding mice all sorts of concoctions. At the club I did the same thing; except I got paid a lot better, and the rats where bigger." He has followed the science of QDM for many years, and fancies himself an aficionado. If you have any questions, or just want to get more information, reach him via TheRaschOutdoorChronicles(at)MSN(dot)com.



Best Boar Hunting Rifle Calibers: Part I

Friday, April 8, 2011

Things I've Done, and Should of Known Better

Breeding Wild Hogs in Florida!
© 2009, 2010, 2011 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
$g&m f9bd 45kd q!?5.

Folks,
This is from about eleven/twelve years ago when I actually thought I could selectively breed and raise a herd of red colored razorbacks. I have had some good ideas in my days, then I've had some less than auspicious. I'll let you decide which category this falls into!

My dear hog hunting enthusiasts,

In my never ending quest to further the fun and frolic quotient at the Three Bar Spear, I decided to start a captive breeding project. I thought I might share with you some of the things I have learned in the last few months.
Image Credit: berndkru
More Eurasian than not...

1. Pigs bite...hard.

2. Pigs will bite the hand that feeds them...repeatedly if given the opportunity.

3. Don't put your hand in their mouths in order to determine if they have teeth. You can rest assured that they do, even when they are little bitty things.

4. Pigs will eat anything, including your gasoline soaked, foot powder reeking, cow patty smeared footwear. They do not like whole oats though.

5. Do not send your children into a pen with hogs that are over 40lbs. They will eat them too. (Dads, a ten year old WILL clear a 4 foot field fence with room to spare if properly motivated.)

6. When sows are in heat, everything goes to Hell in a hand basket.

7. Boar hogs don't like anyone when the girls are, well you know, responding.

8. Field fence, with posts set 12 foot on center, is barely adequate to restrain a 120lbs hog. 8 foot on center with the addition of 2X6s for reinforcement on the outside, and two strands of barbed wire at 4" and 16" on the inside, might be better.

9. A 300lbs hog pretty much does what he wants.

10. You will love your pigs.

Image Credit: ricksege
Seriously, I have two litters on the way, due sometime in September. From those I'll start culling immediately for confirmation and aggressiveness. I've got one sow that has attitude, but lacks size. This might have been due to poor nutrition as a piglet though. What I need to capture is a good boar and a couple of more sows to fill out the breeding pool. In a couple of years I should have an adequate line going.

I'll try to keep you all posted on my endeavors!
Thanks,
Albert


Those where the days! Those first two litters, quickly turned into more than thirty head of hog! I couldn't sell them fast enough, and I even gave some away. But the real story was my father in law who despite my entreaties and appeals, could not keep himself from feeding them all the restaurant refuse he could lug home! My carefully planned diet, exercise plan, and breeding program was impossible with so much interference. The final straw was his penchant for letting them out of their pens so they could "stretch their legs" a bit more. My neighbor, seizing the opportunity, shot my big breeder boar. He shows up at my doorstep with a picture and innocently asked if maybe one of my hogs got out.

I called the local Sheriff Department and donated all the other hogs to them for their prison kitchen...

Now that is yet, another story!


Best Regards,
Albert “Afghanus” Rasch
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
Albert Rasch In Afghanistan



The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles, Albert A Rasch, Hunting in Florida


Albert Rasch,HunterThough he spends most of his time writing and keeping the world safe for democracy, Albert was actually a student of biology. Really. But after a stint as a lab tech performing repetitious and mind-numbing processes that a trained capuchin monkey could do better, he never returned to the field. Rather he became a bartender. As he once said, "Hell, I was feeding mice all sorts of concoctions. At the club I did the same thing; except I got paid a lot better, and the rats where bigger." He has followed the science of QDM for many years, and fancies himself an aficionado. If you have any questions, or just want to get more information, reach him via TheRaschOutdoorChronicles(at)MSN(dot)com.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Terminal Ballistics and Hunting; Redux

Terminal Ballistics and Real World Results!
© 2009-2010 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
$g&m f9bd 45kd q!?5.
.
Terminal Ballistics and Your Hunting
(Or, why I like big bores so much.)

Weatherby Eurosport in 30/06,
my light rifle.

One of those things that I’ve never understood is how someone could spend hundreds of dollars on a rifle, spend the same and sometimes more on a scope, and then pick up a box of the least expensive ammunition they can find. Not that there is anything intrinsically wrong with such an approach, but when a hunt can cost you thousands of dollars in incidental costs, what’s twenty more dollars?

With that in mind I thought I would discuss terminal performance.

What a bullet should do:

There are two ways that a bullet works, either by punching a hole through a vital zone or disintegrating inside and destroying the same. The fact is that given sufficient disruption of a primary system, death will occur, therefore a projectile works by stopping or damaging a vital life support system and causing death by suffocation, shock, or central nervous system shut down.

A bullet should reach its target unerringly, penetrate and do what is desired of it. Varmint hunting prefer to have the projectile blow up inside the target and expend its energy within. Medium and big game hunters vary in their desire for controlled expansion. Bullets shouldn’t be expected to do everything regardless of circumstances. At close range some bullets just won't hold up. At long ranges some won't do what they're designed to do.

For handloaders, there is one bullet that qualifies for the do-all-to-end-all. (In my opinion anyway!) That would have to be the big-bore hardcast LBT style bullets. Close range to long range they make a big hole and keep on going. Just ask the buffalo runners of yesterday. But we will get to that shortly.

Design:
Image Credit: Tonyolm
270 Winchester FMJ, Pointed Soft Point, Ballistic Tip

Today the trend is towards deep penetration and retained weight. Originally, the Nosler Partitions, and now the Swift A-Frames, and the Failsafes are the yardstick by which all other bullets are measured. I will get to solids shortly. Since I am predominantly a hog hunter, I can speak with some confidence as to what works and what doesn’t. If we limit our discussion to larger pigs of 225 lbs or more, the need for quality bullets becomes apparent. I have observed that at about 150 lbs hogs start to develop the shield and by the time they are about 225 the shield is now a hardened gristle deposit.


Imagine, if you will, a hollow-pointed bullet hitting that. The expanding bullet drives into this dense, inelastic material. The bullet expands rapidly in this material and loses velocity. At some point it starts to shed pieces and loses mass. Without additional mass driving it from behind, penetration slows dramatically. In all probability it never penetrates past the gristle layer. What you get is a surface wound, little to no blood trail, and no hog.

160gr Soft Points
The reason the 30/30 has taken so much game, is that it throws a 150gr softpoint at a moderate velocity. It hits, expands, and the long bullet shank goes on its merry way. If you shot the same bullet out of a 30-06, at the same ranges as a 30/30, it might not hold together. Too much speed and not enough jacket strength. So it is also important to match the projectile to the cartridge parameters.

A non-partition softpoint doesn’t expand, as much as it is disrupted by the initial impact. In this case, mass directly determines penetration. The heavier the softpoint, the more likely it will penetrate deeper. The original Barnes made its money with its softpoint line. Heavy for caliber bullets (How about 600gr 458s and 250gr 308s!), driven at moderate speed disrupted well, retained 80% of their weight and drove deep. The only problem the Barnes Soft Points ever suffered from was over-expansion and the commensurate deceleration, which limited penetration, and on very large game sometimes the softpoints failed to smash through bones.

XP3 Bullets
Now if you will, try the same scenarios with a Failsafe or XP3. The momentum afforded by the encased base allows the bullet to continue through the gristle and bone, and drive into the vitals.

Solids work by penetrating deeply and displacing tissue. Certain designs are meant primarily to drive through bones or large masses of flesh and muscle, like the Woodleigh Sledge Hammer, Barnes homogenous, and the AGS by Speer, which I understand is the best solid commercially available. These bullets are designed to drive deep, drive straight, and smash their way through anything intervening. In the hands of an excellent shot, a solid will reach the target it is intended to. “Karamojo “ Bell used solids almost exclusively in his .265 and .275 for all the game he took, dangerous or otherwise.

The latest take on solids, is the LBT style hardcast lead bullets. They are heat treated to make them tougher than they would otherwise be. They penetrate deeply, creating massive wound channels. They are accurate within their own parameters, and are available in number of calibers from 30 to .510. I use them in my 45LC and 458WM.

It has always been my preference to lean in the direction of greater penetration. Since I’ve always been suspect of my abilities, and hope to never lose an animal, I plan for the worse, and only take shots that I am certain of.

Shock:
The Weatherby line up.
In the late fifties and early sixties Roy Weatherby thought that if he could push bullets fast enough, the “hydrostatic shock” of the projectile moving through the muscles and tissues of an animal would be sufficient to cause instantaneous death. Two things worked against Roy’s theory. One, bullets at that time could not withstand the then phenomenal speeds at which the Weatherby rifles/cartridges shot them. Secondly, hydrostatic shock doesn’t work on large elastic masses. On the minimal mass of a prairie dog, it will, on hippos, no. It has been conclusively proven that bullet placement, not energy, is what kills. In the end it is the hunter’s ability to accurately place a bullet in the right spot that determines whether he is successful or not.

Stopping Power:
Image Credit: Jobe Roco
Classic, Old School Stopping Power!

Stopping power is directly related to the caliber.

Stopping power is directly related to the caliber.

There, I’ve said it twice. In other words, the bigger it is the more likely it will settle hash right then and there. As long as it has enough velocity to penetrate and all other things being equal, the larger the cross section, the more powerful the knock down capability. Empirical evidence suggests that weight, velocity, and the cross section of a bullet, determines its ability to knock down, that is to stun or immediately kill an animal. Pondoro Taylor and Hatcher both devised formulae and tables to estimate the knockdown power of any given projectile. They both weigh in heavily in favor of the bigger bores.

If you peruse the cartridge tables, you will notice two things, one, the big bore cartridges are slow, and two the projectile weights are high. When velocity is low you need mass and frontal area. Again empirical evidence suggests that when you are confronted with a mad Brownie, a 45-70 is better than say a 338WM. Otherwise why would so many Alaskan bush pilots prefer the Guide Gun and the Alaskans? The answer is the ability of a slightly souped up 405gr, .458cal solid bullet being able to traverse, end for end, an 800lb bear, smashing everything in its way. Wound channels are commensurately large in proportion with frontal cross section. As caliber goes up, the area goes up exponentially. A 30caliber bullet has a frontal area of .074 square inch versus .165 sq in for a .458, more than twice the area.

Image Credit: Keefs
Martini-Henry 577/450

Penetration:

You can never be certain as to what conditions will be when you have to put a bullet into the vital zone. The ability of the projectile to penetrate through any intervening meat, bone or viscera, into the vital zone is directly related to construction and design. Range and impact velocity also are variables to contend with. The lines are blurring slightly when one has to choose between a light quick bullet and a heavier slower one. Due to the better qualities of the newer bullets, it has become easier to drop in weight, add velocity and be confident of retained terminal weight. The 30-06 loaded with 150gr Failsafes shoots as flat as a Remington 7mm Magnum and will retain almost all of its weight. But retained momentum and energy are diminished substantially as the bullet weight goes down.

How should you decide? I am convinced that 90% of all game is taken inside of 100 meters. In the end all that matters is whether a bullet penetrated and did sufficient damage to kill quickly. If I was hunting Florida whitetails exclusively, and limited my shot to reasonable ones, I wouldn’t hesitate to use any of the commercial soft points. I would only choose the brand that gave me the best accuracy. Florida deer are small, and considering I do most of my non-hog shooting with a 30-06, there is no real need for a deep penetration. That’s a personal preference; at the ranges I am capable of shooting to, you could cut the end of the bullet off with bolt-cutters, and it would still hit the target close enough to point of aim. But if I were going to Africa (plains game), or to Arizona for elk, even white tails in Texas, I would use nothing less than Winchester Failsafe/XP3 or Remington Swift A-Frames. I would limit myself to shots inside of 150 yards, where I could be absolutely sure of where my bullets hit. I would familiarize myself with the game animal until I could visually dissect it and know where every vital organ lies. I’ve killed enough pigs to be almost certain of every shot’s terminal trajectory on them. “Karamojo" Bell did this with much success when meat shooting North American game in Alaska, and then in Africa where he made his fame shooting elephants for ivory. But even though I can visualize where the pig’s heart, spine, and liver lay, occasionally I am still surprised. Years ago, I took a shot at a small hog, aiming for the box made by the eyes and ears. Imagine my surprise when I recovered him and found that instead of a frontal head shot, I had made a side brain shot.

450gr LBT's
If you are picking your shots, and not picking fights or trying to stop them quickly, then it is reasonable to use any cartridge and rifle combination that is suitable for the game at hand. For instance, I think I am a reasonably capable shot with my Weatherby 30-06. Anything inside of a couple of inches is in eminent danger of being ventilated at 150 meters or less. With that in mind, I would not hesitate to use it with 180gr A-Frames against brown bears, and here is the operative phrase, if I had to. But I think I would feel better with my 458WM. At 100 meters I can keep all my shots within 3 inches. 450gr hard cast LBT type bullets at 1800fps, will double lung any grizzly, bust both shoulders, or traverse the grizzly end for end.

And If things somehow got ugly and I have to end a fight, I’ll be confident that between the 458 and I, we can swat one down flatter than a stray aluminum can on the expressway.

Best Regards,
Albert A Rasch
Member:Kandahar Tent Club
Member: Hunting Sportsmen of the United States HSUS (Let 'em sue me.)
The Hunt Continues...




The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles






Friday, August 13, 2010

0.5% Civilized - 99.5% Instinctual or: I Would Rather Hunt, than be Hunted

© 2009-2010 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
$g&m f9bd 45kd q!?5.

(I was going through the archives and I found this one from last year. We had lots of comments, and I thought it would be nice if some of our newest members and readers had an opportunity to read and comment on the subject. Your friend, AAR)

"In a very real sense our intellect, interests, emotions and basic social life - all are evolutionary products of the success of the hunting adaptation."
SL Washburn and CS Lancaster

All the PeTA drama of the last couple of weeks, plus the great intellectual stimulation that I have been fortunate to have when discussing animal issues with Brendan of Screaming Chicken Activism, got me to think more deeply as to why I hunt. I think it was Brendan that mentioned to me that I really didn't need to hunt, and that he thought there was a dichotomy in the desire I have to hunt and kill, and my love of animals.
$g&m f9bd 45kd q!?5.
I believe that when I made the comment that it just sort of came to me. I know it was late and I was tired, so it was more subconscious than deduced and thought out. The answer that I gave him was that I have always been a hunter, even as a child. Not in the sense that I was formally inducted into the hunting fraternity by cousins, uncles, or my dad, no one in my family hunts. But ever since I was very young I stalked animals, bugs, people, birds, even fish. My mother got plenty of phone calls, and not more than a few visits from concerned parents and the occasional police officer with young Albert in tow! (I think it was suggested in hushed tones that perhaps a professional should have a look at me, but luckily my parents figured I would outgrow it... What did they know...) I don't remember how many bows I made from anything remotely flexible, and the scar on my thumb is from a Gillete single edge razor blade that sliced me down to the tendon while I was sharpening arrows made from bamboo.

As I have been contemplating this, it occurred to me to question how much of that was some deep instinctual behavior, versus an observed or learned one. Well, it seemed to me to be more an instinct than anything else. First, I had no role models to instill the desire to hunt in me. Television in the sixties did not have Sportsman Channel or Outdoor Channel. As a matter of fact it was black and white for those of you that aren't familiar with non cable TV! Another factor would be that I was raised in New York City. I only recall two times that I saw a hunter with a deer strapped to the hood of the car. It wasn't like my neighbors encouraged hunting as a leisure activity.

So where did my instinct to hunt come from then?

Why it has to be from the Paleolithic Era of course!

We have been "civilized" for a little over 10,000 years. But for 2.6 million years before that, we were little more than roving bands of hungry humans looking for our next meal, and avoiding becoming one.

2.6 million years as Homo Sapiens, but about 5 million years if you include Homo Habilis, followed by 10,000 years of so called civilization, that has also been punctuated by famines, diseases, and pestilence. 5 million years of evolution and not much has really changed as far as I can tell in the 0.5% of time we have been "civilized."

I'm thinking that my instinct theory is getting some traction here. If all humans are animals, then it stands to reason that we have some instincts left. Just because we are the only reasoning animal on the planet, doesn't mean that we have no instincts left. I and many others must still feel the pull of the outdoors and the need to pit our abilities, as considerable as they are, against nature.

That we don't need to hunt may not be an accurate statement. I am now, more than ever convinced that we not only need to hunt, but it is unnatural to subvert or suppress that need or instinct. As I told Brendan, I could no more be a non-hunter, than he could be a carnivore. Though I think that it might be easier for Brendan to eat a hunk of steak if he was hungry enough and not suffer much emotional discomfort, than it would be to keep me from the outdoors. I think that is very indicative of the importance of the instinct, the natural desire to be the top predator in nature's tapestry.

The more I think about this, the more I conclude that to deny the nature of being human, that is to deny the parts of us tat are still driven by instinct, is just asking to be sick both emotionally and physically. If any of us was forced to forego our basic human nature, physical and emotional harm would soon follow.

For me it all boils down to this: I am a hunter. I am driven by a passion greater than that of those around me because I acknowledge and accept that which nature bestowed upon me. As long as I treat nature and her gift to me with respect, I will continue to be whole... and human.

Regards,
Albert A Rasch
Member: Hunting Sportsmen of the United States HSUS (Let 'em sue me.)
The Hunt Continues...




Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Avoid Gettin' Snake Bit! A Chronicles' Classic

© 2008, 2009, 2010 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
$g&m f9bd 45kd q!?5.

Charlie and I where just finishing up our morning jog. Charlie doesn't seem phased at all, with his four legs and all, but you know the point, where your lungs are burning a bit, and your legs are getting that leaden feeling? I was there. But I hadn't reached my marker from two days ago. I had thrown down a palm frond where I had stopped the last time. I try to get a few yards further every day.

There it is, just a few more paces.

As I am ready to drop my victory stomp on the frond, what do I see, but a coiled up, venomous serpent that has taken up residence on my frond! Through a magnificent and supreme display of physical prowess, that would hav emade Hercules green with envy, I heroically lengthened my stride, and my Vibram soled and booted foot, fortuitously for our poison toothed friend Mr. Cottonmouth, landed a couple of feet beyond his pointy little head.


Pygmy Rattler... Beats me what I did with the cotton mouth photos!


Ornery little boogers!
Should be in the woods away from civilized folk!

"This just won't do!" I thought to myself. Lots of folks walk their dogs around the ponds and children fish and play around them. More than likely it would find itself being beaten to death with a stick. Pulling the ever curious Charlie back a bit, I searched for a small branch I could pin him down with. Finding a suitable one, I wrestled his uncooperative and fiesty body down and put a head lock on him.

Mr Cottonmouth moments before I felt the sharp end of a fang.


As I mentioned in my previous article Cracks in the Sidewalk, Theses smaller cottonmouths are squirmy little bastards. This one was no different and just grazed my finger with the tip of his fang. Fortunately there was no penetration whatsoever. But that sure put my heart into overdrive!

I don't know how many of my readers are youngsters. For you kids reading this, remember a couple of things:

  • Mr Albert has been doing this a long time.
  • I have a great respect for the danger involved.
  • Parents, and especially Moms, will make your life miserable if you do stupid stuff.
  • Just because Mr Albert cusses occasionally and while under duress, doesn't mean you can.

For you older readers:

  • Take your kids out more often. I know as well as you that you're busy, but make the time.
  • Don't do stupid things unless you know the consequences and are willing to accept them.
  • Don't blame me if you get snake bit!

I did a little research when I got back in the house. The anti-venom for a Cottonmouth bite is called Crofab Crotalidae Polyvalent Immune Fab (Ovine). It is critical to get anti-venom in the patient as soon as possible to minimize necrotic damage to the tissue and coagulopathy. Coagulopathy is a fancy word for bleeding like Hell from every orifice in your body. The anti-venom works by binding to the venom toxin and neutralizing it, so the sooner its in you, the sooner it gets to neutralizing. Now it has mercury in it, so I'm not convinced that the venom is any worse than the cure. But if I were bit, I probably wouldn't worry about the potential for mercury poisoning! If you are allergic to pineapples or papaya you could be in it deep too! You can read all about it here on the Drug Sheet.

I also bumped into this: Snake Bite News. I don't know why, but it is very dated; the last entry is May 2004. I'll see if I can track the owners down and get an update on it.

While we are at it, lets go over the basic steps to take if you or anyone you know has been bit.

  • Call 911.
  • Get everyone away from the snake. No sense getting someone else bit!
  • Try to identify the snake. No, don't ask for it's name, just try to figure out what kind it was.
  • Keep the victim calm. Nothing speeds up envenomation like a wildly beating heart.
  • Keep the struck section lower than the heart.
  • Do not give the victim anything to eat or drink. Period.
  • If the victim has been consuming alcohol, and this was caused by stupidity, assist the victim to a standing position, and ask the victim to bend over. While bent over have him kiss his own ass goodbye.
  • Get them to a hospital immediately. Try to call ahead so they are ready!
  • DO NOTs: Do not ice the injury down, do not use a tourniquet, do not cut the victim up like in the westerns, and above all, DO NOT PANIC!!!
You can make a judgment call. If the hospital is close enough that you know you can get there before an ambulance can get to you and then back to the hospital, and you know you can do it safely, then do it! Every minute counts in treatment. Remember coagulopathy!

Well, we got back without any more incidents. The rest is anti-climatic, I took him to my shop, put him in a bucket, and later today I'll take him to a preserve somewhere where he can hopefully pass the rest of his days in peace and tranquility.

It is late in the evening now, and I have had the opportunity to educate some more of my neighbors. Two little ones were playing on the playground, so I thought I would give one of my impromptu nature talks. I cleared it with their mom and using all my skill and smarts, was able to allow these kids an opportunity to see and touch a real live snake. I really need to catch a good sized red or yellow rat snake. Far safer and less nerve wracking than a cottonmouth. Now both of them can identify a cottonmouth and they know it's very dangerous! We also talked about alligators, and about not playing near the ponds.

And cattle egrets,
     American goldfinches,
          St. Augustine grass,
                pine bark nuggets,
                    concrete...

Best Regards,
Albert A Rasch
Member: Shindand Tent Club
Member: Hunting Sportsmen of the United States HSUS (Let 'em sue me.)
The Hunt Continues...


The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles


Albert Rasch,HunterThough he spends most of his time writing and keeping the world safe for democracy, Albert was actually a student of biology. Really. But after a stint as a lab tech performing repetitious and mind-numbing processes that a trained capuchin monkey could do better, he never returned to the field. Rather he became a bartender. As he once said, "Hell, I was feeding mice all sorts of concoctions. At the club I did the same thing; except I got paid a lot better, and the rats where bigger." He has followed the science of QDM for many years, and fancies himself an aficionado. If you have any questions, or just want to get more information, reach him via TheRaschOutdoorChronicles(at)MSN(dot)com.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

An American Combat Classic: A Chronicles' Classic

© 2009-2010 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
$g&m f9bd 45kd q!?5. trochronicles.blogspot.com Randall Model 18, collecting Randall knives


"It was a terrible thing at close range. Your knife, would cut a man's head nearly off with a quick swing.. I also used that knife to open cans, cut wood, dress water buffalo... and it stayed sharp. I was offered all kinds of trades, but I wouldn't part with it."


A letter to Bo Randall

"The only thing between me and certain death was my Randall Model 18."
One of Albert's wished for stories...

Randalls have always held a certain mystique with the American fighting man. I remember distinctly the Randall on the hip of the 10th Group Special Forces A-Team medic we were training with at Ft Devons. Of all the items hung on or about his person, the Randall drew the most admiring glances and whispered commentaries. I don't think there was any one of us, who dreamed of being a professional soldier, that didn't want a Randall of his own. Grenades were dime a dozen, but a Randall... the man must have been an artist.

More years ago than I care to remember, my good friend and fellow Norwich Cadet, GoGo,presented me with what many would call the ultimate soldier's gift: a Randall Model 18 Attack and Survival knife.

There was little ceremony when he handed the package to me, as is fitting between men, professionals, and with the proper respect for an artisan's tool. He had it wrapped in a worn piece of cloth. I knew by the weight that it was metal, but I had no idea what was in store for me.

I'm big on the whole gift giving and receiving thing. Rule number one: Don't rush me. I'm usually the last one to unwrap gifts at Christmas. The experience has to be savored, enjoyed, drawn out. Not just for your own personal enjoyment, but for the spectators too. Once its unwrapped the wonder is gone.

I raised an eyebrow when he handed it to me. I felt the heft of the object in my hand. I had a feeling that there was more to this, that I would be pleasantly surprised.I carefully pulled one fold over, and then the next. I paused to savor the suspense that was building.

I love the suspense.
Well, maybe not when I'm standing in the door at 3500 feet, watching the world drift by at 125 mph, or worse yet, while waiting for the reassuring slam of you rig against your nether regions that lets you know the static-line pulled your chute out of the bag. But otherwise, I do like the suspense.
As I pulled the third corner, I got my first glimpse of tanned leather. I lifted the final piece of fabric up and out of the way, and the whole of the gift was there for me to experience. A Randall. And not just any Randall, but a Model 18.

I knew what it was right away. I looked at Homeslice in wonderment. He had that smug look of someone who knew that he could hit a homerun whenever he wanted to. He's good, really good.

I've taken that knife with me every time I've needed the cold comfort of a soldier's knife. I can get the Randall in places that my Gov't 1911 can't go. And at less than 21 feet, its even money which is faster... Or deadlier. It has been a constant companion for well on twenty years.

A Florida orange grower, Bo Randall started his knife making career in the late '30s. His hand forged knives sold as quickly as he made them. As they were very popular and he enjoyed making them, he decided to go into the business so-to-speak, selling them out of his Father-in -law's clothing store. But it was World War II that catapulted him to knife maker extraordinaire. A journalist's news item, picked up by the wire, spread his name throughout the United States, and the American fighting men throughout the world. Orders poured in and Bo had his hands full making the knives that helped to finally overthrow the Fascist tyranny engulfing the world. They skewered Nazis and Imperials with equal gusto and aplomb.

As time went by, new models and adaptations were produced. The Model 18 came about during the Viet Nam era when an army doctor designed a variation of the Model 14. Instead of the solid handle and extra heavy tang, he wanted a hollow handle with a cap and sawteeth along the top of the spine. Randall worked the design over, improved it, and came up with the Model 18, probably the first survival knife to feature those adaptations. The earliest models had a crutch tip as the butt cap, but that was quickly changed to the threaded brass butt cap.

The Current Model 18 is available in two blade lengths: 5.5″ and 7.5″ with a choice of either O-1 tool steel or stainless. It has the dual-edged blade, with the sawtooth edge covering three-quarter of the length on top. The handle is made of stainless steel, measures 4.75 inches, and has a removable brass butt cap as mentioned previously, with a neoprene O-ring to keep the handle waterproof. The hilt is an elliptical piece of quarter-inch brass, carefully hard soldered in place, with holes for a wrist strap. Mine has the additional feature of a compass under the butt cap.



The sheath is a wonderful piece of craftsmanship. Heavy, supple, but not too supple, it is welt stitch. Strategically placed holes allow parachute cord to be used to secure the sheath and the knife.


I wrapped the handle of my Model 18 with parachute cord. All I did was half hitch it each turn. This gives it a nonslip grip and adds about ten percent more cord to the wrap. Useful when you need every inch of it. Underneath the paracord is a single layer of copper wire. Quite necessary for snares. A small wooden bobbin in the handle holds 30 feet of twelve pound test monofilament, a couple of splitshot weights, and several #8 hooks. Matches should be replaced by a magnesium striker, and I suppose a small piece of fire starting material should be in there too.

I have been fortunate that I have never had to call upon the Randall. Knowing what I do about the care and craftsmanship that goes into each and every Randall knife, I have no doubts that when called upon to perform as needed, it will be ready.

Randall Knives
Albert A Rasch
The Hunt Continues...

Friday, April 2, 2010

The Art of the Pipe

© 2009-2010 Albert A Rasch and
The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles
$g&m f9bd 45kd q!?5. trochronicles.blogspot.com
A Chronicles Classic:
The Art of the Pipe
 
“Oh, hi Dad.” Came his listless reply, “I’m looking for the broom; Mom wants us to clean.”

Occasionally I will indulge in a pipe. Whether an elegantly curved calabash, or a properly puritanical church warden, nothing allows for proper concentration and meditation like a pipe. The warmth of the bowl when a proper coal is set, the texture of pipe, the sweep of the stem, all of these things add to the immeasurable assurance that the answers are all there... if you take the time to contemplate. It is a campfire, with flannel shirts, tents, pine pitch, and split logs, all contained in the palm of your hand. It is truly a man’s artifice, requisite skill necessary in its proper application, without which deep and intractable issues can never be resolved.

Now, I know that today’s health conscious meddlers, those left-coast leaning, healthier than thou, sanctimonious, fancy sneakered jogging types, caution us constantly about the evils and ill effects of tobacco and strong spirits. To quote Sir Winston Churchill when castigated for indulging so frequently of both, “Always remember that I have taken more out of alcohol than alcohol has taken out of me.” I am one for personal responsibility - and I am quite secure in the knowledge that what I do may be injurious, but I am sure to derive the greater benefit for contemplating matters both weighty and of great import. That will surely outweigh any harm done to me. Hell, I’ve heard it said that if you refrain from the pleasures of the opposite sex and damn near starve yourself, you’ll live a good bit longer. You might as well shoot me now if you think I want to live like that. I’d just as soon live in Venezuela under Chavez; amount to about the same I venture.

As it so happened, on this cool, fall, Florida morning, I was contemplating matters of weighty magnitude whilst out on the patio, the occasional swirl of Sweet Cavendish smoke encircling me.

I heard the door to the house open up and Bubby, sullenly muttering to himself, came out. Pulled from my thoughtful reverie by his digging about, I turned an eye to him.

He had the sad and troubled look of a boy unfairly put upon. “Bubby,” I asked, “what the Devil are you up to, and why the glum look?”

“Oh, hi Dad.” Came his listless reply, “I’m looking for the broom; Mom wants us to clean.” Oh dear God, not cleaning.

If there is one thing that I can’t abide is a woman’s penchant for ruining a perfectly good day. Here it was a lovely fall day, cooler than it has been for several sweltering months, a day put on this earth for repose and the proper contemplation of worldly matters. Why is that day to be filled with something as mundane as house cleaning? I mean really, come on, it’s just going to get messy again in matter of hours.

Very carefully I weighed my response. “Oh… Blake it’s just a travesty.”

I had a couple of options at this point. I could run, but that would take up quite a bit of energy; energy that I was loath to expend. Quite frankly and in my opinion, running is vastly overrated; excepting of course those matters where running might save your hide. Running is for antelope, horses, and teenagers who don’t have the sense to think two steps further than where they are. I prefer slipping into and out of things; it’s the gentlemanly way to do things.

I could volunteer myself for said activity.

Do I sound or look like I lack in intellect? Not a chance; volunteering would be asking for more trouble. Women are rather peculiar in that respect, as I will elucidate for your clarification and illumination. Observe:

Fight tooth and nail, and they take it in stride, point to what they want done, and leave you to do it. It would seem that the act of defiance registers as a normal modus operandi in their internal mental circuitry. In their queer logic this is as it should be, therefore it requires no further action.

Now if you were to volunteer, they assume that you have some nefarious plan which can only be thwarted by their constant vigilance and frequent rebukes as to your relative ineptitude. Mind you, you’ve done whatever it is they want a thousand times before, but the way they slap a saddle on your back and spur your hind-quarters, you would think you were trying to deliver a baby with dirty hands, or patted the waitress’ rear-end at one of those fancy restaurants.

I sighed audibly. It is an immutable mathematical certainty that no matter what is done, one in fact ends up doing the opposite of what is wished for. I resigned myself to the inevitable and just waited upon my fate; there are worse things than helping to tidy up a bit. Like run through a patch of cactus… sunburned…and naked.

I was drawing upon the church warden when my dearest stepped out on to the patio. I let a long narrow stream of smoke slice its way through the morning air. The sweet smell of pipe tobacco clung to the cool damp like fog over a marsh. Thin tendrils of old smoke wafted through the occasional beam of sunlight that broke through the tree canopy.

“You know,” I said, “the Indigo Buntings are due any day now.”

“I love it when they come through.” She smiled and looked around. “When do you think they’ll get here?”

“I don’t know… With this global warming nonsense they might be a couple of weeks late.” I drew on my pipe, savored the smoke, and used the long stem as a pointer. “I’ve seen a few goldfinches though, by the creek; they were late come to think of it.”

We mused on that bit of information for a few moments.

She placed her hand lightly on my shoulder. “You know, I was going to ask you to help clean up the house a bit. It’s such a wreck.”

I dutifully waited for the sentence to be handed down. Would it be mopping, folding clothes, or worse, scrubbing the bathtub.

“But, you look so thoughtful there, that I think I’ll leave you to your musings; you deserve a break.”

You could have knocked me over with a flick of the finger.

“Would you like a drink? Some water or a soda? “

“Uhh… no, no thanks, I’m doing pretty good.” I replied.

She started to turn and I said, “Baby…”

“Yes?”

I was going to ask for a bourbon over ice, splash of spring water.

“Love Ya.” I said.

She winked at me, and with that look said, “I know.”

Regards,
Albert A Rasch
Member: Bagram Tent Club
Member: Hunting Sportsmen of the United States HSUS (Let 'em sue me.)
The Hunt Continues...


The Rasch Outdoor Chronicles