06 January
05 January
Grey Ghosts of January
White River January 1-4 2009 Story by Jim Taylor, Arkansas Bowhunter
Any time spent in the deer woods is a great time but I am especially partial to the late season bowhunts on White River Refuge. The claustrophobic curtain of greenery has fallen and the rain soaked mucky soil is better able to record the tracks and trails of unseen deer. Additionally the buzzing of mosquitoes and gnats have relinquished their patrols to the kinder periodic chorus of honking geese overhead. Nothing represents the wilds of White River Refuge more than the hauntingly solemn sound of Canadian geese passing overhead while silhouetted against a gray wintery sky.
This first week of January was forecasted to be rainy and to the delight of my wife and daughter, who would accompany me on this trip, was to be unusually warm for the next few days. This trip would be partially a family affair since my brother Robert, who lives in North Carolina, was to be in Dewitt visiting. I thought great, I will bring my camper, squeeze in a little bowhunting, and visit family all at the same time. We left Fort Smith in the A.M. but with two women in tow, by the time I made it to the refuge Thursday Jan 1, I had only enough time to set up the camper before darkness set in.
The girls would sleep in the next day while I bowhunted. Alone the next morning, I unloaded my 4wheeler, bows and pack in the damp pre dawn darkness. The rain had ceased but the patter of wate
r droplets were still falling from the soaked tree limbs overhead. It had been late November since I had been down this particular trail on my 4wheeler. The sloppy rain soaked 4-wheeler trail would have been bad enough but when you throw in the recent heavy duck hunter traffic it was unrecognizable. In the darkness the 3 mile route to my usual stand location seemed unattainable as the trail was difficult to follow and underwater in long stretches. After a long and uneasy half mile on my winchless Honda 4-wheeler and the continued dread of getting stuck in the muck, I ceased my advance up the trail. With Summit climber stand on my back and Pearson Z-32 in hand I marched off into the dark wet woods. I didn't have a clue where I was going to hang my stand. I've hunted blind before and this would be no different. Sometimes you have to adapt, improvise and make the best of the situation that your dealt. This was the start to my new years January White River Refuge bowhunt.
Over the next couple of stand sittings I used the opportunity to explore new hunting areas several miles north. Saturday evening I found myself 25 plus feet up a telephone pole size Overcup tree. It faced a slough in an area that had recently been select cut. The deer sign was plentiful but it was wide open like a park. I could see 100 yards to the right and left of me. My initial concern was that this area was too open and all the deer sign was being made at night. The slough snaked its way in front of me at 35 yards with a Nuttall oak tree on its edge that had carpeted the ground with fresh acorns. The deer trail was deep and muddy skirting the slough up to the Nuttall oak.
At 3:45pm off to my left I spotted movement of two does at 60-70 yards... I thought man, in spite of the rainy weather, this was going to finally work out. As the deer made their way along the slough to the Nuttall, I picked up my bow, eased myself to a standing position and prepared myself for the end of the hunt. As I waited for the approaching does I spot a good mature racked buck behind them. My attention on this buck is short lived as I see a second bigger buck and it quickly becomes obvious that this second buck is the largest racked whitetail I have ever seen in thirty years of hunting on WRNWR. He's appeared in front of the first
buck, and spooks the does which run off to my left. As the does make their way into the open this big chested guy just confidently walks from the sloughs edge out into the wide open at 60yrds. In a frantic effort to lure him from the does I give a couple of soft blows on my grunt tube. He hears me and stops for a full minute or even two and surveys the open timber in my direction while occasionally glancing away from me toward the does. As he stands there I study his rack through my 6 power range finder. He has massively thick main beams, mahogany in color, slightly palmated in shape. His tines coming off the main beam are narrowly spaced having almost a picket fence like appearance to this apparent 12 point. As he looks my directions I note that his rack is not as fantastically wide as it is tall. The rack is not narrow, its just that the exceptional height and mass displayed in typical form is what captures my focus.
Standing broadside in the wide open at 60 yards he is out of bow range. For me to even consider drawing my bow at such a magnificent animal he would have to close the distance by another 25 or 30 yards. I knew I would never be any competition for the does and resigned myself to just admiring this big brute from a far. The does eventually bolt out of sight. The two bucks quickly resume their pursuit and follow behind them.
In past hunts I have felt a knot in my stomach at such missed opportunities and haunted by thoughts of what might have been. This time.. no disappointment. I felt elated and privileged to have seen such a ghostly and magnificent White River buck.
Besides... there will always be next season.
Any time spent in the deer woods is a great time but I am especially partial to the late season bowhunts on White River Refuge. The claustrophobic curtain of greenery has fallen and the rain soaked mucky soil is better able to record the tracks and trails of unseen deer. Additionally the buzzing of mosquitoes and gnats have relinquished their patrols to the kinder periodic chorus of honking geese overhead. Nothing represents the wilds of White River Refuge more than the hauntingly solemn sound of Canadian geese passing overhead while silhouetted against a gray wintery sky.
This first week of January was forecasted to be rainy and to the delight of my wife and daughter, who would accompany me on this trip, was to be unusually warm for the next few days. This trip would be partially a family affair since my brother Robert, who lives in North Carolina, was to be in Dewitt visiting. I thought great, I will bring my camper, squeeze in a little bowhunting, and visit family all at the same time. We left Fort Smith in the A.M. but with two women in tow, by the time I made it to the refuge Thursday Jan 1, I had only enough time to set up the camper before darkness set in.
The girls would sleep in the next day while I bowhunted. Alone the next morning, I unloaded my 4wheeler, bows and pack in the damp pre dawn darkness. The rain had ceased but the patter of wate
r droplets were still falling from the soaked tree limbs overhead. It had been late November since I had been down this particular trail on my 4wheeler. The sloppy rain soaked 4-wheeler trail would have been bad enough but when you throw in the recent heavy duck hunter traffic it was unrecognizable. In the darkness the 3 mile route to my usual stand location seemed unattainable as the trail was difficult to follow and underwater in long stretches. After a long and uneasy half mile on my winchless Honda 4-wheeler and the continued dread of getting stuck in the muck, I ceased my advance up the trail. With Summit climber stand on my back and Pearson Z-32 in hand I marched off into the dark wet woods. I didn't have a clue where I was going to hang my stand. I've hunted blind before and this would be no different. Sometimes you have to adapt, improvise and make the best of the situation that your dealt. This was the start to my new years January White River Refuge bowhunt.Over the next couple of stand sittings I used the opportunity to explore new hunting areas several miles north. Saturday evening I found myself 25 plus feet up a telephone pole size Overcup tree. It faced a slough in an area that had recently been select cut. The deer sign was plentiful but it was wide open like a park. I could see 100 yards to the right and left of me. My initial concern was that this area was too open and all the deer sign was being made at night. The slough snaked its way in front of me at 35 yards with a Nuttall oak tree on its edge that had carpeted the ground with fresh acorns. The deer trail was deep and muddy skirting the slough up to the Nuttall oak.
At 3:45pm off to my left I spotted movement of two does at 60-70 yards... I thought man, in spite of the rainy weather, this was going to finally work out. As the deer made their way along the slough to the Nuttall, I picked up my bow, eased myself to a standing position and prepared myself for the end of the hunt. As I waited for the approaching does I spot a good mature racked buck behind them. My attention on this buck is short lived as I see a second bigger buck and it quickly becomes obvious that this second buck is the largest racked whitetail I have ever seen in thirty years of hunting on WRNWR. He's appeared in front of the first
buck, and spooks the does which run off to my left. As the does make their way into the open this big chested guy just confidently walks from the sloughs edge out into the wide open at 60yrds. In a frantic effort to lure him from the does I give a couple of soft blows on my grunt tube. He hears me and stops for a full minute or even two and surveys the open timber in my direction while occasionally glancing away from me toward the does. As he stands there I study his rack through my 6 power range finder. He has massively thick main beams, mahogany in color, slightly palmated in shape. His tines coming off the main beam are narrowly spaced having almost a picket fence like appearance to this apparent 12 point. As he looks my directions I note that his rack is not as fantastically wide as it is tall. The rack is not narrow, its just that the exceptional height and mass displayed in typical form is what captures my focus.Standing broadside in the wide open at 60 yards he is out of bow range. For me to even consider drawing my bow at such a magnificent animal he would have to close the distance by another 25 or 30 yards. I knew I would never be any competition for the does and resigned myself to just admiring this big brute from a far. The does eventually bolt out of sight. The two bucks quickly resume their pursuit and follow behind them.
In past hunts I have felt a knot in my stomach at such missed opportunities and haunted by thoughts of what might have been. This time.. no disappointment. I felt elated and privileged to have seen such a ghostly and magnificent White River buck.
Besides... there will always be next season.
24 November
KINGS OF KANSAS
November 23, 2008. by Jim Taylor, Arkansas Bowhunter
Nested in my lock-on I was barely 12 feet off the ground. I was well hidden among the scented boughs of a sturdy cedar tree that are common for stand locations in this area of Kansas. It is quickly evident that you don't have the tall easy climbing Overcup oak trees that permit the use of climbers that are our mainstay in Arkansas.
The buck came toward me at a steady gait moving North to South along a well worn trail that would deliver the buck to within 10 yards of my Cedar tree. I came to full draw and gave two successive grunts with increasing volume as the buck moved closer. He finally stopped in the last available shooting lane. He was a forgiving 10 yards away. At that range it is easy to think you have a chip shot and relax. I forced myself to take a second to focus my pin solidly on a spot behind the front shoulder of the 8 point buck. With finger on my release, I squeezed. My 65lb Pearson Z-32 delivered the thunderhead tipped arrow right behind the shoulder. WHACK! The buck kicked, then bolted and crashed through the forest. Then silence.
The energy of the arrow was consumed in the split second it passed through the bucks rib cage. The crimson coated arrow was now laying harmlessly on top of the fall leaves that blanketed the late November forest floor. The arrows work was done. After a week in the Osage draws of eastern Kansas that are often nestled between corn and soybeans fields my hunt came to a fruitful close on a crisp but sunny Sunday November morning. A three and half year old eight point buck was now mine to quietly admire.
It was a primitive yet noble process that man has repeated for thousands of years. It still has the ability to inject the November chill directly into my veins and send uncontrolled shivers throughout my body. It serves as a reminder that despite our disconnected life of I-phones and "super center" processed hamburger there remains a vestige of predator instinct within that still calls us to the November forest each year.
Nested in my lock-on I was barely 12 feet off the ground. I was well hidden among the scented boughs of a sturdy cedar tree that are common for stand locations in this area of Kansas. It is quickly evident that you don't have the tall easy climbing Overcup oak trees that permit the use of climbers that are our mainstay in Arkansas.
The buck came toward me at a steady gait moving North to South along a well worn trail that would deliver the buck to within 10 yards of my Cedar tree. I came to full draw and gave two successive grunts with increasing volume as the buck moved closer. He finally stopped in the last available shooting lane. He was a forgiving 10 yards away. At that range it is easy to think you have a chip shot and relax. I forced myself to take a second to focus my pin solidly on a spot behind the front shoulder of the 8 point buck. With finger on my release, I squeezed. My 65lb Pearson Z-32 delivered the thunderhead tipped arrow right behind the shoulder. WHACK! The buck kicked, then bolted and crashed through the forest. Then silence.
The energy of the arrow was consumed in the split second it passed through the bucks rib cage. The crimson coated arrow was now laying harmlessly on top of the fall leaves that blanketed the late November forest floor. The arrows work was done. After a week in the Osage draws of eastern Kansas that are often nestled between corn and soybeans fields my hunt came to a fruitful close on a crisp but sunny Sunday November morning. A three and half year old eight point buck was now mine to quietly admire.
It was a primitive yet noble process that man has repeated for thousands of years. It still has the ability to inject the November chill directly into my veins and send uncontrolled shivers throughout my body. It serves as a reminder that despite our disconnected life of I-phones and "super center" processed hamburger there remains a vestige of predator instinct within that still calls us to the November forest each year.
20 November
Hunting partner Bruce Jameson bagged a huge 8 point this morning that we estimated will score about 152! That is one big 8 point. Monday Bruce spotted what he said was the biggest deer he had seen in 10 years. Let me tell you, in Bruce's neck of the Kansas deer woods that... is Big..
Jim Taylor, Arkansas Bowhunter
19 November
11 October
Three Year Elk Odessy
Finally... After three trips in as many years out west, two to Idaho and one to Colorado the ol Arkansas Bowhunter managed to find the alignment of the stars in perfect order while on the side of a dark canyon September 26, 2008 at 2:57pm. After six days of trekking up and down Colorado canyons and with the wear on my feet becoming more noticeable as the week progressed I finally found myself within 30 yards of a trophy class bull.
10 October
The Colorado 2008 Posse
Our decision to not hunt Idaho for Elk this year was spurred by a friend of a friend who had reported a great number of Elk sighting in the area the year before.. Pete Sisson more on Pete later.
09 October
PETES PRIZE
by Jim Taylor
The Colorado gang with Petes Elk. Pete brought down the first elk of the week with this nice bull on Wednesday morning. He was pumped, excited and proud of his first bull elk! Read his story by clicking here: Pete is a dedicated and serious bowhunter who is fun to be with and knows how to enjoy himself while working as hard as any hunter as I have ever met. Petes success is no accident, he spends the months leading up to the hunt preparing himself physically for the extreme challenges of the Colorado mountains and devours the latest elk hunting techniques and diligently applies them. (Left to Right: Jim, Tim, Wade, Mike and Pete)
The Colorado gang with Petes Elk. Pete brought down the first elk of the week with this nice bull on Wednesday morning. He was pumped, excited and proud of his first bull elk! Read his story by clicking here: Pete is a dedicated and serious bowhunter who is fun to be with and knows how to enjoy himself while working as hard as any hunter as I have ever met. Petes success is no accident, he spends the months leading up to the hunt preparing himself physically for the extreme challenges of the Colorado mountains and devours the latest elk hunting techniques and diligently applies them. (Left to Right: Jim, Tim, Wade, Mike and Pete)
07 October
Greg Case of Dewitt Arkansas with a heavy horned Illinois whitetail and below with a young 8 point taken during one of our annual White River NWR bowhunts. Greg and I have been best friends and ardent bowhunters since we were in middle and high school. He's lucky enough to live in the heart of big buck country in the Arkansas Delta. Visitors to Greg's home just outside the fertile farming community of Dewitt will be greeted with a den of trophy mounts that serves as a testament to his success as a slayer of 130 and 140 class delta whitetails.
Greg is meticulous to a fault about his equipment, site selection, and hunting manner. I kid h
im by calling him "Monk" the fanatically neat tv character. His obsessive attention to detail is why he is able to put himself in killing distance of big timber White River whitetails. Greg's preparation and planning provides him the confidence needed at that critical moment of the shot.Jim Taylor, Arkansas Bowhunter
06 September
Prince of the Prairies
Kaycee Wyoming 2006 - Story of Jim and Gregs adventures in the sage brush valleys of Kaycee, WY to follow.
03 December
Dec 3 Whitetails
 |
| White River NWR Dec 3, 2004 |
White River 2004- A watered down White River NWR bowhunt December 3,
One buck that still makes me prideful is a public lands whitetail from the river bottoms of South Arkansas.
I was hunting in the North Unit of the White River National Wildlife refuge on a crisp cold December morning. December 3, 2004. At about 10:30 am I heard this big brute as he sloshed through some water along a muddy trail that I was hunting. He was approaching right to left and was on course to pass 20 yards in front of me. At about 40 yards he changes course and starts to walk straight away from me. My heart sinks as I watch this trophy as he strolls out of my life. Wait ... he stops.. he begins to feast on acorns at the base of a grand daddy size Nutall Oak tree about at about 20 yards off the trial making him 45 to 50 yards away from my position. Too far for this bowhunter to shoot. With me watching nervously while hoping and praying for some kind of luck he turns back to the trail. His rack is heavy and a dark chestnut in color. He sports a tall rack of 9 points. As this guy meanders closer and closer, I cant help but picture in my mind that I've already loaded this guy up and proudly showing him off to my hunting buddies.
He continues his confident pace. I come to full draw when he is directly in front of me at 25 yards from the base of my 18" overcup tree that hold my Summit climber. I force my to not look a the rack and focus on the point of aim and and let the arrow go.
06 September
Northwest Territories 2002
I had scrambled my way along the rocky shore of the lake some one hundred and fifty stumbling yards. My destination was the base of the gray bouldered bluff that overlooked the Artillery Lake. Above me on top of the bluff was a lone bull caribou bedded out of sight some one hundred feet or so above me. Before the stalk I had made a mental note of a patch of green as a landmark to indicate where I should make my assent up the rocks. Of course now that I was there my landmark vaporized into a cloud of uncertainty. Was this the carpet of grass that I was seeing or is that olive green patch 60 yards further up the shore? Decisions, Decisions. Time was running out, if there's one thing I have learned about Barron Ground Caribou is that they are restless creatures, always on the move. I made the 2 second decision to scale it where I was, I shimmied out of my day pack and left it along with my wide brimmed hat at the base as I began my ascent up the bluff with bow in hand. The big bull had bedded up in a position to survey the open rolling tundra that seemed funnel into thi
s point of the lake. I had caught a glimpse of the bulls antlers and ears scanning area below him like a radar some 45 minutes earlier.The bluff where the bull was positioned is a series of chest high rocky elevations with lichen covered ledges on which to climb upon. The width of the ledges permitted me to climb on my hands and knees for eight or ten feet or so to the next elevated ridge. Always carefully peeking over the next rise with the anticipation that this is the ledge he will be on. As I peeked over the last bench it was only about 3 feet high so I had to belly crawl to the edge to peer over the edge onto the next flat. As I peered over the edge the first thing I see are the velveted sweeping antlers of the bull silhouetted against the skyline. He was standing directly in front of me and looking the
opposite direction.While kneeling I quietly nocked an arrow and began to range him. In the instant I peered though my range finder I could see his long sweeping rack and and double shovel rotate to lock in on my position. It was as if this majestic animal had sensed me. I froze with range finder glued to my eye while he stared me down 29 yards away. After an intense stare he began a fast walk to my left. I came to full draw and estimated him at 35 yards and released, but missed. Hhmm, imagine that! With this miss the caribou shifted into their trademark camel like trot. He disappeared over the ridge but running parallel to the lake. It was a remote chance I thought, but I could cut him off at the bottom of the ridge if I hurried. Caribou have short memories and will often trot out of sight only to immediately start feeding again. I thought I've got nothing to lose. What took me 15 minutes to climb up took me seconds to scale back down. After five days of hunting I again found myself in a familiar bent at the waist run to head off a caribou. Numerous daily half mile stalks in the open tundra had gotten me close several times only to have some unimagined turn of fate to keep the caribou just out of bow range. After five days I was a little wiser as to my predictions on intercepting a caribou.
As I hurdled from rock to rock along the bolder laden shore on another two hundred yard dash my Lacrosse boots were not offering much ankle support. The rubber boots were a strategic compromise with the many bogs that I managed to “
muck” my way through in these barren ground valleys. Destiny would have it that he was ahead of me along the edge of the lake. I had the bluff to my back while I stalked to within the long side of my range. He simply paused at the edge of the lake as I ranged him again at 52 yard exactly. The flight of the arrow was easy to follow as it arced its way to the shoulder of the bull. Crack! The bull exploded in a blind run directly away from me.... and directly into the lake!His swim was a short thirty yards though as the three blade Inner-Lok had found its mark. Wow,
finally a big beautiful caribou and possibly a Pope and Young class one at that. My elation was short lived as I realized my hard earned caribou was floating away from shore. Artillery lake is a huge lake feed by a series of rivers. Apparently there was a gentle current along this shore. My guide would not be back with the boat for at least two hours.
The decision to go swimming when you are 70 miles from the Arctic Circle in September is something not to be taken lightly. Earlier in the week the guides and the rest of the gang were discussing survivability in the event of a capsized boat. The odds weren't good. I thought it out carefully for about three seconds. The key is keeping dry I said to my self. Off came my boots, clothes and thermals. I did leave my underwear on as even in the no mans lands of the North West Territories a man still needs his dignity.
The rocks beneath the cold waters surface were sharp and slippery. Every barefooted step was
excruciating, but I push on through the chilly water with my eyes focused on the floating prize. The frigid water is now chest deep and I am only feet away from the bull. Finally he is within reach and I stretch my hand out trying to avoid immersing my body any further into the icy lake than necessary. His vascular filled mahogany colored velvet antlers were welcome warmth to my cold numb fingers as they grasped him. In an instant I had gone from extreme trepidation and fear to feeling like nothing can go wrong now. With caribou in tow I made my way back to shore. After I was out of the water the beet red color from the top of my chest down served as an obvious indicator to the waters depth.
The speed in which I put my dry clothes and boots back on was impressive, but what was truly amazing was that I never got a chill or shiver during or after my arctic swim. Goes to show you what a good dose of adrenaline can do for you. Or was it shock?
Once I had my bull safely ashore I sat there on a rock in the silence that was occasionally broken up by the lapping of the waves from the lake and reflected on the experience. Reflecting not only of the taking of this bull but of the five hard hunting days leading up to it. Memories of many hunts grow foggy with time but I was certain this trip to the Canadian North West Territories was one that was one that will be etched a little deeper into my mind than the rest.
Jim Taylor
August 2002
Artillery Lake Adventures
Yellow Knife, NWT
Jim Taylor, Tom Nelson, Mac MacKool, Todd, Paul Barry.
Guide was Henry- Inuit Indian.
15 August
Caribou Hunt Preparations
Article by Jim Taylor
Thursday night
Last Packing Attempt Thursday August 15 11:23pm 2002
I packed three pieces of luggage for trip my to Artillery Lake in the Canadian North West Territories. The bush pilots had limited us to 70lbs of luggage plus a small carry on. We had to pack light and securely as I would be in and out of four aircraft as well as going through customs before arriving at our hunting location. Entries into my written journal show multiple attempts to reduce my total luggage weight and optimize my space inside two duffles and the available room in my bowcase. My first packing attempt on August 11, 2002 show that I had a total luggage weight of 73lbs. I ended up with the following:
Total weight of checked luggage:
Bow Case Contents:
Bow: Pearson Diamondback 29" at 63lb
Alpine quick-loc quiver
12 Epsilon Carbon Arrows
8 Inner Lock Broadheads (disassembled and packaged for the long flight)
Scott Release
2 piece spinning rod & real with tackle
Zip log bag of archery repair components- Nocking pliers, cable slides, noc sets, super glue, peep serving tool.
Gibbs Style Bow Sling
Lacrosse Lagrange Rubber boots
Duct Tape-For wrapping up bow case on return trip
Total weight of Bow Case loaded. 208 scales-184(my weight)=24lbs
Big Duffle Contents:
Rain Wear Suit by Nat Gear
Wind Breaker
Gloves
Turtle Neck
Camo Clothing 3-sets
Camo Under Shirts-3-sets
One Polo- Fall Foliage
Sock Regular-4
Socks- Over the Calf with Velco top wrap- 1
Cold Weather Jacket- Nat Gear
Hunting Pack
Binoculars- old 10X50
Bushnell Range Finder
Arm Guard
Garmin GPS
Weight: 212 scales-184(my weight)= 28lbs
Duffle-Camp Bag
Shaving kit and necessities
Underwear
Towel
Long johns
Camera Tripod-5lbs
Nikon 2020
Fishing Fanny Pack
Pillow
Sleeping Bag
Hiking Boots
204 0 scales-184(my weight)= 20lbs
Bow Case:
Carry On Camera Bag (not weighed)
Sony Video Camera
Charger
Extra Video Tapes
Extra Battery
Thursday night
Last Packing Attempt Thursday August 15 11:23pm 2002
I packed three pieces of luggage for trip my to Artillery Lake in the Canadian North West Territories. The bush pilots had limited us to 70lbs of luggage plus a small carry on. We had to pack light and securely as I would be in and out of four aircraft as well as going through customs before arriving at our hunting location. Entries into my written journal show multiple attempts to reduce my total luggage weight and optimize my space inside two duffles and the available room in my bowcase. My first packing attempt on August 11, 2002 show that I had a total luggage weight of 73lbs. I ended up with the following:
Total weight of checked luggage:
Bow Case Contents:
Bow: Pearson Diamondback 29" at 63lb
Alpine quick-loc quiver
12 Epsilon Carbon Arrows
8 Inner Lock Broadheads (disassembled and packaged for the long flight)
Scott Release
2 piece spinning rod & real with tackle
Zip log bag of archery repair components- Nocking pliers, cable slides, noc sets, super glue, peep serving tool.
Gibbs Style Bow Sling
Lacrosse Lagrange Rubber boots
Duct Tape-For wrapping up bow case on return trip
Total weight of Bow Case loaded. 208 scales-184(my weight)=24lbs
Big Duffle Contents:
Rain Wear Suit by Nat Gear
Wind Breaker
Gloves
Turtle Neck
Camo Clothing 3-sets
Camo Under Shirts-3-sets
One Polo- Fall Foliage
Sock Regular-4
Socks- Over the Calf with Velco top wrap- 1
Cold Weather Jacket- Nat Gear
Hunting Pack
Binoculars- old 10X50
Bushnell Range Finder
Arm Guard
Garmin GPS
Weight: 212 scales-184(my weight)= 28lbs
Duffle-Camp Bag
Shaving kit and necessities
Underwear
Towel
Long johns
Camera Tripod-5lbs
Nikon 2020
Fishing Fanny Pack
Pillow
Sleeping Bag
Hiking Boots
204 0 scales-184(my weight)= 20lbs
Bow Case:
Carry On Camera Bag (not weighed)
Sony Video Camera
Charger
Extra Video Tapes
Extra Battery
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