Tennessee’s spring turkey hunting season opens in just three weeks. It’s time to take a look back at some memorable hunts and birds from past seasons…beginning with one of the most worthy adversaries of ‘em all: Ol’ Soft Gobble.

A wild turkey has six toes and short, dull claws. A wild turkey hunter has 10 fingers and opposable thumbs.

A wild turkey scratches through leaves and cow piles for food. A wild turkey hunter has battled to the top of the food chain.

A wild turkey has a brain roughly the size of a peanut. A wild turkey hunter has a brain roughly the size of a cantaloupe. A battle of wits between the two and the outcome would be . . . well, a no-brainer.

But that wasn’t the case with me and Ol’ Soft Gobble.

Every turkey hunter occasionally runs into a bird that gives them the slip and makes it personal. The hunter soon becomes fixated on that one bird; none other matters. “Season-wreckers,” some call them. And for good reason: Even the best hunter can find a bird that will eat up his entire season without presenting a shot if the hunter doesn’t have the willpower to concede defeat and find another bird to hunt.

Ol’ Soft Gobble certainly had all the qualities of a season-wrecker. He earned his name for his quiet gobble. If you weren’t familiar with him, you would almost swear that the bird gobbling on the next ridge was a jake. But if you had hunted this bird before, you’d just grin and say, “Nope. That’s Ol’ Soft Gobble.”

Put Ol’ Soft Gobble in a line-up with a dozen other longbeards and I’m not sure I could distinguish between them. But there was no doubting the old boy’s quiet vocalizations.

I do not remember the first time I heard Ol’ Soft Gobble. Likely as not, I mistook him for a jake. But as that season (and the next) rolled along, it became obvious that Ol’ Soft Gobble was one smart bird. A hunting buddy set up on the bird on several occasions. I set up on the bird on several occasions. On a few occasions, we both set up on the bird. But always to no avail.

Ol’ Soft Gobble had a penchant for roosting in the same place most nights. On the edge of a narrow, bluff-lined ridge-top, he would roost in a stand of white pines. Calling him into gun range was akin to talking a squirrel out of a hickory tree. The most seductive sequence of yelps, clucks and purrs were rendered useless by Ol’ Soft Gobble’s stubborness.

Still, unless he pitched off the bluff and across the creek, there was only one way off the ridge. It would seem easy. Position one’s self in the middle of the narrow ridge-top, a hundred yards or so from his tree, and intercept him as he leaves his bedroom for the happy scratching grounds on down the trail. But still Ol’ Soft Gobble managed to evade us.

When push came to shove, we devised a plan, placing two hunters a hundred yards apart to cover both routes of possible travel from the roost to the open woods. But when Ol’ Soft Gobble pitched down, he worked his way around the edge of the ridge among thickets of mountain laurel, gobbling occasionally to mock us as he headed for the deeper woods.

For the rest of that season and all of the next, one or the other or both of us hunted Ol’ Soft Gobble from time to time. There were times when he almost didn’t make it.

On one such occasion—it was Good Friday—he was apparently without his usual harem of hens and was somewhat responsive to my calls. But I had foolishly forgotten to silence the ringer on my cell phone, and an untimely phone call spoiled the day.

On another occasion late in the third season—when Ol’ Soft Gobble had to be at least four years old; a senior citizen in turkey terms—my brother and I managed to slip in close to the old patriarch and a handful of hens traveling with him. For two hours, we were within sixty yards of the old bird. He was spitting-and-drumming and strutting the entire time, putting on a show for his harem. A couple of times, we got good looks at him strutting just out of gun range. At times, the hens would wander too close for comfort. We’d be sure he would follow but were worried that the hens would bust us. It was nerve-wracking, and Ol’ Soft Gobble finally managed to give us the slip again, busting us when we became impatient and tried to shift positions.

Perhaps the most intimate meeting Ol’ Soft Gobble and I had was midway through the final season I hunted him. I was on the next ridge over from Ol’ Soft Gobble’s usual hangout when I heard the familiar, soft gobble ring out. I ignored it at first, but temptation eventually won out. I headed after Ol’ Soft Gobble’s roost tree yet again.

By mistake, I nearly tripped right over him. It was fully daylight and I just happened to look up and see the old bird sitting on a limb, nearly fifty feet up a large American beech tree.

I wasn’t sure why he had failed to detect my movement, but he stayed perched calmly on his limb. I was surprised to see that he was alone and, suddenly, I was brimming with confidence. Here I was, in bonafide shooting range of Ol’ Soft Gobble. He had no hens with him to spoil the hunt. What could possibly go wrong?

The problem was that despite the excellent weather, Ol’ Soft Gobble didn’t want to come out of the tree. Like many wild old gobblers, Soft Gobble was waiting on some hens to come calling before he would come out of the tree, and he stayed put on his limb until well after the sun had risen.

Confident that I was well hidden behind a bush, I gave a few soft calls to try and coax him off the roost. In the process, I managed to call up another bird. It wasn’t until I heard the sudden drum of a gobbler behind me—a low-frequency but unmistakable sound similar to a large truck gearing down on a very distant highway, preceded by a tell-tale spitting sound—that I realized the second bird had slipped in on me. Instinct took over and caution went to the wind as I whirled quickly with my gun in an effort to get into position before he broke into view. But he never showed himself.

Whether Ol’ Soft Gobble saw my sudden movement through the foliage or whether he saw me when I first slipped in on him, I’ll never know. But after another fifteen or twenty minutes on the roost, he decided it was time to go. Instead of pitching down, he sailed off the roost and was still sailing over the treetops when he went out of sight down the hollow. I am convinced to this day that the old-timer knew I was there the entire time and stayed put on the roost simply to mock me.

What became of Ol’ Soft Gobble is anyone’s guess. Mine is that he died of old age. I suppose it’s possible that he finally met up with a hunter smart enough to beat him at his own game, but I prefer to think that he managed to evade predators of both the two-legged and four-legged variety right up until the end.

I’ve hunted Ol’ Soft Gobble’s ridge a number of times since, never with a lot of luck. But whenever the wind is blowing away from me, or the spring foliage has thickened up late in the season, and a longbeard’s gobble sounds quieter than usual, I can’t help but think of Ol’ Soft Gobble.

It isn’t hard for a bird to give me the slip, and many have. But none have earned my respect like an old bird with a soft-toned gobble…none like that old “season-wrecker.”

In a tin-foil-hat article normally reserved for right-wing blogs, an ESPN columnist claims that President Obama could be on the verge of eliminating sport fishing in America:

The Obama administration will accept no more public input for a federal strategy that could prohibit U.S. citizens from fishing some of the nation’s oceans, coastal areas, Great Lakes, and even inland waters.

And this guy says the ESPN writer is full of it:

As a sportsman who covers fisheries management and politics I do think there are many issues surrounding the Interagency Ocean Policy Task Force and its eventual recommendations that all fishermen should be aware of and concerned about.

But to go from concern to suggesting that President Obama is about to ban fishing in America is the most absurd and irresponsible thing I have ever seen a major news outlet publish. There is not even a remote possibility that a standing president of the United States will outlaw fishing in America.

Photo evidence of a cougar/mountain lion/panther/painter/wildcat in the Smokies?

Turns out, it’s probably a bobcat.

It does look too small to be a cougar, and if it were a cougar, it somehow got its tail got lopped of…but at first glance one could sure be fooled into thinking it wasn’t a bobcat, couldn’t they?

Photos like this probably explain why so many people are fooled into thinking they see cougars in places like the Big South Fork and the Smokies and other areas of East Tennessee. The first reaction of most folks who see that is going to be “cougar!” Certainly, that’s what my first reaction was, until looking at it closer. So, it’s just as wildlife experts have said all along: A lot of cougar sightings aren’t cougar sightings at all.

(I still believe there are a few cougars in East Tennessee, though…maybe they’re pets that have been turned loose, but cougars nonetheless. Does anyone remember the Scott County Cougar of 1977?)

When it comes to the accessibility of public land, state-of-the-art hunting weaponry and gadgetry, non-restrictive rules and regulations, and bountiful populations of wild game, hunters in America have never had it better.

But hunting faces a dilemma: there are termites inside, eating away at the very foundation of the hunting and shooting sports. And most hunters don’t have a clue they’re there.

A survey by Families Afield—a joint effort of the National Wild Turkey Federation, U.S. Sportsmen’s Alliance and the National Shooting Sports Foundation—examined “hunter replacement ratios” in each U.S. state. The hunter replacement ratio is the number of new hunters entering the sport for every existing hunter leaving. Ideally, that ratio would be 1:1, which is to say that for every hunter leaving the sport, another would take his place.

But the survey found that the ratio isn’t 1:1, or even close to it. The national hunter replacement ratio, according to the survey, is 0.69:1. Which means that for every 10 hunters hanging up their guns, whether due to old age or just a loss of interest, only about seven new hunters are taking their place.

Even more troubling is the fact that some states with rich hunting heritages have hunter replacement ratios far below the national average. States like Wisconsin, Michigan, North Dakota, Montana and even Alaska all have hunter replacement ratios of less than 0.6:1. Michigan is a woeful 0.26:1. (Tennessee’s by comparison, is 0.82:1.) The problem is compounded when the age structure of the hunting community is broken down: only 17% of hunters are under the age of 25, compared with 42% over the age of 45.

It doesn’t take an expert in statistical analysis to realize that if you plot those numbers on a graph, it’s only a matter of time until hunting becomes non-existent.

But long before that prospect becomes reality, hunters will have lost their power in numbers.

Hunters currently wield quite a bit of political muscle. Not because they’re actively lobbying in Washington D.C., but because they hit back where it matters most: at the ballot box. Data from exit polling in the 2000 and 2004 presidential elections indicated that hunters and gun-owners helped push George W. Bush to victory two times. Indeed, Phil Bredesen said after the 2000 election that Al Gore “was one dove hunt away from becoming president.” In other words, Gore didn’t tout the sportsman’s vote and that could have flipped the outcome of the election. It was no coincidence, then, that Bredesen heavily courted the sportsman’s vote when he sought Tennessee’s gubernatorial office two years later.

Groups like PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) and the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS) are actively working to restrict hunting. Both groups have clout in political circles, but neither have been successful in convincing state or federal governments to ban certain types of hunting or to restrict hunting practices. But it isn’t that politicians believe hunting makes sense from biological and conservation standpoints. There are more than a few lawmakers who have made it clear that they oppose hunting. But there’s power in numbers. Eventually, as hunting declines, that power will be lost. Sportsmen will be on even footing with PETA and HSUS. And, eventually, those animal rights organizations will gain an upper hand over sportsmen.

Declining numbers of hunters presents other problems as well. Across America, many game agencies are operating on tight budgets. In Tennessee, the Wildlife Resources Agency is expected to be operating in the red within the next five years, despite massive license cost increases in recent years. (An all-inclusive sportsman’s license in Tennessee currently costs $137.)

Many game agencies receive primary funding from two sources: the sale of hunting and fishing licenses, and funds from the federal Pittman-Robertson tax, which is levied on the sale of certain hunting goods. As the number of persons participating in hunting declines, so do both sources of revenue. It isn’t inconceivable that TWRA could eventually be placed under the umbrella of the Tennessee Department of Environment and Conservation, simply for financial purposes, as the state absorbs more costs of wildlife management and begin to pay for it out of the public tax coffers.

That is far from a desirable situation. Currently, TWRA has several degrees of separation from the General Assembly. It is governed by an independent board of commissioners, appointed by the governor. While that doesn’t stop legislators from attempting and sometimes passing laws that are both beneficial and detrimental to hunting, it is in no one’s best interests for lawmakers to have their hands in the process of setting Tennessee’s hunting seasons and bag limits. Currently, hunting regulations in Tennessee are largely decided by folks with degrees in wildlife biology or related fields. While public input is a part of the season-setting process, TWRA also weighs the risks and benefits of wildlife management before setting any hunting season or bag limit. Politicians’ primary goal isn’t the biologically-sound management of wildlife, but pleasing constituents. It goes without saying that having their hands in the season-setting process would be detrimental to Tennessee hunting and wildlife.

Part of the problem with low hunter replacement ratios is restrictive laws that do not permit youths to hunt under a certain age. It probably isn’t coincidence that many of the states with the lowest hunter replacement ratios also have the tightest restrictions on youth hunters, while some of the states with the highest hunter replacement ratios have fewer restrictions on youth hunting. The organizations involved with Family Afield are actively attempting to persuade states to ease those restrictions.

But that isn’t the entire problem. In Tennessee, a child can hunt (with adult supervision) on youth-only deer and turkey hunts as young as the age of six. At age 10, a child who has passed a hunter safety course can hunt alone, without any adult supervision. And Tennessee’s hunter replacement ratio is still well below 1:1.

Parents and mentors face an uphill battle when it comes to getting youth interested in the great outdoors. More fathers today work late hours and weekends than ever before. And in an ever-increasing number of homes, the father isn’t present at all. Even in cases where fathers want to introduce their children to hunting, there are distractions such as video games, MTV and organized sports.

A good place to start is to enroll young hunters-to-be in the National Wild Turkey Federation’s J.A.K.E.S. program. J.A.K.E.S. —Juniors Acquiring Knowledge, Ethics and Sportsmanship—is a program aimed at involving youth in wildlife conservation and teaching them to be good stewards of America’s natural resources. Locally, the Longbeards of the Big South Fork chapter of NWTF holds a J.A.K.E.S. Day each year in Oneida. The fun-filled day of activities is about hunter safety and education, but it’s also about having fun.

Perhaps the trend is irreversible. Or, maybe, with some dedication and effort, hunters can turn around what might otherwise be their doom. There’s something to be said for being active instead of being stationary; for harvesting your own meat rather than purchasing it at the store; for learning to be self-reliant. And I’m a firm believer that if a teenager is going to get up at 5 a.m. on Saturday morning to sit in a duck blind or a tree stand, his father usually won’t have to worry about where he is or what he’s into on Friday night.

As country music recording artist Tracy Byrd sings: “Pass it on to another generation. Pass it on in the name of conservation.”

The Longbeards of the Big South Fork chapter of the National Wild Turkey Federation will host its annual Hunting Heritage Banquet tomorrow at the Boys & Girls Club of Scott County, beginning at 6 p.m.

Tickets are $45 for singles or $55 for couples, and include a 1-year membership to the NWTF, entry to the banquet and meal catered by Fireside.

J.A.K.E.S. tickets are available for kids under the age of 17, which includes a meal and 1-year membership to the NWTF’s J.A.K.E.S. program.

The NWTF is the nation’s foremost conservation organization, and the Longbeards of the Big South Fork has raised tens of thousands of dollars to directly benefit wildlife conservation in Scott County and East Tennessee.

Each year, Longbeards of the BSF awards a scholarship to an area high school senior, supplies winter wheat seed for wildlife food plots, and participates in Operation Oak, through which oak trees are planted on public land.

The Hunting Heritage banquet is always a blast…plenty of folks who aren’t hunters turn out to enjoy good food and good conversation. As always, the banquet will include a live auction and silent auction, with prints by Terry Redlin and Thomas Kinkaid, bronze sculptures, and various other items to be auctioned off. One gun per every 25 members will be awarded as a door prize, and there will be chances to win other guns or various other items in games that will be played through the evening.

To purchase your tickets in advance, call 423-569-5400.

This is a spectacular photo sent by Steven Seven. The photo is of Steve’s granddaughters (Raven and Journey) posing in front of a humongous ice cone at the base of Yahoo Falls yesterday. Yahoo Falls—in the Big South Fork NRRA—is a 113-ft. waterfall with a lot of history behind it. The sheer size of this ice cone—formed slowly since temperatures dropped below freezing—is simply amazing.

The trail becomes 19 miles longer with the purchase of 1,300 acres in Campbell and Claiborne counties.

4:18 p.m. — Oooh, we have a snarky commenter: “Dan says: What happened to DOA?” I knew it was only a matter of time before someone said that. In my defense, I was referring to snow accumulations, which were forecast at 1-3″ (and I said 2-4″ myself), and which will only reach 1/2″-1″ where the heaviest precipitation falls this evening. I still think Scott County winds up with well under an inch once the snow has stopped, but of course it was so cold that any flake that fell was going to stick.

4:11 p.m. — The accidents are becoming more frequent around Scott County. The latest accidents are being put on hold while officers work other wrecks. Three accidents have been reported on Mt. View Road in Robbins, and a wreck with possible injuries on Concord Road in Robbins. An accident on Kingtown Road in Winfield involves a car sliding off a road and into a deep culvert, while west-bound traffic on S.R. 456 at Carson Hill just outside of Oneida is reported to be at a stop because cars cannot climb the hill. TDOT crews are still en route to that area.

4:01 p.m. — An accident involving injuries on S.R. 52 between Glenmary and Historic Rugby. The car is reported to be on its side in a ditch. Deputies (and paramedics) are currently making their way to three accidents that occurred almost simultaneously: The Rugby Highway accident, the accident involving a sheriff’s cruiser on Coopertown Road west of Oneida, and a wreck with possible injuries on Pleasant Grove Road.

4:00 p.m. — A couple more accidents being reported, including one involving a Sheriff’s Department deputy who was rear-ended by another motorist.

3:43 p.m. — Off-duty law enforcement officer reports two-wheel-drive vehicles having trouble getting up, and getting stuck on, Carson Hill on S.R. 456, just outside the Oneida City Limits near the Tunnel Hill community. TDOT crews on their way to work that section of roadway. TDOT has salted many of the state roads and they’re clear for the most part, but secondary roads and back roads are becoming very slick.

3:32 p.m. — And we have our first traffic accident caused by slick roads: Car vs. tree, with no injuries, on Coopertown Road in West Oneida.

3:30 p.m. — Another report from Macon County: “The Rescue Squad is on call to help get hospital workers in to work.”

UPDATE 3:28 p.m. — Report from a weather spotter in Huntsville, Ala.:

Huntsville, AL has been practically paralyzed by this. ALL major arteries in and out of the city are either closed, or in the process of closing, and lots of secondary roads are closed and/or closing.

And we’ve had less than 1/2″ of snow… but the problem is that what we have had, stuck to the roads, people drove on it, and it’s been turning into ice… everywhere.

UPDATE 3:13 p.m. — Scott Co. Sheriff’s Dept. reporting deteriorating road conditions on back roads and state roads, and is dispatching four-wheel-drive vehicles. Sheriff Anthony Lay: “It’s probably going to be a long evening and night.” It still looks like this general area is on target for less than an inch of snow, and it’s hardly noticeable in grassy areas, but all roads—except the heavily-traveled roads where blowing is occurring—are white.

UPDATE 2:57 p.m. — Deteriorating road conditions are marching east. There’s a report from a firefighter in Lafayette (Macon Co.) that numerous wrecks have occurred there.

UPDATE 2:52 p.m. — There’s a report out of Bartlett, Tenn., this afternoon that a child has been rushed to the hospital after falling through the ice on a frozen pond. Granted, that’s on the other end of the state from here, but it underscores what was said a week ago: We hear about incidents such as this every time there’s an arctic intrusion that is severe enough to make children (or adults) feel brave enough to try to walk on water. In the past few days, I’ve seen dogs and other animals walking on the frozen surfaces of area ponds. It just makes sense that a child would see this and decide to try it for himself. Be cautious around thin ice! No matter how many consecutive days we stay below freezing, this is still Tennessee.

UPDATE 2:40 p.m. — This system isn’t giving up the ghost quite yet. As a cold front moves through Middle Tennessee, snow showers are beginning again along the Plateau and should be pretty frequent for the next 2-3 hours, judging from radar trends. Roads are white in and around Oneida, but no slick spots being reported by local law enforcement.

All local middle school basketball games scheduled for tonight have been canceled .The ever-popular Thursday night auction at Charlie Watson’s Auction House on Coopertown Road in West Oneida has also been canceled.

The original post follows:

Even though forecasts aren’t calling for the bulk of the snow to arrive in East Tennessee until later this afternoon, I think it’s time to go ahead and declare this one D.O.A. It’s pretty clear from various trends that this just isn’t going to be the event that pretty much everyone thought it would be. Wherever the heaviest bands or showers of snow set up this afternoon and evening could wind up with 1/2-1″ of accumulation, but it will probably be spotty.

This isn’t so different from our winter storm threat the week of Christmas and a couple of other threats we’ve had along the way…except this one decided to come all the way up to our back door before flipping us the bird and running the other way. The snow hounds lament…but the snow haters rejoice.

You probably wouldn’t dig it if you aren’t into hunting, but one of the best types of outdoors recreation Scott County has to offer—among a wide variety of outdoors recreation—is the pursuit of feral hogs.

Wild boar were introduced to this region many years ago and by various methods. The old “hog farm” operated by Joe Simpson in what is today the Big South Fork NRRA gets most of the blame (the old hunting camp is still known by many Scott and Fentress County natives as “the hog farm” rather than its proper name, Charit Creek Hostel). Ol’ Joe (who resides in Maryville these days) may have been responsible for a few hogs escaping his confines along the banks of Charit Creek and Station Camp Creek over the years, but that is only part of the bigger picture.

The razorbacks—primarily of European descent, with a bit of Russian strain mixed in for good measure—have primarily occupied the forests on the west side of the Big South Fork of the Cumberland River, and this area is the one of few places in Tennessee (aside from the Appalachian foothills) where the wily swine can be found. In 2003, the National Park Service teamed up with TWRA to offer a special wild boar hunt in the BSF. The January-February hunt offered hunters the opportunity to chase pigs through the laurel thickets and underneath bluff lines under much the same regulations as whitetail deer are hunted. Prior to the establishment of the special season, the hogs could only be hunted when the deer hunting seasons were open October-December.

News of the special hunt traveled far and wide, and people flocked to the BSF to chase hogs on that inaugural hunt. And they’re still flocking here today. Most folks are totally unprepared for what will greet them: Some of the roughest territory they have ever hunted, as they match wits against an animal that travels primarily at night and sleeps during the day and much prefers the thickest thickets to the open woods. And unlike most hog hunts, this one doesn’t permit the use of dogs or bait. Seasoned hog hunters who know the BSF backwoods like the back of their hand are seldom successful in filling their freezer with wild pork. So, it only stood to reason that “newbies,” as the old veterans refer to the rookie hog hunters who trekked to the Cumberland Plateau from as far away as Wisconsin and Michigan, would stand even less a chance against these pigs.

BSF wildlife biologists have never attempted an official head count of the porkers that call the 125,000-acre natural park home. They only know that they want shed of the destructive critters. When the NPS and TWRA began its special hunt, I asked Lathern Hull—BSF hog-hunting veteran and former operator of Brimstone Ridge, a private hog-hunting ranch near Robbins—how many hogs existed within the park’s boundaries. He said fewer than 500. I scoffed at his estimate.

As it turns out, Lathern was probably right. Hunting Big South Fork wild boar was hard enough before. But the past two autumns, there have been precious few of the pigs to be found. Conspiracy theories are a’plenty, most of them suggesting that the park service trapped the pigs or hired professional hunters to take them out.

At the same time the hogs have been disappearing in the BSF, the feral pig population has been exploding on the North Cumberland WMA (formerly Royal Blue WMA) in eastern Scott County, western Campbell County and northern Anderson County. Did the wild boar migrate from federal lands to state lands? The population shift makes it seem plausible (though at least a part of the pig population boom on the WMA probably resulted from escapees from private hunting operations). But for at least a generation, the hogs lived on the west side of the BSF river, seemingly unwilling to take up residence on the east side (with the exception of Sheep Ranch on the south end of the park, near Historic Rugby).

Whatever the reason, the bottom line is the same: Pigs are hard to find in the BSF. Harder than ever, in fact. But that doesn’t stop stubborn pig pursuers who are unwilling to let a simple thing like lack of quarry interfere with tradition.

And so that’s what led us to BSF today. Actually, that’s what led my brother to the BSF today. I went to work.

Methods for hunting wild boar are as varied as the hunters who pursue the razor-tusked critters. Some prefer to hunt them much as they would deer. Others prefer to still-hunt. My brother and I have our own method: We run-and-gun for hogs.

Running-and-gunning for pigs is derived of an understanding (gleaned from many fruitless hours in the pig woods) of how hogs act.

Most hunters don’t realize it, but pigs can smell as good (or better) than whitetails. They’re also nearly as fast as a deer. Their lone weakness is their eyesight. They’re also primarily nocturnal. Though they will move some during the day, their primary activity is done at night. During the day, they usually hole up. In the BSF, that’s most likely to be under a bluff somewhere, with mountain laurel thickets serving as another preferred hideout. That makes them incredibly difficult to hunt…harder than deer, harder than turkey; harder than any game I’ve ever pursued.

On the other hand, hogs are much easier to track than a deer. With the exception of those who have the blood of Tonto coursing through their veins, most of us are unable to easily track deer for long distances through wooded areas. But pigs can be tracked a little more easily, if you know what to look for and where to find it.

So, running-and-gunning for pigs involves covering as much area as possible in as little time as possible, until fresh sign is found. Sign that has been made since the sun set the evening before can easily be determined if you can find it before the new day’s sun has dried the forest floor. Once fresh sign has been found, the pigs are often nearby. Knowing the area (or using a good map) can help determine an area where the pigs probably headed off to as dawn approached.

That’s what my brother was doing today: Running-and-gunning, hoping to uncover sign of a stray hog that hadn’t yet vamoosed from BSF country. I headed to work; our office is closed for Christmas, but I had some loose ends I needed to tie up. At 9:30 a.m., I got the text message: “Fresh sign.” I finished up what I was doing, stopped at the fill-in station to splash a couple gallons of gasoline into the tank, stopped by the house to grab some food, and hit the path.

As I made the drive to the woods, he texted me the GPS coordinates of where he had cut the fresh track. Within an hour, I had joined him on the track. We paused briefly for lunch (the big dummy left his food in his truck; do I have to do everything for him?) and then set off.

The sign indicated that there were at least three pigs, perhaps one or two more. And they were clearly on the move, not stopping to “root” for food; in fact, the only time they were stopping was to “relieve” themselves. Which is to say, they stopped to poop.

It didn’t take long before we had dropped beneath the bluff line . . . we were leaving the Plateau behind and dropping into the gorge. The gorge is lined with waterfalls, gullies, laurel thickets . . . and house-sized boulders. The boulders, huge pieces of sandstone that have turned loose of the caprock in ages past, are strewn about as if giants tossed them about in an ancient game of dodge-ball in the steep-sided gorge. Trails that venture into and out of the gorge in BSF country are generally cut by the park service in areas that are easily traveled by man or horse. Once one ventures away from those trails and into the true wilderness of the backcountry, the gorge is equally beautiful, awe-inspiring and difficult to traverse.

Eventually, one of the pigs left the other two. We chose to stick with the pair. The only thing better than one side of bacon is two sides of bacon, no? On more than one occasion, the track led us underneath bluff lines and into rock houses, and we were convinced that we would happen upon the gleaming tusks of wild porkers at any moment. But it wasn’t to be.

The track continued until we had eventually reached the bottom of the gorge. And there, in a cane break, we lost them. We had tracked them for several miles and several hours. We had climbed banks that were nearly 100% vertical, requiring the use of roots and tree trunks for foot-holds. We had slid down the same, and climbed down elevation changes through gaps in the cliff line. (And I had only fallen once, going head-over-hills with legs flying in one direction and my gun in another direction, winding up with my posterior planted forcefully on a hard rock and with a mouth-full of BSF sod. For me, only falling once is an accomplishment.)

All that, for what? To see the scenery, perhaps. To waste some time, maybe. Certainly not to fill the freezer. But at least we found pigs in the BSF. These days, that’s an accomplishment in and of itself. But as we turned and looked at the mountainside towering over us, which required climbing to get back to the vehicles, it didn’t feel much like an accomplishment.

Crossing the creek at the bottom of the gorge on a fallen log.

Field & Stream is speaking out on its decision to name Rush Limbaugh its “Villain of the Year.” The sportsman’s magazine apparently received quite a bit of backlash after selecting Limbaugh (for the talk king’s endorsement of the Humane Society of the United States).

Tom McIntyre defends the choice:

In a way, it might be understandable that some Field & Stream readers—those who revere Mr. Limbaugh as a conservative role model, radio legend, irreverent slayer of sacred cows, and American patriot—would be outraged to see him attacked or even questioned on any grounds. On the other hand, from the viewpoint of dedicated hunters and anglers, it is utterly incomprehensible to believe that it’s no big deal for Mr. Limbaugh to lend his considerable support to the HSUS, or that the HSUS isn’t such a bad organization and that it even does some genuine good for animals. This is what is commonly referred to as “magical thinking.”