Traplines on Cypress Creek: Buzzard luck finally avoids lifelong hunter

Our granddaughter, Amy Manly of Camden, was sending our great-grandson, Will Charlton, off to school last week. As Will was going to be in the Caesar Rodney Homecoming Parade with his kindergarten class, she told him that he’d better take a jacket. Will replied that he would since all his friends told him that it gets colder on the water than it does on land. Puzzled by his comment, Amy told him he wasn’t going on the water. Just as puzzled, Will replied, “But Mommy you told me

I was going to go on a float.”

God, I love the English language.

I do hope you are enjoying what might be a quick burst of a glorious fall. It seems the leaves have turned overnight, but with nor’easters and warm fronts blowing through here, I’ve noticed blizzards of leaves falling in many places. Western Kent County has some absolutely breathtaking colors in places. The geese are starting to come in and the Amish farms have their corn shocked in the fields. Delaware can be a picture book at this time of year if you go out and “explore” our beautiful Small Wonder.

Some of you will be amazed to hear that the buzzard finally missed me. After 20 years of fruitlessly hunting sika deer on the Eastern Shore, I finally got one. Even then, however, I tried my darnedest to mess it up.

Going with my friend Frank Deford of Seaford, we were using archery equipment the day before Maryland muzzleloader season comes in. The first thing Frank asked me was if I’d remembered to bring my release (For those of you who don’t know, it’s a mechanical trigger that releases the arrow in lieu of your finger tips as traditional archers use.) I assured him that was the first thing I’d done.

When we arrived in the salt marsh, even though a breeze was blowing, mosquitoes were swarming. We got into our hunting clothes and Frank reminded me about the release again. We went outside and I realized I’d forgotten my mesh camo gloves. I set down my equipment, turned on my ThermoCell, put my gloves on, and headed through the muddy marsh to my stand a half mile away.

The stand was a lock on type so I attached my bow to the haul rope, climbed the tree and hung the bow on the hanger. I took an arrow out of the quiver and nocked it. That’s when I remembered that when I put my gloves on, I’d taken off the release and never put it back on. Guess who was going to hunt without a string release that night?

Fortunately a mature doe came in just before sunset and stopped broadside at 23 yards. With the kisser button on the string tucked tightly in my lips, I prayed a short prayer and let the string roll off my fingers. The Fire Nok lit up as a red ember and disappeared behind the front shoulder of the little elk. The Rage broadhead worked flawlessly. She started to bolt but rolled out like a shot rabbit after only 5 yards. I’m glad the good Lord protects fools and children.

The Chesapeake marshes put on a spectacular show that night. I’m only supposing here, but I’m supposing they were harvest spiders hatching out and migrating as there were spider webs everywhere. The marsh grass was festooned with a blanket of silk. I’ve never seen anything like it. Webs and streams of silk floated across our windshield as we drove through the Blackwater Federal Refuge and hung like icicles off low hanging branches.

A lone bald eagle perched on a loft crag of a dead tree that stood in the wide expanse of nothing but marsh grasses while the sika deer were all fired up for their annual rut. The piecing bugles of these tiny elk echoed across the marsh and the entire stage was closed with a glorious sunset backdrop of a toenail sliver of the last quarter of the moon phase.

The muzzleloading deer season was open for three days last week in Maryland and I’ve yet to hear of any bruisers being taken. Eleven year old Steven Connors, son of Steve and Patty Connors of Hartly, was able to take his first buck, however. Proud dad sat with his son as he made the shot and I’m not sure which one was more excited. Congratulations Steve and Steven.