I Hereby Enter the 21st Century

Trail cameras aren't my only technological addition this year. I'm also using a GPS unit for the first time as well. I have been contemplating buying one for the past five or so years. Although I had become comfortable using a map and compass for basic back country navigation, I was tired of wasting time getting lost and not knowing precisely where I was on the map. I could always find my way out and roughly locate my whereabouts on a map, but knowing what side of the mountain you're on doesn't help when it comes to relocating specific locations. Many times I couldn't find hunting and foraging spots I had found on previous scouting trips, such as a hot scrape or a nice bed of wild mushrooms. Oftentimes I found myself worrying that I had crossed a park boundary line and was trespassing, forcing me to turn back when in fact I was nowhere near the boundary line. In short, not having a GPS was costing me time, something I don't have a lot of these days, and also diminishing the experience.

Still, my disdain for technology (and my overall stubborn nature) kept me from purchasing one. I reasoned that it was a slippery slope, and questioned spending the money on an item I could ultimately do without when my hunting closet was clearly in need of more essential, big-ticket items.  Luckily for me, I have an amazing wife, who must actually listen to all that hunting drivel I spout, for when my mom inquired what I might want for Christmas, my wife recommended a GPS unit. And luckily for me, my mom and step-father obliged. 

It was the perfect gift: something I wouldn't purchase myself but would clearly use. However, my excitement quickly faded to disappointment when I realized the unit didn't display aerial Google Earth views or topography. Without one of those two features, it was impossible for me to determine where I was on the ground based on what I was viewing on the screen, which was simply a blue triangle surrounded by a featureless sea of gray (see stock photo below for what this resembles). I could mark way points to get me back to specific locations, but I still would have no way of determining where those waypoints were on my paper map. This meant I had no way of determining larger patterns as they related to topography and vegetation. Essentially, it was useless. After that first trial run, I placed it back in the box with the intention of never opening it again. There it sat for the better part of eight months. Then I went scouting in the Catskills, and got so freakin lost that the trip was nearly useless.  



I was expecting a Catskill Wilderness Area to resemble a Washington Wilderness Area: big trees and very little underbrush. Much to my surprise, nothing could be further from the truth. The understory in the Catskills is quite dense, making visibility difficult, especially with the leaves still on the trees.This made navigation difficult. Everything blurred together. I couldn't see the ridgeline I was aiming for, or, for that matter, anything distinguishable. I had planned on jumping off the hiking trail at the two mile mark and walking a ridgeline that somewhat connected to the trail through a saddle. However, the saddle was indistinguishable and I never found the ridgeline. Because my entire scouting plan was contingent on finding the ridgeline, the trip quickly deteriorated. 

To make matters worst, I had my new hunting partner in tow. With my ineptness on full display, we wandered aimlessly for nearly seven hours, up and and down hillsides until I finally gave up and called it a day. I had assured my new hunting partner, who seems to have very little backcountry experience, that we would be fine with map and compass. With each passing moment of futility, I felt his confidence start to slip and I began to wonder if he would ever return to the woods with me again. I'm still not quite sure, and it's been three weeks.

He had brought his GPS unit along. It was the exact same model as mine, and it suffered from the same deficiencies. However, he used it to mark a number of waypoints along the way, including the location of the camera we set. Later that week, I plugged those coordinates into Google Earth to reveal the path we took. It was a disappointment to say the least. I had wanted to scout an area roughly 3 miles by 3 miles. Instead, we walked about a 0.5 mile off trail before circling back to the trail. After seven hours, we had seen only a small sliver of the area. It was clear to both of us that we needed to upgrade to a better GPS unit, one that is capable of displaying topo maps.
  
Two weeks later, I needed to pull the camera. Still lacking a better GPS unit, I plugged some predetermined coordinates that I had pulled from Google Earth into my GPS, as well as the coordinates to the camera. I also decided to jump off the trail at a much earlier spot and follow a river for about two miles before climbing the mountain and then, hopefully, taking the ridgeline to the camera. It was a strategy that worked. The new approach and the aid of the GPS coordinates gave me a better sense of where I was at on the map. For the most part, I left the GPS off, turning it on only to check my location in relation to my predetermined coordinates. Mostly, I realized that my sense of distance was severely distorted. At one point I thought I had walked the two miles along the river to the point I was supposed to start heading up the mountain. When I checked the GPS unit, it revealed I had only gone 0.5 miles. So on I hiked. 

The system worked so well that I was beginning to think I wouldn't need to upgrade to a unit that displays topo. Then I tried to find the camera using the GPS, and I quickly realized why the topo is important. Although it led me to the camera, it did so without regards to topography. At one point, it showed I was just 200ft from the camera. When I looked in the direction the unit was pointing me, there was nothing but a near vertical rock ledge. Without the topo I was unable to plan an efficient route to the camera. And I paid dearly for it, dropping down and then having to climb back up multiple times. I did find the camera though, and the trip was enough of a success to convince me of the need to use a GPS unit. It will play a supplementary role to my map and compass, but I think the addition is necessary. 

As it turns out, the Garmin Etrex 20 does handle topo (see the pic). You just have to purchase the maps from Garmin for about $100 bucks. Or download the free ones which don't seem to have the quality of the Garmin maps. I will likely do one or the other here soon. In the meantime, I'll be poring over my paper maps, searching for that next great area to scout. And when I do find it, I'll have the added confidence that I'll be able to locate it on foot with the aid of my GPS unit. I might even manage to restore some of my hunting partner's faith in me. 

Is This Bear Shit?

I need a book on scat identification. Seriously, I see way too much scat that I am unable to identify. This looks like bear scat due to the berries and the leafs and the overall size, but I couldn't find any tracks or other signs of bear in the immediate vicinity, which leaves me with much doubt and little confidence. Not a good thing when it comes to hunting.

A Camera in the Garden

I'm not much for technology, particularly while hunting. I shoot a longbow. My backpack is a cheap aluminum external from the 70's that I bought at the thrift store for five bucks. Most of my hunting clothing consists of basic wool garbs that were also acquired at the thrift store. I use a map and compass. I light my fires with pitch wood. On warm days, I don't even carry a tent with me.  Etc. Etc. Etc. You get the picture. I keep it simple. So when my new hunting partner suggested we set out cameras, I cringed. 

I’ve never understood hunters’ infatuation with cameras, and I couldn’t understand why my friend would want to pack a camera two miles into the woods just to get some photos. However, after a brief conversation with friend, whose negotiating skills far outstrip my own (he started with wanting to bait the bears to the camera with jelly donuts and then settled for just placing the cameras without bait), I reluctantly agreed to place the cameras. Still, my doubts lingered. What purpose would they serve? If you can interpret sign, is there really a need for a camera? Doesn’t the camera just confirm what you have already discerned from scouting? Will the cameras spook the wildlife and make them weary of entering the area again? Is it really worth the effort? Am I joining the hordes of hunters (whom are likely far more successful than me) who rely too heavily on technology?

That was two weeks ago. We placed only one camera, and I pulled it this past Sunday.  I’m still a little split on the whole camera thing. The aforementioned doubts still linger in my head. But   must say, boy was it fun! For two weeks, I eagerly awaited the results. My  doubts quickly turned from Is it really worth the effort? to I wonder if we’ll get a picture of a bear or a nice buck. It was exciting, more exciting than just regular scouting. It also accomplished a couple of things that I can’t discern from scouting. First, it told us how often and at what times the deer and bear were frequenting the area (the former about twice a week around 2 o’clock; the latter never). Secondly, it showed how many deer and their size. In this case, a nice sized doe with a fawn.

I know. I know. Much of this can be discerned from reading the sign. And yes, I could tell it was a doe and her fawn from the tracks. And if I was good enough, I could have reached some reasonable estimate on how frequently they were visiting the area. I’m not to that level yet, and even if I was, it would still be good fun to set the cameras. 

However, there is one thing that makes me very uncomfortable: a couple pictures show the doe looking alarmingly at the camera. I’ve always felt that maintaining an element of surprise is biggest advantage a hunter has over big game. These deer are nearly three miles in a wilderness area. It is rarely hiked and probably never hunted. Essentially, they are unpressured deer. That’s a huge advantage for us, and I fear we may have lost it. There’s likely enough time before the start of the season (Oct. 1^st) for things to calm down and return to normal. But I have an uneasy feeling that won’t go away. The kind you get when you see the tail end of a deer you just spooked. I'm also eager to set another camera.   

Blogging Again . . . In the Catskills

Well, I have decided to start blogging again. Who knows how long it will last. Since my last post, I have graduated from college, found a job, and moved to a new region. I believe it was 2008 when I took up hunting again. That was in Washington, a place I had never hunted before,  pursuing an animal I had never hunted before with a weapon I had never hunted with before. It was a steep learning curve, to say the least, but I justified the time and energy and expense with the belief that the rewards (meat in the freezer) would eventually come once I gained enough familiarity with the area and the quarry. Then after two years, just when I was starting to gain some confidence--I moved, all the way to New York. 

This time the learning curve was not as steep. I had hunted whitetail before and was familiar with the tactics for doing so. Plus, I could use my gun. Still, I invested considerable time scouting the new area to learn its ins and outs. Over the course of three years, I switched between hunting public land, to participating in the various components of the Cornell Deer Hunting Program, to hunting private land, and then a combination of all three. In short, I never really got my bearings with the land and the habits of the deer, though I did manage to take a couple deer. Had I stayed, this would have been the year that I felt comfortable with the area and I would have been able to script a pretty solid game plan. Then I got a job. 

Now I'm in a new region: the Catskills of New York. And so, I start the cycle all over again. It's a process I truly enjoy, but it is also very time consuming. And if history is any indication, it doesn't bode well for filling the freezer. I have always regretted not blogging about my experience of learning how to elk hunt. There were so many fresh thoughts and experiences and insights that have now slip my mind. It is a bit of a pity. And so, not wanting to make the same mistake twice, I figure I'll document my experience of learning to hunt the Catskills.

I have no justification for including the picture below. Just that  I almost stepped on the fellow while scouting, and I'm not quite sure what to make of sharing the woods with this new predator. At the very least, can't have a blog post without a picture, right?