Double U Hunting Supply is dedicated to help protect Hound Hunting Rights across the USA. The DU Hound Fund will host a National Hound Association Summit March 21st 2015 at the WBHA annual banquet. The objective for this meeting among leaders from across the US, will be to discuss and plan alignment and work together with the goal to create a group and organization nationally which would be represented by the leadership of associations and groups across the nation.
The attached flyer has been presented to Clubs and Associations that Double U has been working with over the years to fight and protect Hound Hunting Rights across the US.
If you know or feel that there is an association in the US that would like to be included in this invitation We encourage their leadership to contact Double U hunting supply for more details.
We’ve been trying to step up to the plate with our Fight for Hunting rights and supporting organizations.
We are starting a new program immediately call DU Hound Fund.
1. With every order we are going to ask our customers to donate a small amount to the DU Hound Fund. We will distribute 100% of the donations to an association which is fighting Immediate situations regarding the right to continue Hunting with Dogs.
2. We are setting up a network of Clubs and associations that have worked with Double U in the past to continue work with Dog Hunting related issues. We will make it easy for all customers to easily add their favorite association,(or all of them) to their order. Double U will make sure that 100% the money goes to the association as the customers membership dues.
Well Folks, as I said in a previous post the Famine has turned into Cat Hunting Feasting….at least for a little while. After
having a hard time finding tracks that we could run, starting Wednesday morning
our luck has changed for the better.
I posted some clips of the GREAT Race we had just at daylight
Wednesday…now here is the Tale of the Hunt!
Dad and I had headed South about 7:30 Tuesday night and killed our 4th
Rattlesnake of this trip just as we headed into the Club.
We then started rigging and hunted hard for 4 hours then struck a Cold track
(could have been warmer than we thought as scenting conditions have been the
pits…on this night the ground was steaming as the ground was warmer than
the air, which was not cool just cooler than the ground). Corky was able to
move the track to the South with help from Brandy and Rip. Choc and Cherokee
were also able to help move the track, but barking from any Hound was rare!
Just as the Hounds were about to trail out to a main Rd, they turned and headed
back East trailing through a bad Swamp. The trailing got better so I put out
the rest of the Hounds to get some experience. The track was improving right
along and had moved over three miles. Chic then let loose her SCREAM to tell us
and the world that the Shortail was jumped and
running…only problems was it was running right out of this Club!
We hauled ass around to the border line road of the Club and some Private land
that does not allow Hounds. The Pack was roaring our way in Full Cry! Ole Rip,
Sandy and Corky managed to turn the Cat and for the next twenty minutes the
pack ducked and dodged the Cat in a Cypress Pond just off the Club Rd. Then
QUIET! The Garmin showed all the Hounds in a wad with the Tree Icon showing but
no barking at all.
Well…..was the Cat up….was he in a Hole….was he hiding under
a log in the water? After 10 minutes or so Dad said to blow em
out and we would go find another. As Corky was coming to the truck he found the
Cat slipping out of where it had been hiding. He bellowed out his find and ran
the Cat across the road right behind the truck. As the Pack harked to him, I
sat down on the truck horn and was able to load every Hound in less than 5
minutes. Maybe next time we can hold this ole Tom Cat in our Club and remove
his escaping Genes from the Gene pool.
This was the 1st of eleven Cat that we put down on
over the next 14 hours.
Cat number five was a hard strike right on the boundary line road between these
two Southern clubs, right on a major drainage canal. Corky, Cherokee and Choc
got the track off the road and were making slow progress with the trailing. I
sent ole Rip in to help heat the track up, but he was not able to help a
lot…the track was just too old.
Dad and I both thought that the track was about to play out when Buck and his
sister Brandy screamed out that they had found where the Shorttail
had gone to bed! All the other Hounds were quick to Hark
to them and the Race was on….another ACID Rock tune, this Race sounded
like something Uncle Ted Nugent would have composed and played.
The Pack came right to the road we were on….we just missed seeing the
Cat, but the pack was right behind him. Most of the Hounds were barking twice
every time their feet hit the ground…WOW what a racket the pack was
making….then that sound we HATE! That nothing
sound…just quiet.
For the next thirty minutes the Hounds looked every which way. This Cat had
used the famous “Beam me up Scottie” trick to escape. We theorize
that the Pack was right on its ass as it hit the road, the Cat decided that to
live it had better climb one of the big gum trees right next to the road. These
Gum trees were fully leafed out so finding the Cat
was impossible unless you know the exact tree it was in. I blew the horn and
loaded the Hounds and went to look for another.
About 3:30 am Dad decided that he had had enough, by then we had put down on 8
different Cat. I told Dad that we should hunt home through the Home club as the
Garmin said that 4:30 AM to 6:30 AM was the PRIME movement time for Game for
the Day. He responded that what ever I wanted to do
was fine with him as he was going to put the seat back and take a little nap. I
turned into the Home club, went to the road I wanted to hunt 1st then joined
Dad for a short nap.
After this brief (15 min) break I put the Rig Dogs up and it was back to
hunting. Over the next hour and a half we hit two tracks that the Hounds could
not trail…to old….or poor scenting conditions, we could not tell!
We turned down the Rd that leads home and there was a Logging Crew loading a
truck across the clear-cut. The Rig dogs began buggar
barking at the lights and noise of the Crew working. I kept driving and Dad was
hollering at the Hounds to shut up. All of a sudden the barking changed from buggar barking to “We Smell a Bobcat” barking.
I got out and found a smoking fresh track going right up the road. The work
crew must have scared this Cat out of her bed.
I put the Hounds down and they took the track 1.3 miles up the road then turned
left and went ¾ of a mile up the next road before finding where the Cat
turned into the Plantation. When they left the road the RACE was on. This was
the “Opry” at its best…for the next
hour plus 15 minutes the Dog Feed got cheaper and cheaper. Rip was singing his
Tenor, Rivers and Texas were the Baritones Corky and
Choc sang Bass, the bitches were all singing the chorus in their Sopranos.
We could hear all of this when Cimarron would shut her Screaming Baritone Chop
that literally drowns out the other Hounds mouths. She is fast becoming the
Hound her big sister name sake was before her untimely death!
Race heading for a road crossing!
Up and down the ditches, back and forth across the roads….WOW what a
Race. Dad was not ILL or TIRED anymore. As the video clips showed he was
walking up and down the road, harking the hounds on to
where the Cat would cross then stand there and SOAK up the Music!
Hounds crossing behind Cat, then Cat crossing back across the
road.
We watched the Cat cross the road over 12 times, the
Race was never further than 200 yards away. Our seats were the best in the Opry House as this was a Full Sensory experience. Seeing
the Cat…Hearing the Hounds solve all her tricks….listening to the
young Hounds learn their Craft….man it just does not get any better than
this!
Dad putting Big N Blues Cricket right on the Cat!
Race leading up to the final bay! Finally the pressure became too great and the Cat went
to squatting in the ditch next to the road. I went for the truck to try and
load the Hounds to save her for another day….but while I walked up the
road Texas and Rivers bellowed out that I was too slow…the Race was over.
Brandy and Cimarron bayed for a few minutes, but it was too thick and the water
too deep for a retrieve.
We loaded up and headed home. On the way Dad commented that he sure felt
better….that the Cat Hound therapy was sure working.
We rested all day then loaded up the B-team and headed back south. We rigged
out through the home club but had no luck. Upon arrival at the location where I
put up the Rig Dogs in the Southern Clubs, I was going to hunt up one road, but
Rita had other ideas.
As I put her out to whiz before going on top, she and Brandy headed up the left
hand road. I stepped into the truck to blow the horn when Dad said lets just hunt that way. We followed them about a ½
mile then put Rita, Brandy, Buck and Texas up on top. We turned onto what we
call Mr. Jim’s Rd (this is the Rd where we had the great Race with Mr.
Jim Moore from Texas) and traveled less than a mile when Rita let us know that
a Cat had been here.
Dad said that it the strike sounded mighty weak, to
drive on. I then turned onto the major North – South road in this Club,
drove a short ways and Rita struck harder this time with Brandy helping to tell
us that a Bobcat was in the neighborhood.
I put the Hounds down; Rita went up and down the road trying to find where the
Cat had gone. Buck and Brandy could smell the Cat good right by the truck on
Dad’s side. Rita opened down the Road. Buck and Texas went to her but Brandy
went out into the Swamp right where we were.
Rita was unable to smell the Cat anywhere but where she barked so I called her
to me and sent her into where Brandy was, Buck and
Texas followed. In a minute Rita opened with Brandy not far behind. Now started 40 minutes of the kind of trailing that we have been
missing this trip to Florida, due to poor scenting conditions.
I put Cheyenne, Penny and Sandy out to help and they moved the Cat through the
Swamp out to Mr. Jim’s Rd where Rita had originally struck, then across
into another Swamp. Dad and I followed the action on the Garmin and were able
to stay close on several secondary roads. It looked for a while like the Hounds
were going to trail out too close to Hwy 19, but the Cat turned back South.
Suddenly Cheyenne and Brandy opened with a new intensity, telling us that the
Cat was found and that the Race was on! The other Hounds joined in….Texas
bawled out that the Cat had crossed back across Mr. Jim’s road. All the
Hounds harked to him…this concluded the opening acts for this
Concert….now the Music was playing the BEST.
Folks grab a seat and let me tell you about it! Let me set the stage a
little…the night is perfectly clear….the humidity has gone down
some (this allows sound to travel better as in heavy air hearing is hard) there
is a Full Moon, and the Deep Woods Off is working on the Bugs! The truck has
been moved for the last time, now the only walking to be done is from the
tailgate (great for sitting and listening) to the Hood (great for leaning and
listening)!
For the next Hour and Twenty minutes the “Opry”
played as good as it possibly could! Now these Races in Florida with all the
water that a Cat has to use can sound a bit raggedy, but when the Cat thinks
that they have gained enough “Air” to try to slip out on the Pack,
and the Pack finds them, the sound is just that solid “ROAR” that
no one can describe….you just have to be there to feel it.
That is what this Sow Cat did. She would run down a ditch full of
water….cross the road…..then up the other side in even more water.
Then she would head out into a 5 year old Plantation, which is when the ROAR
would commence….then back to the water, then cross the road, back up the
ditch…then into the Swamp and another ROAR.
1st bayup of Sow Cat after 55
minutes.
Texas and Cheyenne were the Hounds who played the swinging game finding the Cat
when it would cross the road or head off on one of the brief forays away from
the ditches. Rita, Penny and Brandy rooted the Cat out of the Jungle along the
ditches pushing the Cat back into the road where the cycle would start again.
Cimarron, Rose, Buck and Sandy were learning how to handle this much
water…by the time the Race was over they had learned how to run in the
water in the ditches and smell the Cat slipping along the tangle of Briers, Sawgrass and Palmettos.
Numerous times the Cat would stop and squat in this mess between the road and
the ditch, Penny and Texas would bay hard, I would walk up and holler and the
Cat would leave out for another circle.
We could tell the end was near so when Texas bellowed out that the Cat was in
the water and wanted to fight, Dad said to blow the horn and try to load the
Hounds. This was easier said than done, but with much horn blowing and shouting
we had everyone but Buck and Rita. It looked like I was going swimming after
all, but finally Rita came and Buck realized that he could not do much by
himself.
Sow Cat in ditch after 1:40 Race.
I showed Dad the Cat in the water and while she was panting heavily, being in
the water we hoped that she would make it and be there to star in another
performance of the “Cat Hound Opry”!
As we drove off Dad said “Son, a Race like that adds 5
years to my life, after these last two Races, Hell I just might live
forever!”
It was a very successful yet tragic weekend for the pack and me. We are one member short as of Saturday. Mickey, the old dog my buddy Pat gave me to help train pups, died doing what she loved best–mixing it up with Mr. Lion. Although she had seen more lions than most ever will, she made a mistake and it cost her.
The day started just like most of the winter: terrible conditions, hard-crusted snow, and mud wherever it was melted. I decided to go to one of the haunts of a good lion I knew about. This lion was right off the main drag so he was wise to the old hound game, but I had Mickey this year he didn’t have a chance against this old veteran. Well, I decided to walk the dogs up into a series of bluffs where I felt this guy was hiding.
It wasn’t long before the dogs were sniffing about with tails a popping. I knew something had been there recently because this was a south-facing rim, which had several small flurries come through and melt off. Then we came to the first kill, almost all gone but looked fresh. We went on and came across another really fresh kill; the blood on the ground was still red even though it was in the sun.
We started through a saddle when my puppy Lilly fired first, then came Mickey, then Tank. It was slow but they were moving toward a bluff, when I saw Sailor, another dog I have that my buddy Pat owns, out ahead of them moving into an indention in the bluff. And boom, all hell broke loose. They were out of there, and I thought I caught a glimpse of something moving ahead of them. I struggled to keep up, but they had moved into a boulder field with boulders the size of Volkswagens scattered about.
I couldn’t see the dogs, but I could hear them in one spot; and it sounded bad. Then off they were again out of the boulder field and into a deep canyon that had heavy cover; again sounded bad. As the afternoon came, I was becoming aware that they were staying a couple of ridges ahead of me without me being able to see anything, but they were always within hearing distance.
As dark closed in, I was honored with one of the coolest pictures the mind’s eye could imagine. There were a number of snow flurries coming through, and the mountain behind the ridge the dogs had the cat-rocked up on was socked in. The sun was going down, making those clouds red. And silhouetted in the middle was the cat backed out onto a pinnacle with hounds screaming in his face.
My chest was about to burst with pride when I noticed only three dogs. I soon discarded this because it was too far away to see which one wasn’t there, and it was certainly on the side of the rock I couldn’t see. It then became apparent that I could never reach them before dark, and the previous hours had taught me this cat would just move on when I approached.
I called it a draw and headed for the truck. I called for the dogs while working my way through the side canyons and bluffs. Sailor soon met me, but no other hounds were with him. I pulled out the tracking system and got a reading on two dogs where I had last seen them. It was getting darker and I was concerned that it would be dark before they would quit–it was Tank and Lilly.
I then got a reading on Mickey coming from the direction that we had come up. Not thinking anything of it, I thought she was headed for the truck. Just as I came out of the last canyon before coming to the truck, I became aware that the signal was in the boulder pile we had gone through and had not moved. I followed Sailor from there and found him standing over her body lodged in a crevice. I don’t know how long I sat there, but it seemed some time before I took off her collar and made a makeshift grave for her.
On the way back to the truck my sadness soon turned to rage. But after calling the dogs for some time with no success, I drove up closer to them on a road that was too muddy earlier but had set up some with the dropping temperature. Soon Tank came trailing in and was met with lots of petting, but no Lilly. She had moved down the mountain in the direction of some lights from the ranches in the valley, so I assumed she was headed that way. I made my way off the mountain and contacted the rancher of the first ranch I thought she would be at, but she was still moving across the mountain. It got too late for me to try another ranch–there were three before a public access could be taken, so I headed home.
After waking from a somewhat sleepless night, I dragged my tired body out of bed, with Lilly in my every thought. I hadn’t bothered to take Tank and Sailor out of the truck because I was sure they were very comfortable where they were. Around 8:00 a.m., I arrived at the bar that the local ranchers use as a meeting place. I soon got permission to go behind the ranches in search of Lilly. I took the first road that turned up onto the bench of the foothills. Lilly had already gone by as her signal showed to the east.
I then sat back and looked at the lay of the land; I noticed a conspicuous outcropping on the ridge and I headed for it. There in the mud and melted snow was a lion track with a little dog track in it. I don’t know if it was fear, rage, or something else, but everything just became clear with no noise. I looked in the direction the tracks were headed, and just knew where he was headed. I took out of there like a shot.
I soon realized I had passed up Lilly, so I took another road up on the bench. There she was, just as excited as when I take her off her chain to see me. I couldn’t get her to shut up in the back, so I put her in front with me, where she stared out the windshield and whined. She knew something, I am sure of it.
I made it over to the access road where I could get to the canyon where I knew the object of my newfound obsession was lurking. I then became very aware of what was stirring in me: REVENGE. I was going to look this monster in the eye and watch him die—even if he took me with him.
I reached the canyon where I just knew he had crossed…no tracks. I moved on in dismay until I had to get out and open a gate, and right there at the gate were his tracks. He had been walking down the road, so I didn’t see his tracks when he entered the road.
Now I’ve been excited and forgot things before (flashlights and such), but halfway up the mountain I realized I had left my gun at the truck. I would have gone back, but I always carry my takedown bow in my pack so I kept going. Now these were some bad conditions like that hard crusted snow, and after the cat had passed, a light flurry had come through with those tiny little balls of snow, not even enough to be any help.
It was late in the morning, almost noon, when we started up the hillside. About a couple of hundred yards up, I noticed I had a visitor. My 11-year-old lab Teeke had decided she wanted in on the action, and aside from the couple of covies of chukar she scared up, she was an asset. She had those hounds quartering, looking for scent like veterans. (Just a side note: I think she figured out after a while what we were doing and joined in.)
Most of this new snow was gone, except where the cat was walking on top of the crust. It was very slow going. We trailed through two rock outcroppings where I saw this lion’s scrapes–he was no monster but a good one anyhow. But that was of no concern to me. This was dog work that I had never witnessed; every dog was making a number of finds as we worked slowly up the hillside. One would find it, they would move it for some time, and the cat would go up on the rocks and vanish until he had to come down into the crusted snow again.
Just as we reached the top, the dogs were starting to trail up on to the rocks with their noses on the ground so I knew they were heating it up. We reached the rim around 2:00 p.m. I was exhausted and had gone through two liters of water. I was sitting up on a rock staring at the last bluff on the rim when I saw Tank look down at me about 50 yards above. I told him somewhat jokingly to hurry up…I’m about done for. He went back to working, and as I almost made it to where he was, off they went in full cry.
I ran over to the ledge and saw them drop over a small saddle. I looked out ahead of them, knowing I would see the lion running out front, but I watched them running up the track at full speed. The reason they were moving so fast was because the lion had started downhill and was sinking into the snow. Also, I have heard that lions leave more scent when moving downhill (as you dry ground guys know). Nonetheless, they were gone and out of hearing.
As Teeke and I were hurrying along as best we could, Lilly would appear a couple of hundred yards ahead and bellow like I have never heard from her and then disappear again. Soon she would come all the way back to me, bellow, and take off in the direction of the track. Now I’m no brain surgeon, but I think she was telling me to hurry the heck up, we got him.
All along I was looking at the tracks of the lion, and none of them ever looked fresher than the ones we started on. As a matter of fact, they looked older. I could hear Tank and Sailor’s cries, but I thought they were still a long ways off. Just as I reached a pinnacle of rocks, up popped Lilly out of nowhere. I walked over to where she had come from, and there were Tank and Sailor looking up at me. I asked Tank if he had him, and he bellowed a convincing yes into a crack in the rock.
I made it to them and soon heard the low growl of this thing I had set out for. I began screaming at him as though I were a crazy man. Maybe I was crazy for a moment or two. As I looked into the hole he was in, I could see his eyes glowing about 15 feet down this crevice. I soon realized I had no shot with a bow or even a gun (if I had actually remembered one). The crack that he had slithered down in was wide enough to go down head first, but you better not take a deep breath or you would be stuck. I had heard of using flares to smoke them out, but I didn’t have any of them either.
So here I am at a stalemate. And then that calm came over me once again, and I called the dogs and headed for the truck.
This weekend had done something to me that I never expected. Rage, fear, and revenge are very powerful emotions, and they were the reasons for my success this day. Is this why I chase lions? I don’t think so. Could I have found a way to kill that lion? Probably. But in one weekend, that lion put an end to one era and started a new one.
I guarantee you this: when this pack, myself included, gets on the trail, we’ll be there to the finish–whatever finish that may be. Mickey had done her job; she trained a fine pack of hounds and turned a wannabe into a lion hunter.
Double U Hunting Supply is dedicated to help protect Hound Hunting Rights across the USA. The DU Hound Fund will host a National Hound Association Summit March 21st 2015 at the WBHA annual banquet. The objective for this meeting among leaders from across the US, will be to discuss and plan alignment and work together with the goal to create a group and organization nationally which would be represented by the leadership of associations and groups across the nation.
If you know or feel that there is an association in the US that would like to be included in this invitation We encourage their leadership to contact Double U hunting supply for more details.