Road Runners
We often hunted large tracts of paper company land that bordered both sides of Tibet highway, which was in the southeastern part of the county. These tracts included thousands of acres of planted pines, with wide sandy roads crisscrossing all over the place. Every road, curve, dip or swamp had a unique name, such as Curry Ford, the Magnolia Tree, Bob Town, the Burnt-Out Bridge, Cow Head Swamp, Gooseneck, the Briar Patch, and many others.
In the flat woods, we always hunted from the roads, using CB radios to keep track of the chase. We rarely left the side of our trucks. Once the dogs got after a deer, the idea was to figure out which dirt road it was going to cross next and get there first. It was a race in more ways than one. If the deer got past us on that road, then we would try to cut it off on the next road. There was always one more road to get to. Sometimes hunting felt like NASCAR racing, but it was never boring. I think that's why Daddy liked it so much.
In the early days, Keith and I rode in the truck with Daddy. Later on, one of us would ride with Uncle Eddie, he always had a fast truck and a good CB radio.
The ride from our house in town to the flat woods usually took about 20-25 minutes; listening to the CB chatter kept us occupied during the ride. Each club or group of hunters had their usual CB channel. We would often flip through the radio channels, trying to figure out who was hunting where that day. Sometimes we would break into their conversations to let them know where we were hunting, and to be on the lookout for our dogs. Everyone always took good care of each other's hounds, often traveling long distances to return a lost dog found in the woods.
Sometime around the early 1970's we started raising long-legged Walker hounds. These dogs were great for hunting in the flat woods. They could cold-trail a deer when needed, and once jumped, they could run a deer forever.
I remember one morning we jumped a deer in Bob Town and ran him for hours before finally losing the dogs around the Gooseneck. They had crossed into another club's leased land. Anyway, the deer got away from us and we lost the dogs. We traveled the roads the rest of the day looking for lost dogs, picking up a few here and there. Around mid-afternoon I decided to take a break and "still" hunt a few hours before dark near a place called the Corduroy; a swampy area located about nine miles as the crow flies from the morning hunt, a lot further than that by truck.
During that afternoon hunt I could hear a couple of dogs pushing a deer across the Sand Hills, getting closer and closer to the Corduroy. It was almost dark when the deer made a fatal mistake and circled a bit too close to my set-up. I ended the race with one shot. I couldn't believe it when the two dogs chasing that deer turned out to be Drive and Rock, two of the dogs we had lost that morning around the Gooseneck.
Daddy's dogs could run a deer for a long time, so long in fact that sometimes the skin would peel off the bottom of their feet, or the hair would be rubbed off their ears. Long-legged Walkers...they're the kind of dogs you wanted when hunting in the flat woods. Maybe we should have called them "NASCAR" hounds!
Mike's Hunting Tip -- It's often difficult to hit a fast running deer in thick pines. Look ahead and pick out an open shooting lane. Wait for the deer's nose to hit the opening, then pull the trigger. He'll fall like a rock.
Mike Griffin, an old Ludowici boy from way back.
PS - All of my stories are true, mostly true or maybe just made up!
In the early days, Keith and I rode in the truck with Daddy. Later on, one of us would ride with Uncle Eddie, he always had a fast truck and a good CB radio.
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| Eddie Collins |
The Ritual
The ride from our house in town to the flat woods usually took about 20-25 minutes; listening to the CB chatter kept us occupied during the ride. Each club or group of hunters had their usual CB channel. We would often flip through the radio channels, trying to figure out who was hunting where that day. Sometimes we would break into their conversations to let them know where we were hunting, and to be on the lookout for our dogs. Everyone always took good care of each other's hounds, often traveling long distances to return a lost dog found in the woods.
The day's hunt always started out the same -- riding down dirt roads at daybreak looking for deer tracks. Daddy driving, me staring out the window looking for sign, and Keith sitting the middle, trying not to fall asleep. We would drive slowly, our heads barely sticking out the windows, the truck heater going full blast. The wind would sting, sometimes tears would stream down my face as I looked for deer sign.
It was a small wonder I could even spot a track, especially considering how easily I get car sick. I never could look straight down on the road or I would get sick. I figured out that by looking ahead at a slight angle, I could spot deer sign without getting sick. Somehow I became good at finding faint deer tracks in the sand with a cold wind in my face. Anyway, the sooner you found tracks, the sooner you got out of that cold wind.
Finding deer sign crossing the road wasn't too hard, the difficult part came next...determining if the tracks were fresh. For some reason this took every old man on the hunt. They would all pull up in their trucks, then stand around staring at the tracks. If the tracks were heading in the direction we wanted to hunt, then the men would perform something of a lost art...that of determining if the tracks were fresh. We never wanted to put the dogs on a track that was too old, the scent would be almost gone and the dogs wouldn't be able to "jump" the deer, or it would take way too long to jump.
Figuring out if a deer track was fresh took skill, experience and a fair amount of guessing. I watched Daddy do this many times. The ritual was always the same. He would get out of the truck, put his glasses on, and stick his hands into his pockets. Slightly bending over, he would carefully examine each print, looking for anything that indicated whether the tracks were fresh or not.
One of the first things he did was to see if the deer had stepped on any pine straw in the road. Bits of sand still stuck to the straw indicated the track was made after the dew fell, which usually meant the track was only a few hours old. He would look at the tracks to see if the edges were sharp or whether they had started to dry out. He looked to see if wind had blown loose sand into the tracks. He almost always had to get after Keith or me for getting ahead of him and stepping all over the sign.
The men would then stand around for a few minutes talking about where they thought the deer would run, mentioning favorite crossing places. Eventually someone would say, "Let's try it." Daddy would then tell one of us to get his famous long-legged Walker dog, "Drive", out of the dog box. Drive was well known throughout our hunting group as a great trail hound, he never took long to get the chase going.
It was a small wonder I could even spot a track, especially considering how easily I get car sick. I never could look straight down on the road or I would get sick. I figured out that by looking ahead at a slight angle, I could spot deer sign without getting sick. Somehow I became good at finding faint deer tracks in the sand with a cold wind in my face. Anyway, the sooner you found tracks, the sooner you got out of that cold wind.
Finding deer sign crossing the road wasn't too hard, the difficult part came next...determining if the tracks were fresh. For some reason this took every old man on the hunt. They would all pull up in their trucks, then stand around staring at the tracks. If the tracks were heading in the direction we wanted to hunt, then the men would perform something of a lost art...that of determining if the tracks were fresh. We never wanted to put the dogs on a track that was too old, the scent would be almost gone and the dogs wouldn't be able to "jump" the deer, or it would take way too long to jump.
Figuring out if a deer track was fresh took skill, experience and a fair amount of guessing. I watched Daddy do this many times. The ritual was always the same. He would get out of the truck, put his glasses on, and stick his hands into his pockets. Slightly bending over, he would carefully examine each print, looking for anything that indicated whether the tracks were fresh or not.
One of the first things he did was to see if the deer had stepped on any pine straw in the road. Bits of sand still stuck to the straw indicated the track was made after the dew fell, which usually meant the track was only a few hours old. He would look at the tracks to see if the edges were sharp or whether they had started to dry out. He looked to see if wind had blown loose sand into the tracks. He almost always had to get after Keith or me for getting ahead of him and stepping all over the sign.
The men would then stand around for a few minutes talking about where they thought the deer would run, mentioning favorite crossing places. Eventually someone would say, "Let's try it." Daddy would then tell one of us to get his famous long-legged Walker dog, "Drive", out of the dog box. Drive was well known throughout our hunting group as a great trail hound, he never took long to get the chase going.
A Different Breed of Hound
Sometime around the early 1970's we started raising long-legged Walker hounds. These dogs were great for hunting in the flat woods. They could cold-trail a deer when needed, and once jumped, they could run a deer forever.
I remember one morning we jumped a deer in Bob Town and ran him for hours before finally losing the dogs around the Gooseneck. They had crossed into another club's leased land. Anyway, the deer got away from us and we lost the dogs. We traveled the roads the rest of the day looking for lost dogs, picking up a few here and there. Around mid-afternoon I decided to take a break and "still" hunt a few hours before dark near a place called the Corduroy; a swampy area located about nine miles as the crow flies from the morning hunt, a lot further than that by truck.
During that afternoon hunt I could hear a couple of dogs pushing a deer across the Sand Hills, getting closer and closer to the Corduroy. It was almost dark when the deer made a fatal mistake and circled a bit too close to my set-up. I ended the race with one shot. I couldn't believe it when the two dogs chasing that deer turned out to be Drive and Rock, two of the dogs we had lost that morning around the Gooseneck.
Daddy's dogs could run a deer for a long time, so long in fact that sometimes the skin would peel off the bottom of their feet, or the hair would be rubbed off their ears. Long-legged Walkers...they're the kind of dogs you wanted when hunting in the flat woods. Maybe we should have called them "NASCAR" hounds!
Mike's Hunting Tip -- It's often difficult to hit a fast running deer in thick pines. Look ahead and pick out an open shooting lane. Wait for the deer's nose to hit the opening, then pull the trigger. He'll fall like a rock.
Mike Griffin, an old Ludowici boy from way back.
PS - All of my stories are true, mostly true or maybe just made up!
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