Field and Stream - Close Calls RSS

Great White Shark Flips, Chomps Angler's Kayak

Online Editors — Wed, 16 May 2012 13:11:51 -0400

--Chad Love

Kayak fishing and kayak duck hunting are things I've really wanted to get into for a while now. I even have dreams of taking my own do-it-yourself kayak fishing trip to the Florida Keys, Baja California, or some other storied saltwater destination. On the other hand, maybe I'll just stick to freshwater kayaking, because something like this would inevitably happen to me, and then I'd have to spend the rest of my life wearing Depends and going to therapy.

From this story on sanluisobispo.com:
Joey Nocchi, 30, of Paso Robles, had the big-fish tale to tell, after his kayak was upended and bitten by a great white shark. Nocchi and friends James Byon of Paso Robles and Matt Kerschke of Los Osos were fishing for rockfish at 1:30 p.m. Saturday near Leffingwell Landing off Moonstone Beach. “We’d just about limited out on rock cod, and Matt caught two halibut,” Nocchi said. “We were cruising along together and talking.” He was reaching for his knife when “I got hit from underneath and started coming up out of the water. My buddies said I came out of the water 4 to 5 feet — it flipped me over the side.

The shark rolled the whole kayak over, rolled me out of it, and he went over the top of it. He swam across me — his tail touched me.” His friends estimated the shark was 12 feet to 14 feet long.

Nocchi said he managed to get back on the upside-down, badly listing kayak and paddle back to shore. He says he'll be bass fishing and staying out of the ocean for a while. Good plan...

Maine Guide Attacked, Bitten by Coyote While Calling Turkeys

Sarah Smith — Wed, 02 May 2012 11:45:46 -0400

--Chad Love

There are some advantages to being a really lousy turkey caller. Granted, you might not ever call in a tom, but at least you also probably won't get attacked by a fooled and hungry coyote...

From this story in the Maine Sun Journal:

Opening day of turkey season turned out to be a bit more than Bill Robinson had in mind Monday when he set out his decoy at dawn’s first light. “I’ll never forget looking up and seeing a jaw full of teeth coming at me,” Robinson said Tuesday, the day after being attacked and bitten on the right arm by a coyote. The wild canine sprang while the Maine Guide was hunkered down in the brush, using a mouth-call to lure a turkey into the open while hunting on private property near the Washington County community of Cooper.

According to the story, the case of mistaken identity occurred a few minutes after dawn when Robinson set up his decoy in a field and then hunkered on one side of a thick spruce tree and started calling. The coyote came in from the other side of the tree and then pounced at the sound of Robinson's calling, biting down through four layers of clothing and leaving a nasty bite. Robinson took a couple shots at the coyote as it ran off, but the range was too great to kill it. Robinson later had to endure precautionary rabies shots, but told the Maine Sun Journal he doesn’t blame the coyote.

"I walked into that hospital with one sore arm and left with two,” he said Tuesday. “But I don’t blame the coyote. It was doing what coyotes do, hunting. My guess is that coyote was perfectly healthy and was not rabid. He was big, probably 50 pounds. I’m just glad it didn’t grab my neck.”

Anything similar ever happen to you? What's the most interesting, frightening or bizarre thing you ever called in while turkey hunting?

UK Boy Finds Live WWII-Era Grenade on Easter Egg Hunt

Online Editors — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 09:48:06 -0400

--Chad Love

When I was a child, I had a really terrifying shopping mall Easter bunny experience. I'd rather not talk about it, but the haunting memory of those few horrifying moments perched atop that giant rodent's lap spurred two things within me: A subsequent intense and cathartic desire to take up rabbit hunting, and the firm belief that the Easter bunny is pure evil. And now I have my proof...

From this story on ABCnews.com:

A 3-year-old British boy on an Easter egg hunt Saturday morning discovered a live hand grenade. The device was on the side of a busy road next to the field where families were conducting their Easter ritual in Holford, Somerset. According to reports in the British press, the boy was actually standing on the device when an adult spotted him. “We were beginning to count up the eggs at the end of the hunt and I saw a boy of three standing on an object. ‘It was brown and about four inches high. It looked like an Easter egg, but it was a hand grenade,” Stuart Moffatt told the Daily Mail. ” I was shocked. The boy who was standing on it thought it was a rock.”

Moffatt is an engineering consultant who was attending the event with his wife and their three young children. About 25 children were reportedly in that field on the Easter egg hunt. This is Somerset reported that the device was destroyed in a controlled explosion. The Mail says the grenade is believed to have been a relic from World War II.

"A relic from WWII." Yeah, right. I know the truth. Anyone else with me on this, or am I "crazy" and have "bunny issues" like my therapist claims?

SHARK!: A Preview of an Artistic Tribute To The Ancient Apex Predators of the Deep

Sarah Smith — Thu, 15 Mar 2012 16:07:05 -0400

Millennia before humans first appeared on this planet, sharks were cutting their way through Earth's seas. They come in all shapes and sizes and are found in every ocean in the world as well as in many rivers and lakes.

A major multimedia art exhibition, SHARK!, organized by the Ft. Lauderdale Museum of Art and curated by acclaimed wildlife artist, author and environmentalist Richard Ellis, brings together art and science in documenting the fascination people have with these apex predators of the sea. In addition to drawings and paintings, the exhibition contains photos, sculptures, and video as well as a section devoted to the sensational impact of the 1975 film Jaws.

Ellis was good enough to give us these photos of pieces from the exhibition as a sneak peak. SHARK! opens on May 13.

For more information on the exhibit, click here.

4 True Stories of Survival

Online Editors — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 12:49:51 -0500

Mauled by a bear. Lost in unfamiliar woods. Swamped by a storm. Attacked by a shark. In the last seven months, these outdoorsmen encountered the worst nightmares the wild can conjure. But thanks to smarts, willpower, and a little luck, they survived. Here are their stories, and the lessons learned that could save your life. With survival analysis by Keith McCafferty.

THE MAULING

On Sept. 26, Brent Prokulevich, 49, was bowhunting by himself for moose in Western Ontario when he was charged by a 300-pound black bear. As told to Colin Kearns.

I flew into the outpost camp on Chase Lake on Saturday. My buddy Paul Patiuk and his son Kyle had been there for a few days already and would be guiding moose hunters for the next few days. The plan was for me to hunt on my own on Sunday and Monday in a spot Paul had scouted for me. Then on Tuesday, when their clients had left, we’d hunt together. One of the first things I asked Paul and Kyle when I reached camp was if there were bears in the area. They told me there weren’t any.

I saw no moose during my Sunday hunt, but I did get a cow to call back. I decided to leave my scent rag out overnight, hoping the scent would fill the area. The conditions when I returned in the boat Monday morning were perfect. A fog hung in the cool air, and the wind had died so my calls carried a long way.

In front of me was a dried-up beaver pond littered with dead poplars, leaving me with a clear shot if a moose wandered in. I got into position and readied my bow and arrows. I made my first cow call at 7 a.m. and followed up every 15 minutes until 8:30. That’s when I heard movement in the willows, 33 yards away. As soon as I saw the top of the animal’s back, I knew: S - - t. It’s a flipping bear.

He was big, about 300 pounds. He didn’t see me at first but when he did, our eyes connected immediately. “Get! Get! Get!” I yelled. But he never budged—until he came at me.

This isn’t happening. I grabbed my bow. This can’t be happening. I nocked the arrow. This is happening. I fired a prayer at 8 yards.

I raised my left arm and he locked onto it. We fell to the ground. He had me on my back, but when he let go of my arm I managed to get up to my knees. Then I heard this crunch on my neck. The bite to my arm I hadn’t really felt. This one to the neck, though, I felt. I kept yelling, and at one point I had a flash of my 17-year-old son, Brady. I’m a single dad and I’ve been raising him since day one. I wasn’t going to leave him to live by himself. Something in me snapped. I’m not dying like this!

I couldn’t reach my knife, so I grabbed the other arrow and began stabbing the bear in his head, over and over. He let go of my neck and clamped on the back of my shoulder. Then, somehow, I knocked him right on his ass.

There was blood everywhere. My first arrow had entered his chest and must’ve exited through the bottom of his belly because his guts were spilling out. The two of us just sat there for a moment, staring at each other. He swiped at my right arm, then he turned and walked 15 yards before he sat back down. I was going to put another shot in him, but my bow was busted. So I got the hell out of there.

I jumped in the boat and drove around looking for help. But after about 15 minutes with no luck, I turned back toward camp. That’s when I saw the plane landing at camp. When I reached the dock I told Kevin, the pilot, what had happened. He left a note for Paul and Kyle, then we took off. We arrived at the hospital 30 minutes later. I walked into the ER and said to a nurse, “I’ve been attacked by a bear.”

The shoulder bite was a half inch from puncturing a lung, and the neck bite almost hit my spinal cord. But no bones were broken, and the puncture wounds are healing well.
I’m looking forward to hunting again. I’ve taken a couple of walks in the bush recently, which has been nice, but I find I’m looking over my shoulder more often. Every time I hear a little snap.

Survival Analysis
In the matter of risking encounters with bears, bowhunters start with three strikes against them. First, they hunt in early fall, when bears undergo hyperphagia, a period of mad foraging before hibernation that increases the potential for crossed paths. Second, by donning camo, using cover scent, and sneaking quietly through brush and timber, archers spike the odds of chance encounters within the critical 50-yard range, at which bears are more likely to attack. And third, by using lure scents and calling like animals that bears regard as prey, hunters actually encourage unwanted attention.

Prokulevich did the right thing by fighting the black bear. Playing dead is only effective at discouraging grizzlies, and then only under certain circumstances. But he probably could have avoided the attack altogether if he’d had pepper spray on his belt. Under the best of circumstances, arrows offer meager defense—and bullets aren’t much better. In most documented bear attacks, only three seconds elapse between the start of the charge and contact with the person. Do you really think you can raise a rifle, flip the safety, aim, and fire in that window? But you can flick the safety tab and depress the trigger of pepper spray in an instant. Plus, it works. In a study conducted by bear researcher Thomas Smith of hundreds of bear attacks, pepper spray deterred a charge in 92 percent of cases. Bullets deterred a charge only 66 percent of the time, and it required an average of four bullets to stop the bear.

Besides, bear spray isn’t lethal. Each time a hunter claims self-defense when killing a bear, the nonhunting public raises an eyebrow. But never mind politics—pepper spray is the best choice, and it costs less than $50. If all hunters carried it, I wouldn’t be writing this.

THE WRONG TURN

On Aug. 31, Bill Lawrence, 40, got separated from his hunting partners and remained lost for five days. As told to Colin Kearns.

Wednesday. I’d just killed my first squirrel when I glanced over for my friends Russell and Cris. They were gone.

Russell was the only one who’d hunted these woods, Meeman-Shelby Forest north of Memphis. We’d been hunting for 20 minutes and were deep into the forest. Russell and Cris stuck together, while I drifted to their left. I tried to stay within eyesight of them, but I was also watching for snakes. The last time I saw them, it looked like they were continuing in a straight line. Then I stopped to shoot the squirrel.

I thought I had an idea where they were, but an hour later I wasn’t any closer. I shouted, but the thick woods only swallowed my cries. So I turned to hike back to the truck, but an hour later I was even more lost. I kept walking, though, figuring I’d find a way out.

I walked, stopping to rest now and then, until it started to get dark. I’d fired a couple of shots but got no response. It never got cold, which was good because I had nothing to build a fire with. I doused myself with bug dope, then lay down. With my vest, I was able to cover my face and roll up the bottom end to use as a pillow. That dead squirrel in the pocket added a decent cushion.

I heard helicopters but they couldn’t see me through the trees, and I wasn’t going to run through the woods in the dark. I just prayed they’d find me tomorrow.

Thursday. I finished the last of the two water bottles I’d brought with me that morning. The days were hot, and I was walking and sweating a lot. I needed to stay hydrated. Fortunately, it rained that morning, and I managed to catch a half bottle’s worth of water.

I mostly squirrel hunt, but I have enough experience hunting deer and rabbits that I can identify tracks—and I know that if you follow those tracks, they’ll often lead to a water source, which in my case was a puddle in gumbo mud. I dipped my empty bottle and watched it fill with gray, grimy water. I didn’t want to drink it. I worried it’d make me sick. But what choice did I have? I was already getting dehydrated.

The taste was nasty—dirty and sandy—but the dip of mint Skoal I had in my mouth made it at least drinkable. I figured I should eat something, too, even though I wasn’t starving. I turned a dead stump over and found some nightcrawlers. They tasted about as bad as the gumbo water. I don’t know how many I ate—only that I’d never eat another one.

The rest of Thursday was a lot like Wednesday: Walk, then break for a nap. Walk, then nap. That second day, as I was walking—with no real end in sight—is when I started talking to God. Why is this happening? If I don’t make it out, will you take care of my wife and kids?

That night I awoke to a WHOOSHWHOOSHWHOOSH. Dazed, it took me a moment to realize that it was another chopper—and that it was right above me. I stumbled to find the flashlight in my vest. But by the time I turned it on, it was too late. After the chopper left, my flashlight burned out.

Friday. I kept moving and praying—all day. Walking gave me a purpose. Praying gave me strength. I truly believe my faith is what kept me from ever panicking. That afternoon I stumbled upon some persimmons. They were the most delicious things I’d eaten in a long time, and they were just sitting there on the ground, perfectly ripe, waiting to be found.
Saturday. I heard a low-flying chopper that morning. I took the T-shirt I had on under my camo shirt, tied it to the barrel of my Mossberg, and rushed to the nearest open area where I waved it around. But it never got close enough.

I was weak and tired. My body ached. For the first time I started to think I might not get out. I had started with 15 shells, and by then I only had four or five left. I’d been firing them and leaving the shells at spots where I rested. But on Saturday I decided to fire the rest I had at once. I didn’t know how much more of this misery I’d have to suffer, and I didn’t want the option of taking my own life.

Later that afternoon, as I was resting, I heard two sounds: a Harley-Davidson and a chain saw. I decided to stay put for the remainder of the day and save my energy. Tomorrow, I’d travel toward those sounds. I just knew that if I didn’t get out on Sunday, I never would.

Sunday. I came to a hill that I wasn’t sure I had the strength to climb. I sat down on a nearby log and prayed for strength. When I finally got up and walked to the hill, I glanced to the left where I saw a trail. And I took it.

Two miles later I hit a blacktop road. I fell to the ground crying. I flagged down a couple of motorcyclists who came down the road and told them who I was. “Son,” one of them said, “there’s a lot of people looking for you.”

They drove me to the camp the search team had set up nearby. Just as they got me on the stretcher and were about to drive me to the hospital, I was given a satellite phone. Kim, my wife, was on the other line. My eyes welled. “Hey,” I said. “I’m alive.”

Survival Analysis
Bill Lawrence had no method of striking fire, carried nothing to signal with but his shotgun, and possessed no tool to navigate to safety but his brain. When he became lost, he had nothing to eat but nightcrawlers and no means to disinfect water. He was unfamiliar with the country and carried no map. To sum up: He struck into the woods about as unprepared as a man can be. But before you criticize him too harshly, take a look at yourself. Have you ever been similarly unprepared for an emergency, using the excuse that you only plan to be gone a few hours and won’t stray more than a few hundred yards from the road? I know I have.

Lawrence’s ordeal should be a cautionary tale for all of us, emphasizing the importance of carrying basic survival gear every time we go afield, no matter how small that field we intend to hunt. A compass, a whistle, a sparking wheel, Tinder Tabs, and chlorine tablets weigh about as much as a tin of Altoids, and easily fit inside one. S - - t happens. Have a hat for it.

Lawrence’s reaction to being lost was to walk and then walk some more. By doing so, he disobeyed the four steps that almost ensure survival: Stop. Shelter. Signal. Stay. Had he stopped walking, tied his undershirt to a treetop or placed it in an opening where it could be seen or, better yet, spelled SOS in a clearing with branches or stones, then hunkered out of the wind to wait, he probably would have been found quickly after being reported missing. Ninety percent of search-and-rescue operations are resolved during the initial hasty search, usually within 10 hours.

One thing that Lawrence did do right needs to be emphasized: He never panicked and was determined to survive. The right attitude is one positive that can make up for a lot of negatives in any survival situation.

THE SUDDEN STORM

On July 4, Doug Fehler, 56, was fishing with his wife and grandkids when a huge thunderstorm swamped his boat. As told to Kristyn Brady.

The boys, Carter, 9, and Charlie, who’s just 5, were casting for perch, while Kristye and I put out jug lines for catfish on Oklahoma’s Broken Bow Lake. We had made the trip up from Texas for a Fourth of July getaway. We’d been fishing for maybe 30 minutes when the sky rumbled. I looked around and saw a huge thunderhead, followed by a lightning flash. It had been a scorcher of an afternoon with a few scattered clouds, and the marina parking lot was packed less than an hour earlier when we launched my 15-foot bass boat, a restored 1980 Caddo, toward a series of small islands. But with the lightning, I thought it best to get off the water.

As we motored toward the edge of the cove, the storm cloud had grown and the sky darkened. The wind picked up, but we’d had more shelter than I realized before our boat cleared the last island, where we were spit out into some of the roughest open water I’ve ever seen. The wind howled and waves slammed into the side of the boat, spilling inside. Without notice, a 7-foot swell crashed over our heads. I struggled to turn us into the oncoming wind and waves, soaked but holding on. Fortunately, we were already wearing our life vests.

Wave after wave crashed over the bow, but I didn’t even notice the water rushing past my feet because I was so focused on keeping the boat straight and running. I heard Kristye yell from the rear, where she was sitting with Charlie. I looked back to see him sitting on the floor with water up to his armpits. He didn’t seem to understand the danger, and just looked back at me expectantly. I could tell Carter was scared, but he was quiet and clung to the rail next to me.

I started to panic. It had been less than 10 minutes, but it felt like we’d been battling the waves much longer. The gas tanks were floating. The cooler had escaped over the side. The battery was under-water. That’s when the engine died.

Without the engine, we were being pushed toward a rocky bluff. If the boat had turned broadside to the waves, the next one would have capsized us. I was just about to jump in to try and pull us to shore when I heard a ski boat speeding toward us. They were able to drag our craft—the transom end completely underwater—and beach it nearby. I stayed with my boat, bailing out, while the driver of the ski boat took Kristye and the boys to the marina. As they left, Charlie was crying in Kristye’s arms, and I couldn’t help but worry that splitting up was the wrong decision. They got some bumps and bruises on the rough ride back, but we were reunited an hour later on the dock, where we all shed a few tears.

My boat’s tri-hull design was not built for those conditions, but I knew that. I would never purposely steer into waves that size. We were blindsided. Carter still doesn’t like to talk about that afternoon, and he hasn’t been on a boat since. I’m hoping that will pass. The whole thing has kept me awake a few nights. I go over the experience in my head, thinking what was at stake. It still gives me chill-bumps.

Survival Analysis

Because one cannot fault Fehler’s actions once his boat was caught in heavy water—he made sure everyone was wearing a PFD, kept the bow pointed into the waves, and navigated toward safe harbor—the only question of right and wrong here concerns the decision to cross open water. The family probably could have weathered the storm in relative safety among the islands, and Fehler’s decision to leave is one I am sure he would like to have back.

This situation reminds me of an antelope hunting trip I made with my brother on Montana’s Fort Peck Reservoir, where we found ourselves separated from the dock by a mile-wide channel. Like Fehler, we didn’t have a boat seaworthy enough to meet the conditions once the storm broke. Unlike him, we were able to see how far conditions had deteriorated, so the decision to shelter on a spit of land was a no-brainer. We ended up being trapped by weather there for three days.

The survival lesson here is not so much to be prepared to brave the devil water, but to be prepared to stay, which makes a safe decision much easier. Always check the weather forecast ahead of time, and carry a radio, cellphone, distress flags, and signal flares, as well as a survival bag. Do not forget extra dry clothing, and make sure the book in your dry bag is a long one.

THE BITE

On Aug. 11, Don White, 45, was fishing off North Carolina with friends and family. On the ride back in, they all humped in the water to cool off. Then a bull shark attacked don. As told to Jed Portman.

The eight of us boarded the Sea Jule, my cousin Jay’s 26-foot boat, at 8:30 a.m. I’m not a big fisherman, but this trip is an annual tradition for my sons, Donnie and Buck, and we always enjoy it. An hour later, we reached an offshore wreck and started fishing.

The bite was solid all day. We pulled in a mixed bag of cobia, grouper, and some other fish and planned to cook some of them for dinner. During the boat ride back, one of the boys asked Jay if we could stop for a quick swim. We’d been in 90-degree heat for six hours. Jay cut the engine 2 miles from the wreck, then checked the fishfinder. He didn’t see anything in the water, so the boys jumped in.

I teased them from the boat. We’d been watching Shark Week just the week before, so that was on our minds. Then Jay jumped in. I didn’t want to be the only one out of the water, so I followed him. The water did feel good.

I was swimming 15 feet from the boat when something slammed into my right leg. The hit sent a shock wave all the way up my spine. I tried to figure out what it could have been: One of the boys jumped on me. But no one surfaced. Jay is playing a trick on me. But neither he nor the boys were within 8 feet of me. It felt like a dream. That didn’t just happen. Did it?

“Get out of the water!” I shouted. “Now! I just got bit by a shark!”

A cloud of blood began to rise around me as I struggled toward the boat ladder. When I got on board, I saw a 12-inch gash running down my right leg. I settled into a corner of the transom and took a deep breath. I didn’t want to worry the boys. “A couple of stitches,” I assured them. “We’ll still have our fish fry tonight.” They tied a T-shirt around the wound and Jay tightened his belt above my right knee as a tourniquet. We looked back at the bloodstained water and there, slashing the surface, saw a half dozen 8- to 10-foot bull sharks.

I held the tourniquet tight. Jay radioed the local police and Coast Guard. We picked up an escort at the marina and flew through the no-wake zone.

When I got to the hospital, the doctors told me right away that I’d need more than a couple of stitches. The shark had done serious muscle damage. They also told me the tourniquet could’ve cost me my leg. As they worked on me that night, the doctors found a tooth that the shark had left in my leg when it hit me. I asked to keep it.

My leg has healed nicely. But the next time we go to the beach, I’ll be staying on land. I have no desire to be in the ocean again. None.

Survival Analysis
Had White gone swimming in the same water his friends had chummed, as early incomplete reports of this story suggested, he’d be an unbeatable candidate for this year’s Darwin Awards. But the fishing party drove 2 miles from the wreck before cutting the motor and checked the sonar before diving overboard. They also did an exemplary job of rescuing White. Sure, they could be cited for applying a tourniquet, but all in all, they did everything right with one small exception: They jumped into shark-infested waters!

North Carolina, and in particular Carteret County where they were fishing, ranks among the most dangerous places in the world to take a dip. Last year, more people in North Carolina were victims of shark attacks than in any state besides Florida. In the past decade, 33 people have been attacked by sharks in North Carolina, with three fatalities. White’s was the third shark attack in just over a month.

If, like White, you choose to roll the dice, keep these don’ts in mind: Don’t swim in murky water or if you have a wound. Don’t swim in low light. Don’t go in the drink with baitfish. Don’t swim with your dog. Don’t swim with jewelry on. And don’t swim in or near river channels, dropoffs, or anywhere abrupt changes in salinity, water depth, or current are found.

Lost Newfoundland Couple Uses Fresh Moose Hide To Fight Cold

Dave_Maccar — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 09:51:15 -0500

--Chad Love

Remember that scene in The Empire Strikes Back where Han Solo and Luke Skywalker are trapped on Hoth, so Han uses Luke's lightsaber to cut open a dead Tauntaun and hollow out the body cavity to use as an overnight shelter from the freezing temperatures? If not, see below...and since it's kind of a sin to have never seen Empire, you get the dubbed version.

In recent news, a pair of Canadian moose hunters trapped overnight in the freezing wilderness didn't follow the script to the letter, but they came pretty darn close.

From this story on cbcnews.com:
A western Newfoundland couple used the hide of a freshly killed moose overnight Tuesday to keep warm after getting lost in the woods during a hunting trip near Gros Morne National Park. Stephen and Sheila Joyce said they lost their way after wounding a young moose and began following the trail of its blood. Shivering and soaking wet, they eventually caught up with the wounded animal.

“My wife thought it would be a good idea to skin the calf and we could use the skin as a blanket. Then we found a place under the root of a tree,” said Joyce. By morning, they were weak and scared. “It was quite horrific. We really were expecting the worst for a period of time there and we really didn’t know what would happen. The direction we were going was the wrong one,” he said.

Happily, the pair were found the next morning by a flight of rebel snowspeeders sent out to search for the lost couple. Then the Empire showed up and ruined everyone's day.

Video, Interview: Mountain Biker Clobbered by Charging Antelope

Dave_Maccar — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 12:31:20 -0400

by Dave Maccar

Charging wildlife isn’t the first thing on a mountain biker’s mind in the heat of a race, but the animals don’t know that.

Evan van der Spuy was racing in the 38 km Time Freight MTB Express mountain bike race at Albert Falls Dam, 20km outside the city of Pietermaritzburg in Kwa-Zulu Natal, South Africa for Team Jeep South Africa over the weekend.

His teammate, Travis Walker, was in third place with a GoPro camera mounted on his bike, and captured this amazing footage below of Evan, who was in second place until this red hartebeest (a member of the antelope family) had something to say about it.

Yes, the hit was as hard as it looks. Evan was stabilized with a neck brace and taken to the hospital for overnight observation. He sustained a minor concussion, whiplash and some bruising on his head where his helmet imploded on impact.

F&S spoke to Evan today to get his take on the events behind this video, which is rapidly going viral.

Evan said he is recovering well, and feels extremely lucky.

“Luckily I walked away with just a bit of whiplash and a concussion, considering what happened,” he says. “I saw the animal moving to cross the road in front of me, but when I saw how close it really was, I was shocked. Then, from the moment it hit me I was unconscious. I actually don’t know what happened from then.”

The first thing Evan says he remembers is the ambulance ride to the hospital.

“I know my teammate helped me to the ambulance, but I don’t recall any of that.”

After he began to recover, he was amazed to see his accident captured by his teammate’s GoPro.

“I was shocked. I was just shell-shocked. A few people had told me what had happened, but I never knew how big it really was. I hadn’t realized how hard I had really been hit and how lucky I really was to just walk away with the injuries I have,” Evan says.

When he saw the state of his helmet after the accident, he felt even luckier.

“My brother actually had a good look at the helmet afterward. The helmet was virtually in half. There were just a few strands holding it together, so the photos don’t actually do it justice. I’m really lucky.”

“I’ve never been close to being hit by an animal at all. Maybe a monkey or something, but nothing as big. You’re always aware of the animals around you. You always watch for anything out of the normal when you’re racing, but this is a freak accident that will never happen again.”

Evan is healing up and hopes to be back on his bike in the next couple of weeks.

In case you were wondering, the animal was totally fine after the collision. It got up and trotted off. According to Max Cluer of Sports Marketing, the event organizer, the animal is part of a small herd of red hartebeest that reside at the Albert Falls Resort and Game Reserve.

A big thanks to Max Cluer of Sports Marketing and Team Jeep South Africa for providing the footage and to Evan van der Spuy for talking to us through a concussion haze. And, of course, to GoPro South Africa, without which we all would not have this awesome clip.

Canadian Moose Hunter Fends Off Charging Black Bear With Bow

Sarah Smith — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 10:36:32 -0400

--Chad Love

A Canadian moose hunter is out of the hospital after fending off (and ultimately killing) a charging black bear.

From this story on lotwenterprise.com:

A Kenora area hunter is lucky to be alive after fighting off a bear attack, Sept. 26. The 48-year-old man was treated for puncture wounds to his arm, shoulder and neck at Lake of the Woods district hospital and released later the same afternoon. The bear was mortally wounded during the encounter and did not survive. A Ministry of Natural Resources official credits the man for taking action to save his life.

"It was a dangerous situation," affirmed MNR Lake of the Woods supervisor Leo Heyens. "He did all the right things. If he hadn't fired an arrow or fought back, yelling and making himself look big, it could have been more serious."

The hunter is a close friend of Paul Batiuk of Batiuk Guiding and Outfitting. Batiuk explained the man was archery hunting for moose alone while he and son Kyle guided another group of six hunters. The identity of the individual has not been released at his request. "He just wants to get back to work and normal life," Batiuk related. "The experience has changed him you can tell, he will hunt again but says he will never hunt alone."

Question of the day: would you continue to hunt alone after surviving a bear attack?

Photo by: Paul Batiuk

Video: Brit Attacked by Great White off Cape Town Coast

Dave_Maccar — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 15:27:21 -0400

--Dave Maccar

A 42-year-old British expat reportedly lost most of his right leg and part of his left foot after being repeatedly bitten by a great white shark off the coast of Cape Town, South Africa today. A YouTube video (below) taken moments after the attack shows a huge shark lurking in the water.

From this story on the UK Telegraph:

Several beaches along the city's False Bay coastline this afternoon remained closed after officials warned it was likely the deadly beast remained in the area.

Craig Lambinon, a spokesman for the National Sea Rescue Institute, said the victim was this afternoon in a serious condition in a private hospital in the city.

"This man was swimming around 50 metres from the beach when the shark attacked him at around 12.20pm," he said.

"It repeatedly bit at both of his legs and caused serious wounds on both the right and left side.

"The man managed to make it back towards the shore and was stabilised on the beach.

"He was then airlifted to hospital where his right leg was amputated above the knee and his left foot was partially amputated.

"He remains in a critical condition."

Local media today reported that a shark had been sighted several times before today's attack at Clovelly Beach near the popular holiday resort of Fish Hoek, around 20 miles south of Cape Town.

A video uploaded on YouTube taken moments after the attack shows a shark lurking in the water...

...A statement released by the organisation also claimed the swimmer had ignored explicit orders not to enter the water...

...It added: "From what we understand the City of Cape Town shark spotters had flown the "sharks present – no swimming" flags since early this morning and bathers to Fish Hoek and the individual had personally been warned, by the shark spotters, not to swim due to the presence of at least three White Sharks visible in the water close inshore since this morning."

Montana Outfitter on Horseback Saves Boy From Grizzly Charge

Dave_Maccar — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 15:00:41 -0400

--Hal Herring

Amid all the grizz stories coming out of the Rockies these days, this one stands tall. If you ever find yourself about to be keelhauled by 600 pounds of furious airborn grizzly, you can only hope that 25-year-old Erin Bolster is riding nearby on the mighty 18 hands tall horse, Tonk.

Check out this wild tale written by F&S Rut Reporter Rich Landers in The Spokesman-Review via Missoulian.com:

A young woman on a big horse charged out of the pack of grizzly bear stories this summer near Glacier National Park. In a cloud of dust, the 25-year-old wrangler likely saved a boy's life while demonstrating that skill, quick-thinking and guts sometimes are the best weapons against a head-on charging bear.

On July 30, Erin Bolster of Swan Mountain Outfitters was guiding eight clients on a horse ride on the Flathead National Forest between West Glacier and Hungry Horse.

"It's the shortest ride we offer," she said recently, recalling the incident. "We'd already led two trips that morning. It's always been a very routine hourlong loop, until that day."

The group included a family of six plus a vacationing Illinois man, who'd booked the trip for his 8-year-old son's first horse-riding experience.

The young boy was riding Scout, a steady obedient mount, following directly behind Bolster, who was leading the group on Tonk, a burly 10-year-old white horse of questionable lineage.

Tonk isn't the typical trail mount. Best anyone knows, he's the result of cross-breeding a quarter horse with a Percheron - a draft horse. Bolster is 5-foot-10, yet she relies on her athleticism to climb into the saddle aboard Tonk.

It was a pleasant ride until we came around a corner on the trail and my horse stopped firm and wouldn't move," Bolster said. "He never refuses to go, so that caught my attention quick."

But not fast enough to avoid the spike white-tailed deer that burst out of the brush and glanced off Tonk's left front shoulder.

As Tonk spun from the impact, Bolster saw a huge grizzly bear crashing through the forest right at the group in pursuit of the deer. Horses panicked and guests grabbed saddle horns for the ride of their lives.

"No amount of training could keep a horse from running from a 700-pound charging bear," she said.

Seven of the horses sensed the danger, peeled out and galloped back on the trail toward the barn.

But Scout bolted perpendicular to the trail into the timber, packing the 8-year-old boy.

"The deer peeled off and joined the horses sprinting down the trail," Bolster said. "So the bear just continued running right past me. I'm not sure the bear even knew the roles had changed, but now it was chasing a horse instead of a deer."

The grizzly was zeroed in on Scout and the boy - the isolated prey in the woods.

Adding to the drama, the boy's father, an experienced rider, could not convince his horse that it was a good plan to ride to his son's rescue. "The last thing he saw over his shoulder as his horse ran away was the grizzly chasing his boy," Bolster said.

With the bear on Scout's heels, Tonk's instinct was to flee with the group of horses. But Tonk responded to Bolster's heels in his ribs as she spun the big fella around. They wheeled out of a 360 and bolted into the trees to wedge between the predator and the prey. "The boy was bent over, feet out of the stirrups, clutching the saddle horn and the horse's neck," she said. "That kept him from hitting a tree limb.

"But all I could think about was the boy falling off in the path of that grizzly. "I bent down, screamed and yelled, but the bear was growling and snarling and staying very focused on Scout.

"As it tried to circle back toward Scout, I realized I had to get Tonk to square off and face the bear. We had to get the bear to acknowledge us.

"We did. We got its attention - and the bear charged.

"So I charged at the bear."

Did she think twice about that?

"I had no hesitation, honestly," Bolster said. "Nothing in my body was going to let that little boy get hurt by that bear. That wasn't an option."

Tonk was on the same page.
Read the Full Story Here.

When Would You Kill a Venomous Snake?

Sarah Smith — Wed, 24 Aug 2011 13:54:42 -0400

--Chad Love

Early one chilly fall morning some 16 years ago, on the scout day for a weekend bonus deer archery hunt I had been drawn out on, I was stumbling my way along a game trail in far eastern Oklahoma when I stepped over--literally stepped over, with my family jewels open to immediate and easily-accessible fanged attack--a cold, curled-up timber rattler trying to warm itself up right in the middle of the trail. This brings up an interesting twist on an age-old philosophical question: If a grown man screams like a wee girl in the middle of the forest, and there's no one around to hear him, does he make a sound?

I'll let you be the judge of that, but when I saw this cool video of a large timber rattler swimming across a Kentucky lake, those nightsweats I thought I'd finally gotten over suddenly started up again...

Unlike many others, I am, and have always been fascinated with snakes. I grew up catching and keeping all manner of serpents, even once wanted to be a herpetologist some day, and I'm proud to say I've never needlessly killed a snake. Several years ago I did a blog post about the wanton killing of snakes and the resulting debate in the comments section was lively, entertaining and educational. My thoughts on the subject still haven't changed. I'll kill a venomous snake if I think it poses a threat to my family or dogs, but other than that I leave them alone. But after watching the video, I thought it'd be interesting to revisit the topic.

What would you do if you had seen that timber rattler swimming across the lake? Kill it or leave it be? And as for the timber rattler I encountered that day, after my heart stopped racing and the shrieks stopped reverberating across the valley. I admired his beauty (from a distance) and then walked on, but with my eyes firmly glued to the ground in front of me. I never did shoot a deer on that hunt...

Family of Man Killed by Mountain Goat Sues Olympic National Park

Online Editors — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 10:36:11 -0400

--Chad Love

The family of a man who was gored to death last October by a mountain goat in Olympic National Park has filed a $10 million wrongful death lawsuit.

From this story in the Seattle Times:
The incident took place on Oct. 16 when Bob Boardman, 63, was hiking at Klahhane Ridge in the park, along with his wife, Susan Chadd and a friend, Pat Willis. According to an incident report filed by Colin Smith, the park's chief ranger, "the goat approached Boardman's party while they were sitting and having lunch. They did not approach the goat; instead when it came up to them they attempted to leave the area. "The goat then followed alongside or behind Boardman for approximately ≤ to 1 mile until the fatal encounter. ... There is no evidence Boardman committed any acts of aggression towards the goat. ... The goat gored Boardman with its left horn. ..."The wound severed an artery, which caused rapid blood loss and was fatal. The goat then stood over or near Boardman for at least 30 minutes after the goring, keeping any rescuers from reaching Boardman. It is likely that Boardman died within five minutes of being gored."

Rangers shot and killed the goat that afternoon. "...Messina (plaintiff's attorney) said the National Park Service had received complaints about the goat for four years and should have known it was a danger.

Thoughts?

Bear Attacks, Injures 2 Young New Jersey Campers in State Park

Dave_Maccar — Thu, 04 Aug 2011 11:58:08 -0400

--Chad Love

Bear attacks aren't generally the first thing to come to mind when you think of Jersey. I mean, we expect rampaging Sopranos and Snookies, vicious Real Housewives and bellicose bear-sized governors, but a real, live bear attack is exactly what two Sussex County, New Jersey teens recently experienced.

From this story in the Wall Street Journal:
Two juveniles sustained minor injuries after a black bear attacked their campsite in northwestern New Jersey Wednesday. The attack occurred in Stokes State Forest in Sussex County. State Police say a black bear entered an area being used by campers from Montague-based Trail Blazers Camp. Troopers say the bear grabbed one juvenile out of a tent, causing a minor foot injury. It then swiped at another, causing a shoulder injury. The bear left, but soon returned and was rummaging through the campsite when state fish and game officials arrived and shot the bear in the neck.

Jersey bear attacks are uncommon. Has anyone else from the Garden State had a run-in with a bruin recently?

Close Calls: Hunter Escapes Grizzly

Online Editors — Sun, 01 May 2011 13:17:16 -0400

"It was Sept. 17—my 49th birthday. I was bowhunting with my friend John Wasser, and on this day we rode our ATVs about 5 miles from our camp before walking into a drainage.

We could hear bugling on the ridgeline, and by late morning we'd gotten on some bulls, but no shots. It started getting hot, so we decided to hike out. At around 1:30 we were scaling a timbered hillside when we heard a branch break above us. I looked up and there were two grizzly cubs, about 25 yards away, standing on their hind legs. I turned to John and said, “Bear!”

Just then, the sow came at me at full speed. I just remember seeing claws and her mouth. This wasn't a rear-up attack; it was like getting hit by a car. Right before she barreled into me, I stuck my longbow sideways in her mouth. As we tumbled down the hill, John was screaming, trying to get the bear's attention. He thought she was going to kill me. This bear probably weighed five, six hundred pounds.

After we came to a stop 15 or 20 yards below, she bit me really high up on the inner thighs. Then she released me.

For a moment I just lay still. I didn't move until I heard her woofing up the hill a ways. When John got to me, he was shocked to see that I was standing. My arrows were everywhere. I could feel blood running down my legs, but I didn't want to look at them—fear doesn't enter in until you know what you're up against.

It was about a mile and a half to the ATVs, and we had about 1,000 vertical feet to climb. But from that point on my only purpose was to get out of there. We packed the wounds with gauze and went.

By the time we got to the hospital in Dillon it was 8:15 at night. The doctor said the bear missed my femoral artery by 1 centimeter. Officials from Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks took DNA samples from my pants because of another bear attack in the area. So far we haven't heard the results." —As told to Tom Tiberio

Jim Baird’s Arctic Adventure: Cliffs in the Dark at 40 Below

Online Editors — Tue, 19 Apr 2011 13:58:29 -0400

With the trip winding down, Ted and I knew we’d have to make a long push through the night to reach Ulukhaktok in time to spend a few hours with our friend Pat and, more importantly, catch our flight home. Fortunately, the weather was good enough for such an aggressive travel plan, and Ted and I left Rymer Point and headed straight overland, northward for Prince Albert Sound.

We passed many herds of musk oxen, including one that was 17 strong. In the late evening, Ted and I stopped to do some fishing in a spot where we were told the ice was thin and the fishing was good. But the ice was not as thin as we’d hoped, and we drilled through 6 1/2 feet straight into rock and damaged our auger blade. The dull blade made second hole we drilled was quite difficult and required every bit of strength Ted and I had to get through the ice. We fished for a while, but got skunked. Overall, the fishing on the trip wasn’t nearly as good as we’d hoped.

By the time we got back on our snow machines, it was pitch black and the terrain got rougher. We began traveling up and down some huge hills. At times it was a bit unnerving because you’d crest a hill and see nothing but darkness before the headlights picked up the grout. Ted warned to be careful not to fly off a cliff

He was right.

We were following a river—the final pathway to Price Albert Sound—and to save time, we drove over the bank to cut off a large bend in the river. Then, all the sudden, I saw a huge canyon in front of me. I turned away just in time.

I jumped off my machine and waved to Ted for him to stop. He pulled up and stopped beside me.

“What,” he asked.

I pointed to the canyon below us.

“Holy s---!” This is crazy. We shouldn’t be traveling at night like this.”

It was a good thing I wasn’t blindly following my GPS—or we would’ve plummeted over the 100-foot canyon wall...with the end of our journey in sight.

***

While we crossed Prince Albert Sound, the sky lit up in the east as the sun started to rise. As big as Great Bear Lake was, traveling on the sea ice is more daunting. There is no cover, the weather is colder, and the ice conditions are less reliable. This leg of the trip was the coldest yet—40 below zero, not factoring the wind chill. The sweat in our base layers from auger-drilling hours earlier chilled us to the bone. Ted started to shiver, and I wasn’t far behind. As the winds howled, we broke into our clothes bag and dug out some sweaters and fleece pants. Ted even took of his boots to stick a foot warmer in there.

None of this helped. He started to worry about frostbite on his toes, while I could start to feel it on my nose, cheeks, and ears. But once the sun got up, and the temperature rose, it got a little warmer. We turned west to follow the northern shore of the Sound, putting the strong east wind at our backs.

***

As exhausted as we were, we kept pushing. We stopped to refuel 100 miles from Ulukhaktok and called Pat to let him know we were close. We made good time on the last leg of the trip as we passed through the Safety Channel. The scenery was dramatic: Rugged, snow-sprinkled cliffs shot straight up out of the sea to our right and to our left we could see the horizon on the frozen Amundsen Gulf between the islands of the Channel. Finally, 26 hours and 225 miles after leaving Rymer Point, we could see Ulukhaktok.

It’s tough to describe the feeling of pulling up to a community like Ulukhaktok. Where everyone is so friendly and helpful. Where people are immediately interested in you and make you feel welcome. Where visitors are a big deal.

Pat and his wife, Jean, came out to meet up and brought us into their home. We told them all about our trip and ate delicious muskoxen until our bellies were full. Pat shared a couple amazing stories about how he had avoided death. Jean joked that he has nine lives. It was nice to share my stories with Pat—a friend I hadn’t seen in a long time. I wish I had longer with him, but Pat would leave for a hunt late the next morning; Ted and I later that afternoon. I think Pat was proud of us for making the trip. We had traveled a very long distance and completed an epic journey through a land that has claimed the lives of many travelers. Very few people can say they’ve accomplished what we did, and I wonder if anyone has ever done the full route in one shot like Ted and I did.

When took off from the ice runway in Ulukhaktok to begin our string of flights back home, I thought about the deep satisfaction I felt when we first saw Ulukhaktok. We’re going to make it, I thought. And we did. We made it. —Jim Baird

Jim Baird's Arctic Adventure Diary: Ulukhaktok or Bust!

Online Editors — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 16:40:43 -0400

The adventure has begun! Well, kind of…

My brother Ted and I are stuck in Deline.

First, we were waiting on the auger to arrive. When that got here, we thought we’d be ready to hit Great Bear Lake, but then we had a slight glitch with one of our snow machines during the first leg of the trip. Now we’re just waiting for the mechanic to make the repair and then, fingers crossed, we’ll be on our way.

This delayed start gives me a chance to show you the route Ted and I will be taking. We’ll travel across a few different landscapes: spruce forests, massive Great Bear Lake, mountainous northern shield country, treeless barren lands, and the frozen Beaufort Sea ice finishing the trip in the stark but beautiful landscape of the Arctic Islands.

Here’s a breakdown of our trip, stop by stop:

Tulita: The expedition started in Tulita, a small community on the Mackenzie River in the Northwest Territories. Ted and I landed Tulita earlier in the week, and we organized our gear for the first leg of the trip—a 65-mile winter road trek to Deline. The ride took a couple of hours and was tough at first. But then, toward the end of the leg as the sun was setting, we came over this hill and got our first glimpse of Great Bear Lake. It was one of the most beautiful sights of my life. We rode the ice rode in the rest of the way to Deline.

Deline: It’s actually a blessing that our snow machine trouble happened when it did, because we’re still in “civilization” where we can easily get mechanical help. That won’t be the case after we leave Deline and head out on to Great Bear Lake, heading east toward the McTavish arm and Hornby Bay. On this 190-mile stretch we’ll take our time, stopping to fish for trophy lake trout in Great Bear, the ninth largest lake in the world. The average March temperature for the area is 2 degrees below zero—and temperatures below 40 degrees are common.

Hornby Bay & Dismal Lakes: Just the name of this place is unsettling to me—especially because it’s at the head of the most difficult part of our journey. The Bay was named after John Hornby who starved to death while wintering in his remote NWT cabin. We will navigate this stretch by following creek beads and riding over large hills to make our way through the mountainous terrain. Trees will be sparse and by the time we reach Dismal Lakes they will be well behind us. At Dismal, and other lakes on this route, we will ice fish for Arctic char that spend the winter in the headwaters of tributaries of the mighty Coppermine River just east of us. We’ll cover 93 miles on this part of the journey.

Kugluktuk: We’ll refuel here for our final 200-mile push to Ulukhaktok. Fifty miles of this trek will be overland before we head out on to the Dolphin and Union Straight of the Beaufort Sea. There won’t be a tree in sight, and we’ll be camping right in the middle of the ice—so if a blizzard hits, we’ll be very exposed. We’ll also be right in the hunting grounds of polar bears.

Ulukhaktok: At the end of our trip, we’ll reunite with our friend Pat Ekpakohak. Ted and I first met Pat about four years ago when we were exploring the Kuujja River. He invited us to his home, and before we left I bought a musk-ox hide from him that I brought on this trip. Pat is an expert in the ways of Arctic travel and survival, and we will spend a couple days with him. Hopefully he’ll show us how to build an igloo or take us out on his trap line. By the time we reach Ulukhaktok, Ted and I will have travelled 548 miles.
That’s if we were to travel our chosen path exactly.

Close Calls: Hunter Attacked By Bear

Online Editors — Sun, 23 Jan 2011 17:09:20 -0500

A group of my friends wanted to get their first bear, so I brought my Plott and Walker hounds to help. When they opened up and started running, I knew they sniffed something big.

We caught up with them 30 minutes later under a pin oak, where they were barking up three bears. My knees give me trouble, and I needed a rest. I knew that you shouldn't ever get under a treed bear, so I walked to an old deer trail that I thought was a safe distance from the action. Meanwhile, my friend shot and hit one of the bears. After another shot, the bear suddenly jumped from the tree, cleared my friends, and bounded straight for me.

I tried to pull myself up from where I sat, but it was only a moment before he was 6 feet away and rearing up on his hind legs. I threw up my hands to protect my face, and the bear latched onto my arms with his teeth and claws. Then I heard a bang. My friend Charlie had shot the bear in the head.

What happened next is a blur. I remember blood running to the floor of my friend's truck as he doubled the speed limit to the nearest Forest Service station. Next thing I knew I was in a helicopter, with tubes coming out of my arms. Then I fell into blackness.

Photo by Bill Husa/Courtesy of Chico Enterprise-Record

I awoke two days later in the Sutter Roseville Medical Center. The doctor told me that if I had arrived one hour later, I would have died. I had lost 4 pints of blood. The bear, which weighed

almost 300 pounds, had broken my left arm in four places. Even after therapy, my left thumb is partially paralyzed and a shooting pain comes and goes. It's a reminder of how powerful these animals are. I was done for the season, but I'm not done forever. I'm just going to watch where I sit.

Close Call: Stranded, Fisherman Battled Hypothermia, Ate Fish

Online Editors — Sat, 15 Jan 2011 22:49:06 -0500

I had always wanted to check out some of the remaining streams in northern Colorado that still have native cutthroats. So I drove up on a Friday, about 50 miles north of Steamboat, and camped for the night.

The next morning I fished in a remote side canyon of the middle fork of the Little Snake River. As I waded, I noticed that a lot of the rocks had recently fallen off the walls and the footing was unstable in places. Around 1 p.m., I was fishing a pool that was about 3 or 4 feet deep when—just as I was going to unhook a rainbow—I slipped. I just flat out took a dive, slamming my knee on one of the submerged rocks. Right away, I knew that my leg was broken.

My car was less than a half mile away, but it was on top of the canyon, and I couldn't bear any weight on my leg.

So there I sat…in the middle of the stream, on these medium-size rocks. I considered making it over to the bank, about 20 feet away, but it was really nothing more than a muddy shelf, a kind of false refuge. I didn't want to risk falling and getting soaked and maybe not getting up. My strategy was to stay put, where I was visible. I always leave my itinerary with my neighbor. Someone will come looking for me, I thought. A couple of times an hour I would bellow without effect.

The days were warm. But this was August in Colorado; when the wind blows down that canyon at night, you're shivering the whole time. Each night I would just hunker down. I was wearing hip boots and a windbreaker, and I had two emergency blankets. The rocks kept most of my body out of the water.

I was able to catch fish, which I filleted. Colorado sushi.

The sound of the water helped me meditate. I let myself go into a state of contemplating and not worrying. I prayed.

By the end of the fifth night I was delirious. I was facedown when the search-and-rescue team found me. My body temperature was 86.

I was in the hospital for 33 days, 15 of those in the ICU. The early part was very much in the realm of dream. I was treated for hypothermia and pneumonia. My tibia was broken in three places, and they placed five screws and a titanium rod in my leg.

I'm grateful for a second chance. The key if you get in trouble is to assess your situation as unemotionally as you can, and once you've made a decision, stick with it.
—AS TOLD TO TOM TIBERIO

Close Calls: Bitten By A Brown Recluse

Online Editors — Sun, 19 Dec 2010 19:52:25 -0500

It was the second-to-last day of West Virginia's muzzleloading season, and I spotted a buck grazing in an open field 120 yards away. Hidden in the brush, I shot prone and dropped the buck clean. I think I can remember a sting. But I was so focused on the deer that I'm not sure.
After I field dressed the buck, I noticed my calf throbbing. Did I nick it with my knife? When I pulled my pant leg up, I saw a bite like I'd never seen—a red spot 3 inches wide with a black hole in the middle. It looked like a sting where you'd pull a stinger out, but I couldn't see anything but dark, pooling blood.
As if I didn't have enough to worry about, my wife called and said a snowstorm was on its way. She was worried I wouldn't be able to make it the two and a half hours to Charleston. I could have driven to a closer hospital, but I wanted to get home no matter what.

I was miserable on that ride. The snowstorm turned the highway to one lane. I drank water to stay cool and keep my composure, but I could feel a deep ache in my leg. When I got to the emergency room, the swelling was above my knee. The doctor said that even though we were outside of its normal range, this had to be the work of a brown recluse spider.
The surgeon found where most of the poison was concentrated and cut out the decaying tissue. Two days later, he operated a second time to cut out a section of my leg 10 inches long, half an inch wide, and half an inch deep. I spent 16 days in the hospital, including Christmas.
The whole ordeal really took a lot out of me, but it could have been worse. My circulation was strong because I run every day—the doctor said that if I'd been out of shape, I would have lost my leg. It was my heart that saved me.

Alabama Man Fends Off Panther Attack With Knife

Dave_Maccar — Wed, 08 Dec 2010 08:41:44 -0500

--Dave Maccar

An Alabama man was walking his dog near his home and was attacked by a panther. He got some claws to the leg, but he and his dog walked away after some under-pressure knifework.

Check out the story and video below from WHNT.com: We are working on getting more details on this story as soon as we can.

A Marshall County man is recovering after being attacked by a panther. Frank Harmes says the attack happened Wednesday behind his home.

Harmes lives off of Royster Drive near Morgan City. He says he was walking down in Greenbriar Cove with his dog when he heard something behind him. He says he looked back and saw a black panther.

Harmes says he made a motion to try and scare off the panther but instead, it attacked. Harmes say he clawed him cutting through his pants and scratching his leg.

He then took out a knife and stabbed the panther twice and it walked away.

People in the area have reported seeing panthers in the area for many years now. They say they tend to stay around the bluff areas leading down into the cove, but do come out looking for food.

Harmes is about to begin a series of rabies shots because of the attack.

Close Call: Stalked By A Mountain Lion

Online Editors — Sun, 22 Aug 2010 23:10:03 -0400

IT WAS opening day, and around 4:30 p.m. my dad and I saw a cow crossing a field. We decided to split up, and after sitting for about half an hour, I heard a tree branch crack. I thought the elk was coming. Five minutes later, I turned around and this mountain lion was standing there, about 25 yards from me.

We stared at each other for what felt like a long time but I'm sure was just 20 seconds. What really struck me were its piercing, yellow-green eyes. At first I tried to make myself big by kind of throwing my arms in the air. But the lion just put its head down, hunched its shoulders, and started walking toward me. It kept its eyes on me the whole time, and I thought, I've got to shoot this. Once it came within 15 yards, I felt my face get hot. I knew I'd better hit it the first time or else I'd be a goner.

I picked up my gun, put it right behind its shoulder, and fired. It jumped up and started clawing at itself. I shot again and it dropped to the ground. After a third shot, it was still moving, so I shot it one more time in the shoulder. Then I ran to the road and fired a warning shot to my dad—I was worried he might run into some cubs or another mountain lion. After that, I just sat down.

I couldn't yell or cry at first, I was so shocked. I'd never seen a mountain lion before. My dad arrived thinking I'd shot the elk, but he saw how white my face was and knew right away that something was off. We left the lion where it was and called the game warden.

The next day we went back with the warden, and he asked me to walk him through it and examined the cougar. Even though lion season was closed, my kill was ruled justifiable. He said it is really rare that mountain lions show themselves unless they're hungry, and told me I did a good job.

I'm lucky I didn't panic. It's still scary going out in the woods by myself. But it's a cool story to pass on.

Man Loses Finger While "Fishing" for Eel

Online Editors — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 11:13:03 -0400

Fly fishing it is not, but an entertaining piece of video for a friday picked up from Moldy Chum. I'll warn you, it's a bit graphic and pretty disturbing. Kinda like the Darwin Awards for fishing. Enjoy. -- TR

Cavers Rescue Trapped Coonhound in Illinois

Online Editors — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 10:51:09 -0400

An Illinois coonhound gets rescued after being trapped in a cave for three days.

From this amazing story in the Chicago Tribune:
Dogs are renowned for loyalty to their owners, but sometimes it works the other way, too. Just ask Jared Gamboe, who stood vigil outside of a cave that he believed his dog was trapped inside for three days.

An avid raccoon hunter, Gamboe went out to the wooded area near Indian Lake Road in Delhi last Sunday night to hunt with two of his buddies and four dogs altogether. When the hunters unleashed their dogs, two ran off in one direction and two ran off in another. Gamboe's 2-year-old Treeing Walker coonhound, Threat, was one of the dogs that boldly ran off in pursuit of raccoons. "Within 15 minutes, I knew something was wrong, because I lost the signal from Threat's GPS collar, and Paul (Young) lost contact with his dog, Cassie, at the same time," Gamboe said.

Resolved to find Threat or at least to find out what happened to him, Gamboe returned to the area just a few hours later. Gamboe calculated that Threat could have gone only approximately 200 yards before the signal dropped, so he focused his rescue efforts within this radius. While combing the area, he noticed dog tracks, so he followed them up a ditch to where he discovered a small cave. The cave was hidden from view by a rock overhang, leading into a narrow tunnel. "I thought he was probably gone, but I wasn't ready to give up on him," he said. "I had read on a website about a dog who lasted 14 days in a cave, so I was going to keep going back for two weeks." Against all odds, Gamboe finally heard a muted yelp from inside the cave on Wednesday morning. Gamboe immediately called his wife, screaming over the telephone the good news that Threat still was alive.

Calling his friends for help, Gamboe once again tried to go down into the cave to rescue his beloved dog, but he couldn't reach him. Although both the Jersey County fire and police departments came to the scene, neither was able to help, because they only can participate in the rescue of humans from cave entrapment...Jim Sherrel, president of the MMV Cave Club, called to offer help. He sent out e-mails and called fellow cavers, who responded to her anguished plea immediately. Because she was the smallest caver, Kristin Nicolussi was the only volunteer who could reach Threat, crawling some of the way on her hands and knees, but mostly inching forward on her belly in the confined space, some 2 feet wide.

"When I got down there, I could see the white part of his belly moving," Nicolussi said. "His head was lodged between the top of the cave and a rock, and he was lying on his belly with his front paws caught and his back legs splayed out. He couldn't move until I freed his head." Nicolussi said that Threat whined a bit while she was freeing him, and that once he realized he could move, he pushed past her to get out. To everyone's surprise, Threat walked out on his own power, picking up his pace and wagging his tail the moment he spotted Jared Gamboe.

F&S Classic: David E. Petzal's "The Wire"

Online Editors — Thu, 05 Aug 2010 10:04:27 -0400

We found the carcasses at 11 in the morning. The Zimbabwean sun had mummified them in the positions of agony in which they died. There were six, a young sable cow and five impala, spaced in a line 200 yards long. Their killer was the principal author of death and suffering among Africa’s wildlife, the poacher’s snare. They had been grabbed by the neck or the leg or the body and had perished from thirst and hunger and exhaustion. Whoever set the snares had never come back to collect the bodies while they were still usable as meat.

Clive Perkins, my PH, watched as our trackers collected the wire and said in a voice as filled with bitterness as any voice I have ever heard: “Welcome to Africa, David Petzal.”

We were, however, to see worse.

Two days later I killed a dry Cape buffalo cow whose hoof had been ensnared at the hock. She had managed to break free, but the wire had dug so deeply that we could not dig it out with a knife, and the whole lower leg was grotesquely swollen. We heaved her into the truck and drove her back to camp, and on the way we saw another buffalo cow that had stepped in the wrong place. This one, however, had amputated her left foreleg halfway up.

Africa deals with the halt and the maimed in the form of lions and hyenas, which do not always bother with the formality of killing what they dine on, and though it would have been merciful to shoot the second cow then and there, we couldn’t. She was only 75 yards away, but she was on another hunting concession, and woe betide the professional hunter who lets his clients trespass for whatever reason. The only thing we could do, said PH Wayne Van Den Bergh, was go back to camp, call the manager of the neighboring concession, and get permission. Then it would be a simple job to backtrack and shoot her.

“Of course,” said the manager, so back we went, and she wasn’t there. We didn’t think she would move far because animals, particularly crippled ones, do not like to travel in the heat of an African high noon. We began to track her.

There were six of us: Clive Perkins; Wayne Van Den Bergh; PH Theo Bronkhorst, who ran our concession; Willard Ncube, who tracked for Wayne; Elias (he pronounced it EEL-ias) Mathe, who tracked for Clive; and me. When you trail game, the trackers normally go ahead of the people carrying rifles, but when you follow a wounded Cape buffalo, the people with rifles stay up front. I was carrying a Jarrett Professional Hunter in .416 caliber, topped with a Swarovski PV 1.5–6x42 scope—plenty enough gun, assuming I had the time to react. The trackers look for sign, and you keep your eyes forward, watching for a gray shape that will come hurtling at you with jackrabbit speed.

Her track led us out of the mopane woods where we began and into the open. She had gotten into a dry riverbed that was overgrown with waist-high grass. Elias shouted, and we got a glimpse of her head. She was cantering on three legs, moving much faster than we could, and there was no time to even snap a shot at her before she vanished into the grass.

We followed, and the grass changed to taller reeds, which soon were head-high. We were now trailing blind, and it was apparent that if we were tracking her, she was leading us. The reeds were so dense that if you thrust your arm into them you could not see your hand. Theo and Clive left the riverbed for the bank; if she came out of the reeds they would be able to see her and shoot her.

Within another few hundred yards the reeds were 12 feet high and we were reduced to crawling through tunnels left by buffalo that used this place as a refuge during the day. Sometimes our quarry left the tunnels and pushed her way through standing reeds, and we were forced to claw our way after her.

That she was going to charge eventually was a given, and there would be no warning, no time to aim. If we got a chance to shoot at all it would be point, pray, and pull the trigger. Wayne made his way back to me.

“Listen,” he whispered, “if you have to shoot her off one of us, for Christ’s sake shoot upward so you don’t hit us.”

Our own rifles were as much danger to us as they were to the buffalo. A trigger can snag, or a muzzle can cross a human back, and that is as good as a horn through the chest. A PH with whom I hunted years ago, as careful an individual as you would want, shot a colleague while trying to stop a leopard charge. The man he shot lived but will never really recover.

Theo and Clive yelled at us to come up on the bank. We lurched out of the reeds and into the shade. A water bottle was passed around and I took a couple of swallows, but it made no difference. It was like pouring water on a hot stove top.

There seemed to be nothing else to do, so the four of us prepared to wade back in.

“If she gets her head into you, grab her horns and twist,” Theo said. “She can’t stay on her feet with that missing leg.”

I waited for him to smile and show he was kidding, but he was not.

Back we went. By now we had crowded her into the end of the reedbed. She had perhaps 2 acres in which to maneuver, but all she had to do was keep a few steps ahead of us and pick her time to charge.

She did. There was no warning at all. There was simply a crash of reeds and a massive gray shape blotted out the sun. Wayne fired at it from a crouch; I shot across my chest while falling backward. Then the shape vanished. I could almost have touched it with my rifle barrel. There was a patch of blood on the ground and Elias was smiling.

“Did we kill her?” I asked.

“No,” he said, and I realized he was smiling because she had not killed him. I think the combination of nearly impassable reeds and the missing leg saved us. She could not keep her footing in that tangle, fell, scrambled up with possibly one or two bullets in her, and fled. If she had charged with four legs, she would have killed one of us.

We kept going, and after only a few yards Willard froze.

“Shoot,” he said, pointing into the reeds.

I couldn’t see beyond my rifle barrel, but I fired.

“Shoot again,” he said, now pointing in a different direction, and I did.

“Reload,” said Willard, but I was doing that.

We stumbled onward, and Wayne suddenly lurched back in agony. A reed stalk had speared him in his eye, and he was now down to one usable eye and one round of ammunition. Wayne, Willard, and Elias had a short talk in Ndebele, the sum of which was: “We’re not going to get lucky twice. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

So we left the reeds, and Theo summed up our efforts perfectly: “Man, that was stupid.”
There was only one thing left to try. Willard and Elias climbed an acacia tree while Theo and I stood on the roof of the truck. We would try to look down into the reeds and shoot from above. Clive blocked off the end of the reedbed, and Wayne, who has a wife and two children, borrowed ammunition from Clive and headed back into the riverbed.

We could see the reeds waving as the buffalo maneuvered, and Clive got a glimpse of her. He shot and was sure he had connected, but it was a standoff. She would not leave the reeds in daylight, and we could not go in after her. Theo called an end to it.

A few days later I asked Theo if he would ever know what happened to her, and he said no, something would drag her down and she would vanish. In fact, she was almost certainly dead as we spoke.

So be it. We failed. I would like to think that we got a few bullets into her and at least shortened her suffering if we could not end it outright.

There is one thing more. I would like to think that somewhere in one of the nastier neighborhoods in hell there is a wire loop waiting for the foot of the poacher who snared her.

Beaver Attacks Fisherman in Georgia

Online Editors — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 10:25:50 -0400

First a Canadian beaver is shot after killing a large dog. Now a Georgia man is recovering from wounds he received after a beaver attacked him on a local river.

From this story in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution:
There are some hazards that go along with fishing -- getting stuck by a hook, finned by a fish, sunburn. Getting attacked by an angry beaver is generally not considered a high risk. That's what happened, though, to an Atlanta man, who is recovering from wounds suffered when he was attacked by a beaver last week while fishing near Lake Lanier. Russ McTindal was fishing on the Chattahoochee River just below Buford Dam on Thursday when he was bitten on his leg and arm by the large beaver.

"It was attacking me," McTindal told Channel 2 Action News. "He was actually attacking me. I hadn't provoked him or anything." "I've never tried to fight off a 35-, 40-pound beaver," he said. "This was one of the biggest beavers I've ever seen." After the attack, McTindal said he was losing "a lot" of blood and used a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. McTindal is receiving rabies shots. "I know there are two things you don't mess with in the woods," he told Channel 2. "You don't mess with raccoons because they [are] mean. And you don't mess with beavers."