"Here Spot, Here Spot" and other thoughts about Fishing the Coast of NC

Residents and visitors in North Carolina are quite fortunate to be in such a great State. No one knows this better than the NC Sportsman. From the Blue Ridge Mountains to the Atlantic Coast, there are opportunities to be in the great outdoors and if you are so inclined, to fill your freezer with wild game and fish. One of the most productive times of the year is when the cooler weather comes around and fall arrives. When the kids go back to school and the leaves start to change deer season comes much to my delight, but there is another reason for sportsmen to rejoice in NC, the annual migration of saltwater fish on the coast is well underway.

A little nighttime surf fishing with my son Logan

I love to fish, both fresh and salt water. I love fishing most any time of the year except when it is freezing cold outside. Summer fishing is fun and can be productive, but let's just tell the truth about it, surf fishing in the summer is pretty much an excuse to go to the beach. (as if you really needed an excuse.) Most folks who grew up in the coastal plains of NC will tell you that Fall is the main time of year for coastal fishing.  For the most part, Fall is very comfortable weather in our little part of the world. I have referred to it as Goldilocks weather "Not too hot, not too cold, but just right." There are some exceptions of course,  the coast of NC is prime fishing waters for off shore bill fish and other trophies sport fisherman dream about during the summer. One way I look at things is there are several different types of salt water fishing and all of them are fun and volumes can be written about each. I don't really have a lot of experience with off shore fishing so I really can't write much about that. I have friends that love it and go several times a year. I even have a life long friend that makes his living as a Captain of an award winning charter sport fishing boat. (My shout out to the Carolina Time). You can fish the rivers, sounds and the Intracoastal Waterway from a smaller boat and do very well also, but due to time and space, we will just limit this conversation to two of the best ways to start the journey of salt water fishing, "surf fishing" and "pier fishing."

Pier fishing and surf fishing were  my first experiences with salt water angling that I remember. As a kid my family would take yearly trips to the beach and the whole family would rent a house for the week. I don't mean a small group of folks, I mean the whole clan. All of the Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, and "the whole Hee Haw gang" would load up in one house for the week. The women would sun bathe, shop and do other "woman stuff."  The men and some of the women including my Grandmother (Na Na Bessie)  would fish and not worry about anything but catching the tide right and what was biting. We would fish either in the surf or on the pier, what was biting would dictate where and how we would fish. I remember all of them catching fish, but it seems to stick out in my mind that my Uncle Robert was the standout of the crowd. The fish caught that week would help supply the family fish fry that always came some time after. My family's favorite fish to target were flounder and spots. The family is way to large to all fit into one house and one trip these days. I know that each individual family group still spends a good amount of time down where the map turns blue. My wife and son and I still go down every year with my Mom and Dad and my Sister and spend the week. Its good family bonding time and an excuse for us to "wet a hook or two."

Fishing with Dad

Let's talk about the lowly "Spot" for a moment. For those of you that don't know, the spot is a small fish that is basically in the drum family that has one "spot" on each side just behind the gills that we Southerners go crazy for. They are not particularly hard to catch. They really don't put up a fight. There is no real special fishing technique to speak of. So why do we go nuts over spot fishing every fall? Simple, the spot is one of the best tasting pan fish that God ever put fins on and they can be caught in good numbers. No big secret, not hard to figure out, they just taste that darn good. This is a NC fish fry staple. The spot gets most of the attention on the pier but the often overlooked whiting (Virginia Mullet) is, in my opinion,  as good of a pan fish as the spot. I will put either against the much overrated flounder any day. I have started heated arguments with that statement, but I will stand by it. How do you catch a spot? Easy, use a double drop rig that consist of two small hooks, and a lead weight. Use blood worms or common earth worms for bait. Fish off the North (left) side of the pier beyond the breakers. Spots migrate from the Chesapeake Bay area to warm Southern waters in the fall.  This funny little fish will not swim under a pier so it is useless to fish for spots on the South side of a pier. They tend to "run" in large schools and, timing is everything. I have been blessed enough to do many kinds of hunting and fishing in my life, but there is something special about being on the pier during a heavy spot run. It usually starts near the breakers and poles start coming up as folks are "setting the hooks" down the line. Almost without fail some redneck (usually me) starts yelling "Here SPOT, Here SPOT!!" like he is calling his lost dog. For the next few minutes folks will be hauling them up one or two at a time. The longest spot run I can remember lasted about 30-45 minutes. Near the beginning or end of the migration it can be hit or miss at best.

And some people still ask, "Why do that call it a Spot?" 

Pier fishing can be a great way to catch many other species of fish. King Mackerel, Blues, Red Drum, Black Drum, Pompano, Flounder, and Sheepshead just to name a few. You will see as many different types of fisherman as there are different types of fish. Each fisherman with his or her on specialized gear and ideas of the best techniques. The fishing pier in the fall is loaded with a cross-section of the population of the South. There are no races, sexes or classes of people on the pier, just fisherman. Pier fishing can be enjoyed with very little money tied up in gear, or you can chose to outfit yourself with the most expensive rods and reels out there. As always though there is a down side. There is always one in every crowd that has his butt on his shoulders and cusses and whines every time some one crosses his line or crowds in beside him. When the spots are running, it gets crowded. That's just part of the game and if you get upset by being crowded and are going to make everyone miserable around you.... stay home or better yet take up an indoor sport like solitaire. I remember one fellow showing his rear end one night and made a threat to cut anyone's line that touched his. One lady who looked to be in her mid to late 70's from Robeson County NC told him, "Mr, I paid my money to be out here, just like you. And you can do whatever you want, but if you pull that knife out of your pocket to cut anything but bait, we are going to be one less on this pier tonight." She never even got up off of her bucket she was sitting on and never flinched. Let's just say she took the wind out of his sails and he kept his mouth shut the rest of the night. For the most part, people on the pier are courteous to each other and help each other out.

Kure Beach Pier 

My favorite way of fishing from the shore is what is known as "surf fishing." This type of fishing is, as the name suggest, done in the surf from the beach. Typically we fish for flounder, black drum, red drum, blues and pretty much whatever we can get to bite a hook. You can catch spots from the surf, it is very rare, but not impossible.  Like pier fishing, it doesn't  have to cost a ton of money to outfit yourself, but you can spend as much as you want. It can get expensive if you want really nice gear. I will say that you get what you pay for and if you are really into fishing and want your gear to last, you will need to pay a little more for good gear. Some of the beaches we go to allow you to drive a four wheel drive on the beach. If you can't drive on the beach, a good beach cart is a good investment. There are many different ways to fish from the surf for many different species of fish so it may be wise to start out with someone more experienced and learn from watching, listening,  trial and error. During nice weather, a surf fishing trip can make a great family trip even if you are the only one fishing.

One thing I love about this type of fishing is you are not crowded most of the time. There is a bit of an unspoken code that we don't crowd each other. Here are some other rules (written or unwritten). Never set up and intentionally fish near swimmers. Follow your local game and fish laws. This last one should go without saying but some folks think the rules don't apply to them. If you are in a place that allows you to drive on the beach, educate yourself to how you should equip your vehicle, the local rules and regs, and the type of terrain you will encounter. Driving on the sand is different, not hard, just different. You can have $100,000 4WD truck with 44 inch tires and still get stuck if you are an idiot. Remember that almost everything in the ocean can and will hurt you. Equip yourself to handle fish with teeth, sting rays, jelly fish or other critters you may drag up out of the water. A good pair of gloves, tongs/grippers and pliers are a must for any salt water tackle box.

Dad and I at Holden Beach

Fishing like many outdoor activities that I enjoy helps me to unwind. Ancient people who lived near the ocean knew that the sea helps heal many things. I think they were right, but I also believe ocean and the heavy salt air seems to help clean out the soul. I really enjoy spending the day out on the coast alone, with family or good friends even when the fish don't bite. Come ready for the day with plenty of bait, food, water and sun screen. I tell folks all the time that I love to hunt and fish but I'm not great at any of it.  I have been lucky a few times and caught a few fish. I have been on trips where I didn't even see a fish all weekend, but I have always brought something home.  Every time I go fishing down on the coast of North Carolina, I have brought back memories of time well spent.

"Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after."~Henry David Thoreau

Fishing at Ft Fishing NC

Fishing the Salt Marsh side of the island at Ft Fisher 

A White Oak Bear Hunt'n Story

One particular memory I have about growing up hunting as a boy with the Community Hunting Club   is on rare occasion we would get to go bear hunting. The black bear is the only native bear to North Carolina. Their numbers vary according to what part of the state you live in. In the 1980's and 90's there was no shortage of them in Bladen County. To date the black bear is still thriving in that part of the state as it is in most parts of eastern and western NC.

The environment  of the typical "Carolina Bay" is the perfect habitat for these furry critters, which is why there seems to be so many in that area. A quick search will clue you into the type of terrain a "Bay" includes. ( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carolina_bay ), The land we hunted was covered with bays. Black bears are omnivores but stick mostly to plants, grubs, bugs, honey, small mammals and occasionally carrion. Unlike bears in colder climates, black bears in North Carolina do not hibernate.  Is bear meat good to eat you might ask? Absolutely, it is red meat that is a bit greasy like pork, but stringy like beef. That is the best way I know to describe it. If butchered and prepared right, it can be very good. One of the best meals I have ever cooked on the grill was a back strap, wrapped in bacon, from a bear I harvested not far from where this story takes place.

 I have occasionally been asked about the general disposition of local bears and my answer comes from somewhat frequent observation as well as what has been handed down to me by experienced local hunters and farmers. The black bear found in the part of the world I grew up generally shied away from humans. They tend to stick to thick cover where there is abundant food, water and places to hide. We would see bear sign quite frequently while deer hunting. The bears we came into contact with would usually move along and leave the area once they were aware of your presence. The one thing that I was always cautioned about by the older/wiser hunters was to never get caught in the situation where you were near or between a female (sow) bear and her cubs. This was a sure way to get attacked by a 500 lb+ very ticked off Mama.The results of this encounter would not likely end in my favor. This type of warning got my attention. I was also told that dominant male (boar) bears would be somewhat aggressive during the bear's mating season (hunting season as it turns out.) I never have been scared of bears, but let's just say I have a healthy amount of respect for them.

 One evening as a teenager I watched a very large sow and two cubs play and feed about 30 yards away from the safety of my tree stand. I was careful to stay still and be quiet as I had no plan on making this ol' gal mad, because everyone knows black bears can climb trees with ease and quickly. I was deer hunting and the "three bears" (no pun intended) decided that the corn my Dad and I had put out for deer would make a fine meal. I sat and watched them until about sunset. I didn't want to be in the woods with Mama Bear in the dark where she could most likely see me and I couldn't see her, so I finally had to let them know I was there by speaking to them. I gathered my courage and said, "are you and your cubs going to let me get down from here sometime tonight?" The sow quickly got between me and her cubs allowing them time to run off into the thick and then slowly followed them. As she walked away she kept looking back at me. After a few minutes it was almost completely dark and after hearing no movement,  then and only then did I come down out of the tree stand. My Dad was waiting at the truck for me and asked what took me so long to come out. I told him the story, he laughed and said he didn't blame me and he would have done the same thing.

We didn't hunt bears that often for a few reasons. First of all bear season is relatively short. It was illegal to hunt bears over bait and a portion of our land lease was part of the Sugg's Mill Pond Bear Sanctuary. One other thing we had to consider is if we found sign of a bear that we wanted to pursue,  it had to be a single set of tracks as it is illegal and unethical to pursue a sow bear with cubs.  If we found a large bear track that indicated the bear was traveling alone and not near the sanctuary, we would mark it and make a decision if we were going to call in the bear hunters, or if we would disregard it and continue to hunt deer.
Once the decision was made to call the bear hunters those of us that wanted to hunt bear would gather in a meeting place and wait for what happened next. There was a local bear hunting club in near by Sampson County that we had close ties with. When we had a potential hunt, we would call them, and they would bring bear dogs, folks to handle the hounds and a few of their folks to help line up the hunt. The first hunter would arrive and be shown the track and he would make the decision if they would pursue the critter. He would call the "old man" on the CB radio and get his approval and the rest of the crew would come to our location.

 As a young boy I was both curious and amazed when the bear hunters would arrive. They would be driving big 4 wheel drive pickups with double-decker dog boxes on the back packed to the brim with hounds and the cab of the truck would be loaded down with people and gear. They would have enough gear to handle most situations they may encounter. I learned that while bear hunting you may have to travel pretty far away from home and may even be out over night. They would have things like food, extra warm, dry clothing and spare guns and ammunition.  To the untrained eye the dogs didn't look much different than our deer and coon hounds, but they were different. Some of the dogs were plot hounds (the official NC State dog) or airedales bred for bear hunting. Some were a mix of hound and pit bull and some were just walker hounds. Most of the bear hunters carried large caliber, relatively short range rifles. The lever action 30-30 with open sights seemed to be a favorite among them from what I remember. This was also the first time I had ever seen radio tracking collars used on hounds. These folks seemed to be prepared for anything.

The bear hunter that I remember the most was an older gentleman named Irvin Peterson. He was pretty much the ring leader of the bear hunters. Everyone just called him Irvin. I have no idea how old Mr. Peterson was back in the 1980's but to a wide eyed young boy he looked older than the Cape Fear River and as weathered as an old cypress tree down in the swamp. It wasn't so much his years lived that made him look that way to me, but the hard work he had done. I think he made his living as a farmer.  He was not a large man at all, but I remember seeing him and thinking to myself, "That's one tough old man." I liked Mr. Peterson a right good bit, and looked forward to the days when Mr. Peterson would come around because he loved telling bear hunting stories about his best hounds he had owned over the years. My favorite stories he would tell were about close calls with the biggest and meanest bears in North Carolina. Mr Peterson was smart and quick witted and could tell a story in such a way that you could see the story take place in your mind and hear the dogs he spoke of.  He told of a hound/pit bull mixed dog that he loved. He simply called him "Bulldog." This hound he would only turn out on a sure thing. The dog was such an aggressive hunter Mr. Peterson would say, "De only way to get dat Bulldog to stop, was to kill de bear. You don't kill dat bear, he'd never stop!" Mr. Peterson carried an old Winchester lever action rifle that looked like it had seen action in the civil war or helped to tame the old west. The bluing had long since worn off and the receiver and barrel were just grey steel. The wooden stock and forearm were warn down  and faded with many years of use. There was no rust on the rifle mind you, it was in perfect working condition. I guess that rifle was a lot like it's owner. "Awww heck boy, dat rifle just get'n broke in good," he told me when I asked about it.

Recent Bear Tracks (coming and going)  in White Oak NC 

One particular cold December Saturday morning our group was scouting the area for tracks hoping to find where a Big Buck had walked that morning and one of the guys found a bear track going into a bay that was known for being easy to surround. There was a road completely around the bay and we could not find anywhere the bear had left the area. The call was made and when the bear hunters arrived like a band of hunting gypsies. We all surrounded the area making sure everyone knew where the next hunter was and safe shooting areas were established. One dog was put on the bear track. I learned that this is called the "strike dog."  This dog would trail the bear and when he barked the handler would turn out a few more dogs. These dogs would help the strike dog sort out the trail and most likely get the bear moving. As is the case with deer hounds or coon hounds, when the dog reached the place where the bear had been laying or would get close enough to the bear to have a good scent, they where said to have "jumped."

What happened next was an amazing sound to my ears. When the dogs "jumped" the gates to those double dog boxes were opened and as many as 20 or so hounds were turned out to help the other dogs run the bear. If deer or coon hounds in the swamps could be referred to as music, a bear chase would be considered to be nothing short of a high volume, fast paced Rock concert cranked up to 10. I have never heard anything like it before or since and it echos through my memories. If the pack of hounds was anywhere near your location, you couldn't really tell the direction of travel because of the shear volume.  I assure you of one thing, whatever was in that head of woods, was coming out.

When a bear is persuaded by that many high volume, high speed hounds he is going to do one of three things. The bear is going to climb a tree, run very fast to relocate to another part of the country or turn around and fight the dogs. Run, Tree, Bay'ed up... respectively, or to put in the words of Mr. Peterson, "Him gonna climb or him gonna fight!"  If treed or bay'ed a select group to include the dog handler would make their way through the thick brush to the bear to make the kill. On this particular hunt the lone boar decided to try to relocate to another part of the Cape Fear River Basin. When he crossed the narrow white sandy road he was met by my Dad's brother Don. Uncle Don had no idea he would be bear hunting that day and the only rifle he had with him was his deer rifle, a Remington pump action .30-06 with a Redfield scope mounted to it. Uncle Don was a skilled hunter and pretty much a dead shot with a rifle, but he knew that finding a running bear in a scope crossing a narrow road would be a challenge to say the least. The bear being pursued would be moving at a pretty good clip. Even large bears can run up to 35 mph for a short distance!! You had to be ready. Uncle Don decided to use his shotgun. He carried a Remington 1100 auto-loader and as always his Smith and Wesson Model 29 44 magnum handgun. As the bear crossed, my uncle put five #1 Buck, 12 gauge loads into the running bear. The bear continued across the road but fell dead within 100 yards. I remember one of the hunters joking saying, "Heck Crawdad (Uncle Don's CB handle), you never even made a killin' shot, the bear died of exhaustion from carrying all of that buckshot around!"

That was a day to remember for me, because it was a pretty lucky day for our family. I was able to go on a bear hunt with my Dad and Uncle. I got to hear Mr. Peterson tell a story or two. Uncle Don was able to harvest a bear, and later that day, my dad killed the biggest buck of his life.... but that is another story.

We still think opening day should be a National Holiday.... and Other Memories from the Deer Woods

Growing up in rural Southeastern North Carolina fall meant a few things:

• You were going to get stuck raking leaves at some point so get ready
• School was back in session like it or not.
• High School football was in full swing 
• The days were getting shorter
• Christmas was just around the corner

But growing up the one thing I knew I looked forward to the most about fall was opening day of deer season! I know this may not seem like anything to many of you reading this, but to me and the folks I was hanging around this was a wondrous event. We often said that opening day should be a holiday.

 Back then, the first day of North Carolina's "Eastern Deer Season" was the second or third Monday of October. (according to how it fell on the calendar.) Monday of course was a "school day" so this took some working around. The group we hunted with would all take off of work on that Monday and hunt from daylight till dark. Every year I desperately wanted to say out of school and hunt on opening day. This would require a note from my parents excusing me, but there was one catch. It had to be a legit reason. Therein lied the problem.  My Dad was / is known to be a devout, church go'in, Bible carrying, foot wash'n,  God fearing, man of God and would never lie to the teachers and administration of the Bladen County School System. It had to do with one of the Ten Commandments, teaching his son to be an honest person and those pesky principles. All of the above stated characteristics are admirable traits to possess mind you, it just caused a major problem for the son of said man that wanted to play hooky from school to go deer hunting. My Dad, the honest man he was / is, had a great idea. He wrote a note to my school that simply stated this: "I kept Joe Mancos out of school on Oct. XX, 198X to help me." In those days I just thought it was great because I was able to stay out of school, but now that I look back at it, it was a simple stroke of genius. He never lied. My Dad had kept me out of school, and I helped him handle the dogs. If by accident a deer was to wonder within shotgun range and I shot it, well that was not his fault. A funny thing, there must have been quite a few dad's out there that needed help, because there always seemed to be a good many young folk out there playing hooky (helping out) also. 

If you haven't figured it out, we hunted with a "club." A hunting club is mostly just a group of folks that all chipped in money to lease a plot or plots of land for the purpose of hunting. In our case this was timber/paper company land in White Oak NC. We hunted deer two different ways. One way was from tree stands. A common way of hunting deer, one would scout an area to put a stand where deer are likely to be. Places like beading areas, near water or a food source were all good choices. This is not what we did on opening day. We hunted as a group in a different way. We ran deer with hounds. This practice is frowned upon if not illegal in many areas now, but it was a widespread practice in those days and is still a legal way to harvest deer in a good bit of eastern NC. I promise you it is quite a bit more sporting than you might think. One man would turn out a pack of hounds. These hounds would hunt around until one of them found the trail of a deer. This dog would bark and the rest of the pack would join in and "trail the deer." Deer are pretty dang smart and are not going to wait around and let a pack of smelly dogs catch up with them, so the deer gets up and walks/runs away from the distant noisy/smelly hounds. All of this leads up to the magical moment when the hounds come across where the deer had been laying. This is when the hounds are said to have "jumped" the deer and the noise that comes from the hounds "running" the deer is nothing short of music. A very popular southern rock band in the 70's call it "Swamp Music." Very similar to the sounds coon hounds make when running a coon, just louder, faster and unlike the coon, deer don't climb trees. The sound an average pack of hounds could make is amazing. It made the woods sound alive. When the hounds would make a turn and start in your direction it seemed like the woods would vibrate. Your heart rate would pick up and you would be aware of every little sound around you. I remember many times spending the morning cold, bored, and wishing I would just hear or see something, but ....the minute the hounds "jumped" and headed in your direction, you would be standing at ready with your shotgun in both hands in a "high ready" position. You would forget that it was cold, raining, or anything that was bothering you prior to that moment. An even louder, heart pounding hound experience is bear hunting with hounds, but we will leave this for another story. We ran dogs every Saturday and most Tuesday mornings the folks who didn't have to work or go to school made a morning run. Every other day was strictly tree stand hunting or "still hunting." 

Age 9 with my second deer

How is running dogs sporting, you might ask. Simple, deer are much faster than most hounds. In those days, you could only shoot deer with antlers, or "Bucks". The big bucks are smarter than MOST hounds. I might get some flack from my hound handling buddies about this one, but it is true. Big bucks don't get big by being stupid. The big old granddads would circle around and loose the hounds in a group of does. As stated above deer are fast and no matter how good you think you are, it's not easy to hit a deer running at the speed of sound through the swamp even with a shotgun. 

Most of the time the only shot you had was as the deer crossed a narrow hand cut dirt road. We seldom had enough people to cover all the area we were hunting so we had to put out "standers" just out of shotgun distance of each other in the most likely places the deer would cross. This is tricky at best. It seemed that the big boys knew where the standers were and would cross right in the middle and if they were fast they could safely cross the road. One thing you had to stay alert for was the oldest and wisest of bucks would "slip out" and get away from the dogs and cross out of where you were hunting at the first sound of a hound, thus giving you no warning and catching you off guard when you were not paying as much attention. You had to stay ready. Like I said, it's not as easy as it may sound. To borrow and paraphrase a story from the famous southern comic Jerry Clower, "give everything a sporting chance." The deer was given a sporting chance. Sometimes we would use as many as 15 or more hounds, but at least the deer had the option of turning around and "whooping" all those dogs if he wanted to. It's strictly left up to the deer. 

Like most "hunting clubs" we had a meeting place. It was sort of a hunting camp, in that there was a place you could bunk the night before, but it was mostly a meeting place before the hunt to plan and a place to skin, clean and butcher the deer after the hunt. There was running water and a "skinning shed." This served as a back woods butcher shop. Everyone who hunted that day that wanted to take  meat home put their name in the hat. After all the deer harvested that day were butchered, all of the meet was put into equal piles. Each name was called and that person would be given a pile picked at random by the "blind man" (person not looking at the piles so it would be fair). The person that killed a deer had the choice of the back straps or a ham. The club I currently hunt with still uses a practice similar to this.

I remember so many things about this group of folks and could tell many stories, but what I remember and miss the most are the people. The things that come to my mind when remembering hunting back then, has nothing to do with deer or hounds. There where families that hunted with that group. Some of the families had three generations hunting some Saturdays. I could name quite a few of the folks that used to hunt with that group, but I'm sure I would leave a good many out, so I will not try to name them all. I will try to remember  a few of the grandfather type figures that I respected a great deal and they helped teach me how to be a sportsman and a gentleman. My Dad told me at an early age that the biggest compliment one man could pay to another was to call him a true "Gentleman."  There was Mr. Shaw that always had a joke or story for me along with an apple in his pocket he always gave me. There was Mr. Penny, Mr. Hall, Mr. West, Mr Williams, Mr. Knox, Mr. Sholar (there were actually a few in that family) all "True Gentlemen".  I really looked forward to hunting every weekend, but I think one of the things I looked forward to the most, was being exposed to these people. These fine folks watched me grow up and in more ways than one, helped raise me during the course of each hunting season.

I will never forget the weaponry used by the hunters I grew up around. Every good deer hunter back then needed a rifle to still hunt with and a shot gun to dog hunt with. Since we are talking about dog hunting I'll discuss the shotguns I remember. My first shotgun when I was 8 years old was a side by side Stevens/Savage 12 gauge double barrel 26 inch barrel chambered in 3 inch. I later graduated to a Remington 870 pump and much later an auto loader, but sometimes I miss the old side by side. Some of the more notable scatter guns I remember are Remington 1100's one of the most reliable gas operated auto loaders ever made. My dad and his brother both had one chambered in 3 inch. Many of the guys used Remington, Mossberg, or Winchester pump action or auto loading guns. The shotgun I remember most was carried by a few of these gentlemen was the Browning Auto 5. I loved everything about that old humpback from it's looks, it's history to the distinctive sound it made when fired. The Auto 5 was the first successful auto loading shotgun ever invented way back in the late 1800s to early 1900's by a genius named John Moses Browning. It operated off the long recoil principle and the friction rings had to be adjusted to the size load you were going to use. The shotgun was made until the late 1990's with very little change to the design. Some folks prefer the ones made prior to 1976 made in Belgium. The ones made in Japan after 1975 were also fine firearms that steel duck loads could be fired through and the later ones had interchangeable choke tubes. Browning now makes the modern A5 that has the looks of the Auto 5 but is an inertia based action that works completely different (much like the Benelli action) and is a fine all around do everything shot gun.  I have always heard folks who owned Brownings (and folks who wanted to) say that the old Auto 5 was the "Cadillac" of shotguns. I still believe that to be true.

Age 16 the Saturday I killed two Bucks in one day

These men all used CB radios to communicate with each other. The folks handling the dogs would keep up with where their dogs were, as well as inform everyone else what was happening. They had colorful "handles" like my dad was "Square/Circle, his brother Don was "Crawdad." There where many worth remembering such as Catfish, Moon Runner, Corn Grinder, High Pocket, Desert Fox, Duck, The Green Hornet, and The Blue Goose, just to name a few. 

The club had a only a few strict rules that I can remember.
Safe gun handling was always one of biggest the things I remember. There where no exceptions to this rule. I never remember an incident, or even a close call. Mistakes, involving safety,  made by young hunters were quickly corrected by any adult close by.
Always follow the wildlife laws. I know of a father that called the "game warden" to report his young son's mistake of killing a doe out of season. The same father called the same NC Wildlife officer to report his own mistake a few years latter. This father I am speaking of is my Dad.
Drinking was never permitted before or during activities with firearms.
There were some rules that were strongly implied but none the less enforced. Respect the land and the animals. Treat everyone with respect.

I still look forward to opening day of deer season. I still get that adrenaline rush and the hair stands up on the back of my neck when the dogs "jump" or when the big buck walks out when I'm in my tree stand. I currently hunt with a fine group of gentleman/sportsmen that I enjoy being around.... but, most of the old crowd we used to hunt with has either passed away, quit hunting for one reason or another or like me, moved away. As much as I love hunting now, I feel very much like my old friend Mac Shaw when he said,  "I would give almost anything for just one more Saturday in White Oak Swamp with the old gang." That about sums it up Brother, I wholeheartedly agree. Oh and by the way... I still think opening day should be a national holiday. 

Age 42 many years later. Different place different time, same feeling. 

Thoughts on my Uncle Don (Crawdad)

Different things make me remember different people that I had in my life growing up. I wrote that this summer reminded me of my Uncle Robert and his fishing and watermelons. While sitting in my tree stand recently watching a few deer play safely out of bow range, I thought of my Uncle Don. He along with my Dad taught me pretty much everything I know about hunting and being comfortable in the woods. I think fall was his time of year, or maybe it just the time of year I spent the most time with him. He showed me how to find where the big buck marked his territory by making a scrape. He taught me how to tell how big the ol’ bear was by the size of his track and how high on the tree he would mark with his front paw. He helped teach me to treat every firearm like it was loaded, even if I had just unloaded it myself. In fact the first time as a boy, I was allowed to carry a loaded shot gun in the woods, it was with him and it was his gun. During the holidays he always brought fudge hunting with him that Aunt Janie made for us. Some of things we did, or things I remember about him are great stories to pass on. They are better than anything I could ever try to make up!! Maybe some day I’ll write a long blog on some of those.
He wasn’t the person who taught me to read, but he was the person who taught me to love to read, and just like the cowboys and mountain men he always read about, he lived life on his own terms. He taught me that a man should “Ride for the Brand.” No shame in quitting a job you don’t like, but if you took a man’s money, do the job you are being paid to do. It’s been two years and I miss you Uncle D and sometimes I swear you are with me in the woods. If Uncle Rob is looking for a good fishing spot for all of us up there, maybe you can show me where the big buck is hanging out.

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• Holli Stewart Owenby, Patricia Bordeaux Brisson, Anne Dockery and 9 others like this.

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    Elisa Abbott Deborah Powers Sealey
    

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    Deborah Powers Sealey Thanks Joe Mancos for making me cry. And those are the things that alot of people will never experience for not spending time with him or Uncle Robert. Memories are the things that no one can ever take away after their gone. I hate that James Donald will miss out on those kind of memories.
    

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      Joe Mancos Deb, sometimes I wonder if I should post stuff like this at all. I have many things I have written just for me tucked safely away on my computer. Stuff that I write that means nothing to no one but me, but this one I felt like I should share.
      

      Like · Reply · 1 · 19 mins
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      Deborah Powers Sealey Thanks for sharing this one with us.
      

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My Uncle Robert (copied from my FB post July 8, 2015)

July 8 · Pinebluff, NC · Edited · 

This time of year I think about my Uncle Robert. Every summer I worked in the tobacco fields for him and my Aunt Rosa. He grew the sweetest watermelons and the biggest okra. Uncle Rob always knew where the fish were biting in fresh or salt water. He was a BIG man, with a big laugh and an even bigger heart. The world needs more folks like Uncle Robert.

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• Everett Cornett, Vicki Caudle, Regina Godette-Crawford and 70 others like this.

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    Jonathan Frye People like that are getting harder to find nowadays. Great post Joe
    

    Unlike · Reply · 1 · July 8 at 11:36pm
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      Joe Mancos There are folks out there like Uncle Rob John, you just have to know where to look. Oh by the way, he was also the first to take me coon hunting. He was your kinda folk
      

      Like · Reply · July 8 at 11:42pm
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    Frances Mancos He though a lot of you and Bruce, you made me cry. We all miss him so much, he loved his family and he loved life
    

    Unlike · Reply · 1 · July 8 at 11:39pm
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    Fidel Goodnight Prayers
    

    Like · Reply · 1 · July 9 at 8:19am
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      Joe Mancos He passed some time ago Fidel, but I always think of him during the heat of the summer, and that's a good thing
      

      Like · Reply · 1 · July 9 at 8:44am
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    Dana Gatlin Just read this to Gimma....made her cry
    

    Unlike · Reply · 1 · July 9 at 10:17am
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    James P. Marien Joe I have the same thoughts of my Dad, we used to work in the cotton fields in the heat of summer and raid the watermelon patch ! Thought I had it rough then, didnt know I was better off then !
    

    Unlike · Reply · 1 · July 9 at 11:38am
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      Joe Mancos Chief, too bad we live about 900 miles apart... we would probably be fishing/hunting buddies lol
      

      Like · Reply · July 9 at 1:19pm
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    Crystal Abbott Coffman He was an amazing man that loved ALL of his family and such a hard worker. One of the first men in my life that I loved. I see or hear something daily that reminds me of him.
    

    Unlike · Reply · 1 · July 9 at 1:50pm
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    Wanda Smith We all miss him especially this time of year. He was a great man and an even greater dad!! Love you daddy!
    

    Unlike · Reply · 1 · July 9 at 11:05pm
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    Elisa Abbott You're right Joe. This was his time of year. I miss him so much especially during the summer. Thanks for your post. He enjoyed you and Bruce. You were the boys he never had. Now I'm crying too I guess I get it from your Mama.
    

    Unlike · Reply · 1 · July 10 at 12:19am
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      Joe Mancos I think of Uncle Rob in the summer because that's when I was with him most I guess. The same reason I think of Uncle Don the the Fall when I'm sitting in tree stands.
      

      Like · Reply · 1 · July 10 at 12:21am