Hunting Ocellated Trurkeys in the Jungles of the Yucatan Bill Cooper As much as I love the Ozarks and turkey hunting, I still can not resist the urge to chase turkeys in other locations. The Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico is one of my favorite places to hunt pavos. Two weeks ago, Brandon Butler, the executive director of the Conservation Federation of Missouri, his wife, Melissa, and I flew into Cancun, Mexico, where a driver for Maya Amazing Adventures delivered us to Merida to meet Pancho McManus. Pancho and a student intern from Austria, led us on a three day tour of Maya ruins, cenotes, haciendas and villages. I will cover the complete story later. In the meantime ,check out: www.mayamazing.com. McManus dropped us off in the beautiful Spanish Colonial town of Campeche, where we were met by Snook Inn Hunting owner Roberto Sansores. Roberto is a jolly individual who partners with his father Jorge, who has been in the hunting business fro over 50 years. Roberto was eager to please and stopped at the fabulous Edzna ruins on the way to turkey camp. This huge complex of temples and other buildings are among the grandest in all of Mexico. From the ruins we continued through the countryside of farms and jungles to the village of Carlos Cano Cruz, where Sansores runs a hunting lodge. Everyone proved eager to get to to the hunt. Experienced guides Jorge and Meno drove us to remote soybean fields surrounded by vast stretches of jungle. The eager pair quickly carved out a hunting blind from the dense jungles with large machetes. Soon all of us were kicked back in comfortable camp chairs while we waiting for pavos to show up. The hunt was short. No pavos showed up. Eagerly, we all laughed and joked with the guides as we headed back to camp. A hot meal of the largest shrimp I had ever seen, cold drinks and getting acquainted with everyone in camp consumed our evening. White-winged doves cooed loudly, while local roosters announced the coming of the evening. Sleep would be sparse for all of us as we anticipated the morning hunt. I had planned to film Butler’s hunt, but too much shrimp the night before brought about Montezuma’s revenge, so I stayed in camp. Brandon, Melissa and their guides returned to camp around 9 a.m. Brandon’s broad smile echoed his success. His first ocellated turkey soon hung on the scales. The bird weighed in at 10 lbs. with spurs 1 5/8-inches in length, a very nice ocellated gobbler. The birds are small in comparison to our Easterns. Ocellated turkeys seldom go over 13 pounds. Completely recuperated, I headed to the jungles the next morning. At first light, Meno spotted turkeys still on the roost at one end of the field. Soon a half dozen birds flew down and began feeding in our direction. We watched intently as the small flock fed closer to our blind. The flock fed to witting 40 yards. Menos gave me the signal to shoot. I had been holding my gun up too long and missed. Everyone empathized with me for having missed. After a good lunch and a siesta we returned for the afternoon hunt. Ten minutes after we entered the brush blind, pavos began clucking and putting 15 yards behind us. Everyone froze. The birds wandered off and eventually entered the harvested soybean field 1000 yards to our right. A huge gobbler flashed its white wing patches and fed towards us. Minutes later another flock emerged from the jungle 150 yards to our left. Meno whispered, “senor Bill, bird close to left, shoot.” I slowly turned my head and watched a beautifully colored pavos feeding nearby. By the time I raised my gun, the bird had walked behind bushes. I slowly swung my gun to the right while the bird cleared the brushpile. It stood out less than fifteen yards away. The Remington 1187 roared and my third ocellated bird and 89th turkey of my turkey hunting career lay flopping on the ground. We continued photographing and filming turkeys and visiting ruins over the next few days. One of the highlights of our trip was being blessed by a Maya religious troupe. The ceremony removed ill from our bodies and replaced it with renewed energy. We became one with the universe in the Maya jungles of the Yucatan.

Top Water Action for Largemouth

Cool July Mornings Equals Hot Top Water Action RHT 7/15 Bill Cooper A friend had called the previous evening inviting me to the early morning rendezvous. “Bass are hitting like crazy,” he had said. The kitchen light of the old farm house shined dimly through the window pane as I pulled under the soft maple tree draping over the driveway. The faint light provided evidence that my friend had not yet stirred from the comforts of slumber. The clock on my dash read 6:00a.m., the exact time he had insisted I be there. Just as I flipped the headlights off, a ghostly figure materialized in the living room window. Jim met me on the massive sandstone steps of the front porch. “I didn’t get in bed until 2:30 this morning,” he moaned “Listening to a soon to be ex-girlfriend. Go on down to the lake. I will come down later.” Deep in thought and lost in the beauty of my surroundings, I had just finished readying my rods when I heardd a vehicle coming down the hill towards the lake. I knew who it was. It sounded as if he needed to fish worse than me, but I was not about to give up the chance to get in some fabulous topwater fishing on his lake. Remote and situated in a beautiful hollow, this particular lake is one of my favorites to fish. No crowds. No hassles. Just raw nature and solitude. And Jim created it. And he occasionally allows me to enjoy all the wonders of this magnificent piece of earth. “Can’t sleep, huh?’, I queried. “Not at all,” Jim sighed. “Man, let’s fish. The morning is cool and the topwater action has got to be hot,” I commented hoping to soothe my friend’s wounds. We hung by a big rock for a long time. Fishing is always good there anyway. Jim’s Rapala worked magic. Bass after bass clobbered the minnow imitator. Most were 11-to-13 inchers. Didn’t matter. Jim chattered, but became ecstatic with each bass he hooked. The healing had begun. I tossed a 5-inch Sammy, one of those high dollar Japanese lures. I didn’t catch as many bass as Jim, but I concluded that my fish were bigger. We meandered across the lake, paddling here, then there to cast to every likely looking spot. We caught lots of bass, and some huge bluegill. The bass we caught were getting bigger, but nothing near the 8-pounder a friend of Jim’s had caught the week before. A truck came rattling down the lake road. “Loggers,” Jim replied. “It is too muddy. They can’t cut today.” We headed up the dam side of the lake. I like it there. Willows drape down low to the water. Bass hang back up under the limbs. Lots of insects drop into the water from the overhanging canopies. I tossed my Sammy towards a small pocket between a willow branch touching the water and a clump of cattails. Two twitches later, the water exploded. I leaned back hard on the rod and felt that heavy pulsing sensation as the big bass shook its head side to side underwater. “Heavy fish,” I said as I grinned ear to ear in the morning cool. The dark green beauty of the fish flashed as it turned for cover. The rod overpowered the waning strength of the largemouth and I caught a glimpse of its broad side. Jim grasped the maw of the brute and hauled it aboard. After a few photos, he gently gave the fish a few revival swishes in the stained lake water and fondly bade the bass good-bye. We both hoped to meet that bass again on another cool, summer morning. We finished the dam and swung the canoe along a steep rocky bank that dropped from a hardwood covered ridge. “We catch some very nice bass from this stretch,” Jim chuckled. “Well, what do you call the one I just caught?” I quizzed. Another chuckle. Fishing friends have a way of gouging one another that only fishermen understand. A dozen or so casts up the bank and the water boiled around my Sammy lure. It appeared that the bass sucked the bait in rather than having exploded on it like the last one. When I set the hook, surprise overtook me. Power surged up the rod. That moment of realization that one has connected to a big fish is a feeling that all fishermen would like to experience more often. We replay the moment over and over in our minds and dreams. They don’t happen often enough. The bass looked to be a twin of the first 4-pounder. A couple of bullfrogs serenaded us as we continued up the bank. “Wooooohw”, Jim yelled. “Oooooh, it got off! Can you back paddle to get me back to that cedar tree?” I silently wondered what he would have done if I had said no. Fishing buddies don’t do that, however. His cast put the Rapala in the perfect spot. His light rod arched. He had obviously hooked into a dandy. I saw a flash of a very tall fish side. “That may be your 8-pounder, Jim.” “It’s a crappie!” Jim gasped. “Naw, not that big,” I objected. It was a crappie, and the biggest one I had seen in a very long time; 2 ½-pounds. “I have been catching a few of these,” Jim confided. “I am not taking any of them out yet. These girls will lay a lot of eggs. I hope to have a good population within the next couple of years.” Jim and I paddled on around the lake. He tossed his Rapala. I tossed my Sammy. We continued catching bass. Why change lures when the one you are using works so well? It was probably one of those rare cool mornings when the bass would have hit anything that we tossed at them, but we will never know. We pitched what we had confidence in. Besides, fish weren’t the issue. Friendship was the issue. Time spent with a pal, who needed to talk. Nature soothed our souls and refreshed our spirits. We both walked away better men. And we had hope for the future-to build wood duck nest boxes and then hang them on the lake. I silently hoped that we do that on a cool morning and experience the hot topwater bass fishing action one more time together.

Ray Eye Media Turkey Camp on the Big piney River - How It Works Bill Cooper 4/27/15 A pair of wood ducks zoomed past. Their high pitched squeals rang off the dogwood covered hillsides. Shortly an osprey followed their path and lit in an ancient sycamore tree overhanging the Big Piney River. A pair of honking Canada geese followed. Sunrise approached. The whippoorwills had ceased their raucous calls. Wild turkey toms had begun to shake the ridge tops with their lovesick gobbles. I reveled in the glory of the first day of Ray Eye’s Media Turkey Camp as I stood on the banks of the Big Piney River with a cup of coffee in my hand. Hunters in our camp had scrambled to gulp down a bit of coffee, biscuits and gravy before heading to the woods. A full breakfast of bacon, eggs, hash browns and hot coffee would await them at ten o’clock. I volunteered to stay behind and serve as camp cook, so the host of talented writers and other media people could concentrate on the work at hand of killing turkeys and formulating their stories into photos, videos and hard print. The list of attendees at the camp read like a of “Who’s Who” of outdoor media experts. They included: Linda Powell, of Mossberg Firearms, Melanie Swearingen, media and public relations with the National Wild Turkey Federation, Brandon Butler, the executive director of the Conservation Federation of Missouri, Mark and Ellie Strand, of Midwest Outdoors and podcast, Scott Davis and Steve Sylvestier, of Urban Hunting TV Show out of Memphis, Tennessee, Stuart Ruehling and Mike Ponder, of Indian Creek Choke Tubes, Josh Dahlke, of scoutlookweather.com, Matt Sproce, editor of North American Hunting Club Magazine,Tony Caggiano, of World Slam Adventures, Gary Lee, of the Ozark Radio Network, Chris Vogler and Ray Eye, of Eye on the Outdoors Radio, STL 1380 radio and podcast, and Spence Turner, a freelance writer, and myself, Bill Cooper, of Outside Again Adventures TV. As I enjoyed my cup of early morning coffee on the deck overhanging the Big Piney River, the first shot of the morning rang through the fog cloaking the Ozark Mountains. It came from the direction in which Josh Dalhke and cameraman Matt Sproce had gone. They showed up at breakfast with a fat jake in hand, the first bird to be bought into camp. Hungry hunters began to arrive for breakfast. Laughter and storytelling filled the cabin. Smells of woodsmoke from the fireplace, bacon frying and Wilderness Roast coffee added to the ambiance. Turkey camp had fallen into place perfectly. Superb stories for media outlets were being created in front of my eyes. I had a special vantage point by serving as camp cook. Everyone returned to the cabin after their hunt. I enjoyed being the first to hear the enthusiasm and relive the story of each one’s morning hunt. I will forever remember Spence Turner flying down the lane in his UTV, pumping his fist to indicate he had scored on a big Ozark mountain gobbler. His story won the best in camp award as well. Spence sports a prosthesis, having lost a leg to diabetes. He is legally allowed to hunt from his UTV. He covers it with camo material turning it into the perfect hunting blind. Stuart Ruehling, from Indian Creek Chokes, served as Spence’s guide. According to Stuart he saw something in the turkey woods he had never seen before. “When Spence knocked that big gobbler down with a load of White Lightning by Spectra Shot, I raced to the bird. When I turned around to show Spence the gobbler, there he stood with his pants around his ankles. His prosthetic leg had fallen off and he was trying to get his leg back on so he could come to the gobbler. That was a first!” Every morning the hills rang with the boisterous gobbles of lovesick turkeys. Hunters headed out into the predawn darkness with high hopes of outwitting one of these magnificent birds. Sixteen year old Ellie Strand tagged along with her uncle, Mark Strand, the editor of MidWest Outdoors Magazine. Ellie had already begun her career as an outdoor writer and the invitation to join the crew at turkey camp gave her young career a big shot in the arm. Each morning Mark and Ellie were the first to leave camp. Ray Eye had scouted a hot spot on U.S. Forest Service lands and the Strands left extra early every morning to get a jump on anyone who might hunt these public lands as well. I kept the aromas of hot meals and hotter coffee stirring into the smells of wood smoke and Ozark mountain air. Smoked rainbow trout and eggs for breakfast, whitetail deer fritters for lunch and smoked black bear roasts for dinner made for a menu that can be found in few other places. “Writers who eat well, perform well said Ray Eye, camp host. “I think most of our attendees had never seen a camp menu like Cooper provided. He served rainbow trout, black bear, whitetail deer, ham and beans, bbq pork steak, salads, soups, relish trays on the cabin porch tables decorated with wildflowers. And it all overlooked the Big piney River.” More gobblers died, stories were born and videos created. Every communicator agreed, however, that it was impossible to convey to the public the total experience of being in our turkey camp. The place, the people, the comradore, the laughing, joking and storytelling, all of which took place in a grand setting deep in the Ozark Mountains, made an incredible turkey camp experience, the best any of of us had ever enjoyed. Media hunting camps are impossible to organize without sponsor support. A special thanks is in order for: Cowtown USA of Cuba, Missouri, Ray Rays Smoke House BBQ Sauce, from Cabool, Missouri, Thomas Coffee, Wolf Premium Oils, Hook’s Custom Calls, Indian Creek Chokes and Mossberg Firearms.

Dian's First Bear

Dian’s First Bear Bill Cooper 5/27/15 The thought crossed my mind that if a bear wanted to eat me, there wouldn’t be a lot I could do about it. However, I spent little time contemplating the matter. Instead, I pondered the raw beauty of the mountainous New Brunswick wilderness which engulfed us. Besides, my wife Dian, held a firm grip on her Ruger American rifle chambered in .30-06. She sat beside me on an 8-foot ladder stand overlooking a bait site. A bear didn’t have much of a chance making it to me. However, a chill tingled my spine when I caught the first glimpse of a bear moving through the thick underbrush. I had taken a nice black bear the year previous only a few miles from our current stand location on the first day of my hunt with Taxis River Outfitters in Boiestown, New Brunswick. Dian had spent the next four days battling the effects of the bear rut and harsh Canada elements. She vowed to return for a bear the following season. Taxis River Outfitters leases hunting rights to 177,000 acres from a timber company. All entrances to the properties are gated insuring that only timber workers and those hunting with Larry Davidson’s hunting operation can enter the vast expanses of wilderness inhabited by bear, moose, white-tailed deer, fishers, porcupines, ruffed grouse and woodcock. Dian loaded the .30-06 as soon as we stepped out of the truck. Davidson walked ahead of us through 300 yards of head high brush, leading us to the bait site. It is not unusual for bears to already be on the baits when we arrive at 5 p.m. Too, experiencing a surprise bear in the brush is not the time to be packing an unloaded rifle. We quickly made ourselves comfortable in the ladder stand while Davidson refreshed the bait with a little more chocolate. He waved as he headed back up the trail to the truck. We returned his salute, remaining totally quiet per his instructions. Bears quickly become accustomed to hearing trucks come and go, but the sound of human voices seems to rattle them, according to Davidson. As the first hour passed, we began to understand the value of the seat cushions Davidson provided. Remaining still and quiet in a bear stand is essential for success. Bears have poor visibility, but detect motion very well. The seat cushions provided insurance that our rears could endure the sit. Our view across the vast expanses of spruce and white birch forest reached to a far away mountain still capped in snow. I silently wondered how many bears there were between us and the next mountain. Province law requires that hunters unload and case their weapons at 9:40 p.m., only a few minutes before darkness. Dian informed me prior to leaving camp that she would walk out to the road a few minutes before the deadline, so that she would have a loaded rifle while walking through the tall brush. I didn’t argue. Our first night on stand proved uneventful, except for a variety of birds and chipmunks that scurried around the bait barrel picking up morsels of food. Davidson had advised all hunters to pass on any bears they spotted the first night on stand, unless it turned out to be an exceptional animal. Of the three hunters that saw bears, all elected to pass and wait for a larger bruin. Greg Long accompanied us on our trip to New Brunswick. A superb bowman, Long promised to shave his head if he did not kill a bear. Dian chuckled and told me to get ready to film the big event. Long always has a plan and announced he still had the fall season to hunt when he didn’t fill his tag. The attraction of the Taxis River proved more than Long and I could stand. We donned our waders and headed out with flyrods in hand. He had never flyfished. After 15 minutes of simple instruction, Long had it down. Ten minutes later he held his first brook trout in his hand. The river flowed steadily by us charming our imaginations with big salmon, which had not yet arrived from the Atlantic Ocean. The Taxis ran into the Miramichi River just a few hundred yards away. The Miramichi is a world renowned salmon stream. I headed to a stand alone on the second day of our adventure. Dian had fallen ill. Davidson placed me on a different stand, with visibility to 100 yards in all directions. Towering oak and maple trees reminded me of my beloved Ozark Mountains. Rusty blossoms of trilliums and fiddleheads dotted the forest floor, creating a fantasy world provided by Mother Nature. I expected a bear to show up at any moment, but my evening ended with a high count of jays, squirrels and chipmunks. However, success shined on our camp. Zach Loder, a videographer from Pennsylvania, arrowed a hefty bear, while 16-year old Alex from Georgia took what would be the largest of seven bears taken during the week. Feeling better the following day, Dian returned to the bear woods with high expectations. Her spirits dampened a bit when a thunder cloud rolled in out of nowhere and dumped rain on us. Prepared to the hilt, Dian broke out a space blanket and stayed perfectly dry. The weatherman had promised no rain for the evening, thus we left our rain gear in camp. Fortunately, it did not rain much, so I managed to stay relatively dry. A rainbow broke out across the mountain on the horizon providing a new hope for the day’s hunt. Dian caught movement in the dense birch brush 40 yards to our front. My heart shot to my throat as I picked out the dark coat of what I thought was a bear. “It’s a moose,” Dian whispered with a ring in her voice. “Look, it’s a momma moose and yearling.” We both thrilled at the sighting of these enormous creatures. However, I lamented silently to myself. Surely, they would be no bears in the immediate area. Less than five minutes later I thought I saw movement down hill. I blinked and looked again. “Bear coming fast, front,” I whispered. Dian eased her rifle into position. I could hear her breathing heavily, but she did not tremble like she did the year before when she spotted her first bear in the wild. She cut her sparkling eyes towards me as if to say, “I’ve got this!” Rightfully so. An accomplished outdoors lady, Dian has taken wild turkey, white-tailed deer and waterfowl. Her patience in the outdoors has proven impeccable, leading to several awards for her abilities as an outdoor photographer. We watched intently as the black bear boar approached the bait. The moments seemed like eternity as Dian awaited the perfect shot opportunity. Remaining cool as a cucumber, she inhaled deeply, settled the crosshairs of her scope behind the shoulder of the bear, clicked her safety off and fired. “I hit him good,” she whispered with a ring in her voice I had never heard before. “He won’t go far with 180 grains of lead in him. I’m so excited. My first bear, but not my last.” Contact Larry Davidson of Taxis River Outfitters in Boiestown, New Brunswick, Canada at: taxisriver@taxisriveroutfitters.com, or 506-279-2930. Web: www.taxisriveroutfitters.com. Davidson offers excellent bear, moose, white-tailed deer and upland game hunts as well as trout and Atlantic Salmon fishing.

100+ Fish Days - You Can Do It , Too Bill Cooper 4/15 www.southerntrout.com The opportunity to catch 100+ trout a day does not come along often. However, I enjoyed such a day recently on a trip to Taneycomo Lake in southwest Missouri. Twenty outdoor writers gathered at Lilleys’ Landing for a media event organized by the Conservation Federation of Missouri. One of the goals of the event was for writers to experience the world class trout fishery at Taneycomo and relay the message to readers that the Shepherd of the Hills Hatchery and the Taneycomo trout fishery could be lost if legislators are successful at destroying funding for the Missouri Department of Conservation. Area guides gathered at Lilleys to take writers out on the lake. I fished half days with Captains Buster Loving and Steve Dickey. Both are full time, professional guides with fully equipped boats. The fishing proved superb as we drifted down stream and worked jigs under strike indicators. This method is both relaxing and productive and is the perfect way for families and kids to catch lots of trout. I visited with Lillleys Landing Resort owner Phil Lilley to get the lowdown on flyfishing below Table Rock dam. I had heard about the fabulous fishery for decades and was anxious to give it a try on my own. Water is drawn from the bottom of Table Rock Lake and released through flood gates. Cold water from 46-to-54 degrees is released, perfect for rainbow and brown trout. Shepherd of the Hills Hatchery produces about 350,000 pounds of trout each year for Lake Taneycomo. That equates to about 700,000 trout being released in the lake. Water below the dam is quite shallow when the gates are closed. Anglers can wade and fish easily. A siren blows when the flood gates are going to be opened. Fishermen leave the stream immediately to avoid the swift, deep flows that follow in a matter of minutes. A no fishing zone is in place for the first 760 from the base wall of Table Rock Dam downstream, marked by a cable stretched across the lake. Trout fishing awe captured my gray matter as I walked down to the lake side. Taneycomo is more like a river in its upper reaches, moving steadily amidst beautiful surroundings of forested hillsides. Regulations vary on different parts of the lake, but the first 3 1/2 miles below the dam is where most fly fishermen congregate. From Table Rock Dam down to the mouth of Fall Creek, you may use feather or hair jigs, spinners, spoons, hard-plastic crank baits and lures. Live bait, prepared or scented baits are not allowed. This stretch of Lake Taneycomo has a slot limit on rainbow trout. Fish measuring 12 inches or greater, and smaller than 20 inches must be released back into the water immediately and unharmed. The length limit is the same all over the lake for brown trout, 20-inches. Anyone one fishing above highway 65 in Branson must have in their possession a Missouri Trout Stamp, regardless of what the angler is fishing for. 
An angler possessing a Missouri Trout Stamp can catch and keep four trout per day, one of which may be a brown over 20 inches in length. I selected one of three water flows, which poured from the hatchery into the lake, to begin flyfishing. Unbelievably, I had a long stretch of river all to myself. The closest anglers were a hundred yards to either side of me. Hundreds of colorful rainbow trout finned in the shallow water where the outlet flow fanned out across a gravel bar. Ten feet out, the four inch water depth dropped off to three feet. I gingerly cast an olive sculpin pattern to the awaiting fish. They fed actively on food coming down the flow. My flyrod arched and a minute later I had a scrappy 1-pound rainbow in hand. I picked up a couple more fish on the sculpin pattern before the bite slowed. I switched to a small peach colored, yarn, salmon egg pattern. Strikes came about every other cast. I caught dozens of fish on the egg pattern before the action slowed once again. My next fly choice is one of the most popular on Taneycomo, a #16 tan scud pattern. They imitate a fresh water shrimp. Fish fell for the buggy looking fly repeatedly. I caught dozens more rainbow trout up to 2 1/2 pounds. Conservatively, I caught well over 100 rainbow trout in three hours. You can do it, too. Contact Phil Lilley at www.lilleyslanding.com to make arrangements for lodging. Cpt. Steve Dickey may be reached at www.anglersadvantage.com; Cpt. Buster Loving at 417-335-0357, or at Facebook/busterloving. Note: Several pieces of legislation are currently being considered which would end the 1/8 of one percent conservation sales tax whcih supports the Missouri Department of Conservation. Decades of diligent work could be destroyed at the cost of millions to the annual Missouri economy. Contact your congressmen and ask them to continue support of the conservation sales tax.