St. Vincent: Island of Opportunity
By David Tetzlaff

The three camo clad figures guided their small vessels through the stygian darkness of the channel, only the barely perceptible dipping of their paddles interrupted the stillness of the night .The faint luminescence of their headlamps cast a jade glow on the light ocean chop. Faces set in grim determination, they pressed on towards the beachhead rising out of the dark water ahead, each focused on the challenging mission that lay before them. Some covert military operation, you ask? Nope. Just Ronnie Weatherman, Mark Normand and I kayaking across Indian Pass to St. Vincent Island just off Florida's Panhandle southwest of Apalachicola.

To be honest, I had not planned to hunt St. Vincent. It was one of those hunts that just comes together at the right time. Being a novice archer I like to seek the advice of more experienced bowmen. Ronnie Weatherman, if you don't know him (and I don't think there is a bowhunter in the Southeast that doesn't) is a never- ending source of bow tuning and hunting information.

I had e-mailed Ronnie about one thing or another and we got to chatting about this and that and he up and asked me go hunt St. Vincent with him and some guy named Mark Normand from Louisiana. This was in early fall and I already had to work around a three week trip to Kodiak Island via Ohio, but St. Vincent sounded like a great hunt so I said yes. The Kodiak hunt was early November and the St. Vincent deer/hog hunt was a month after that. No problem. Now, here's the catch. Ronnie and Mark, initially over the STICKBOW website, had planned to get to the island via kayak. I had never paddled one in my life. I told Ronnie I didn't have a kayak or even know anything about them." No problem'" says Ronnie," I have four and I'll teach you how to get around in one".

Just prior to leaving for Alaska I made the trek from Naples on up the road four hours to Ron's place and got my first kayak lesson. He hunts from a kayak all the time and has such an enthusiasm for them its downright infectious. We loaded up the 'yaks and headed down to a local lake where we paddled around for an hour or so, me getting the feel of maneuvering and Ronnie the satisfaction of teaching an old dog a new trick. I had a blast tooling around this lake and my newfound sense of aquatic freedom and maybe a slick new way to hunt at that. My wife Kelly and son Kyle kicked back in the minivan watching a movie while Ron and I paddled around. Yeah, you got that right, movie in the minivan. In my youth, comic books and 'slug bug' was the only mobile entertainment available. Kids these days, they'll never know how good they have it.

After my lesson, we looped and lashed the 'yak to the top of the family truckster and headed home. My plan was to take the kayak out in the Gulf in my free time and practice. Wishful thinking. With work and other trips, I got all of one practice in before the hunt.

On the only day I could practice there of course was a 2 foot chop and just getting in from the beach was a comical effort at best. Beach launchings looked real easy in the 'how-to' video Ronnie let me borrow. The folks on the beach probably got a good chuckle from my efforts anyway. An ostrich attempting to slip into a pair of roller blades would have been more graceful. Eventually I got out past the worst of the waves and got some practice in.

The Kodiak Island hunt came and went. Didn't bring a Sitka Blacktail home, but had an awesome hunt regardless. To be honest, I was anticipating the St. Vincent hunt with the same enthusiasm as the Alaska trip. Don't ask me why, other than the excitement involving hunting a new piece of ground.

When the time came to load up for the hunt, I borrowed my company's Jeep Cherokee to carry the kayak up to Ronnie's house and eventually to St. Vincent. Making a hunting trip with the minivan would seriously compromise my assumed status as a wannabe macho bowhunter.

I lit out from work and headed up to Ronnie's arriving quite late but he and his wife Bobbi were still up. Bobbi would make the trip with us along with their camp guard canine by the name of "Piranha." Piranha is a small dachshund and if you give her a deer leg, you're her pal for life I was told.

The Weatherman living room is a testament to archery accomplishment. Trophy plaques and trophy animals line the walls. I wanted to know the stories behind the hunts and Ronnie quizzed me about my job as a zoo manager. So went the conversation until it was time to turn in.

St. Vincent is a good six hours from Ron's house so we got an early start. At least we thought we did. Less than an hour from the house, Ron's trailer decided to have a bad day and blow out a tire near Forest Corners. The spare wasn't in great shape either but it was good enough to limp on into Ocala for a fresh change of tires all around. After a brief reconnoiter it was decided that I would head on up to St. Vincent and pick out a good campsite. Ron and Bobbi would get the tires put on the camper meet at the campground. The drive to the island is as good as it gets in Florida. Route 27 leads into Route 98 and winds through beautifully forested areas past 5 or 6 Wildlife Management Areas and private leases and eventually turns down towards the coast where the view is nothing short of spectacular. The contrast of woodlands on the north and the beaches, emerald water and barrier islands on the south is a combination of my two favorite terrains. Geographical paradise.

As the anticipation for the hunt grew and the miles slipped away, I tried to recall what I knew about this 12,358 acre island known as St. Vincent. The island was named by Franciscan friars way back when the Spanish laid claim to Florida. St. Vincent was purchased early in this century by Dr. R.V. Pierce, who was, by profession, a patented medicine manufacturer. He had the island stocked with deer, wild pigs, geese and quail. In 1948, zebra, sambar deer and pheasant were added to the mix. Some thirty years ago, the government acquired the island, the exotics were removed (save the sambar) and the island became a National Wildlife Refuge.

Once the campground was located, I checked us all in and found the primo spot right on the beach facing St. Vincent Island. I had just completed my tent set up and organizing some bits and pieces of gear when a white car with a kayak tied to the top pulled in. "You must be the man," a smiling, bearded face called out. This was Mark Normand from Louisiana who had signed onto this adventure long before I jumped into the picture. By the time Mark and I got his tent set up, Ron and Bobbi pulled in with shiny new camper tires and a trip with no further incident. After the obligatory introductions and camp set up complete we got down to serious business: Devouring some excellent wild pork stew that Bobbi whipped up and discussing a scouting plan for the morning.

The weather for the hunt was downright chilly and appreciated by me most of all. Bow season starts down my way when the humidity, mosquitoes and the rains are at their peak. Hunting in anything below eighty degrees is heaven to me. Sleeping however was different. The wind chill had to be in the 30's by the middle of the night. My sleeping bag is rated to thirty two degrees and the weather was testing that boast quite well.

In the morning we got suited up and prepared for our first voyage across to The Island. As we got our gear together we watched the two guys who camped near us last night overload their canoe and begin their paddle across Indian Pass to St. Vincent which is roughly 1/3 mile. Their canoe looked so unbalanced we thought these guys would be a case for the Coast Guard but remarkably they made it across, much to our relief. We took a group photo by the kayaks and made the trip across the channel. As we were dragging the 'yaks up past the tide line we couldn't help but notice the beach was littered with the tracks of feral pigs and the two deer species that call the island home, whitetail and sambar.

By using kayaks we definitely made curiosities out of ourselves. Most hunters use personal motorized craft or pay for one of several shuttle services that ferry you and your gear out to the island for a nominal charge. Gear for most St. Vincent veterans usually includes a bicycle to traverse the multiple sandy roads that crisscross the island. We were doing all this the hard way and enjoying every minute of it!

Ron had an area in mind that he wanted to size up so we headed in that direction. As we neared our intended spot we alarmed a doe and her yearling who promptly white flagged their hasty retreat. We stepped off the marked road into a likely looking spot and found it likely indeed. We got within 30 yards of some 80-100 lb hogs who were busy rooting up some unseen forage. We let them move off and surveyed the area. It was a small glade, almost a natural amphitheater with lots of deer sign and even a nice sambar rub on a cedar tree. I stepped out on the marked road and four deer were sunning themselves on the edge 40 yards away. Now, by this time things are looking real good. Not even 10:00 am and we have seen 6 deer and 2 nice hogs. This was a good spot and the best part was Ronnie said I could set up here even though he should have had first dibs as he put the hunt together. Don't ask me twice, here's my zip code for the hunt. I cabled my climber, scooted up the tree, trimmed a few distracting branches and was ready for the morning.

After tagging along with Ron and Mark while they sorted out their stand locations, we split up to look for alternative hunt spots and do a general recon of the island. I wanted to find, if possible, a secondary location for a stand site. I found a couple of potential spots and eventually came out on the south side of the island. The beach is a wide, white expanse and frequently used by hunters with bikes. The hard pack of the shoreline facilitates easier pedaling than the sometimes soft sand of the interior road system.

Mid-afternoon found us back at the camp site and after a short rest we headed back to the island for the 5:00 pm seminar at the check station. The biologist, Thom Lewis, gave the hunters present the rules and regulations particular to this hunt. One item of note includes being in stand by 7:00 am and remaining in your stand (or ground blind) until 9:00 am as to not disturb the hunting of others. The Fish and Wildlife staff makes two scheduled game pick-ups at designated trails during the late morning and prior to sunset. You are encouraged to drag your deer or hog to the nearest pick up spot to have it transported to the check station. Deer of either sex may be taken, however, the harvesting of spike bucks is prohibited.

Thom also reminded us that the island is home to pair of red wolves. Hunters are asked to notify the wildlife managers if they have a wolf sighting and where the animal was encountered. These endangered canines are part of a Species Survival Plan that in this case represents a partnership between the Fish and Wildlife Service and selected members of the American Zoo and Aquarium Association. The wolves are bred in zoos and then primed for release into the wild.

Dinner back at camp was a tour de force of prime Cajun cuisine. Mark brought a large batch of homemade seafood gumbo. I had never had gumbo prior, but I am hooked now. This stuff was delicious. Ronnie and I were past seconds going for thirds, last I remember.

I woke up in the middle of night freezing. The warmth of the gumbo had worn off long ago. As I tried to resume the restless sleep that always seems to precede a hunt I could barely detect the faraway night song of coyotes further north on the mainland. Their nocturnal cries made me smile. They reminded me of vacations spent in Arizona with my family twenty- five years ago. I know a lot of folks despise the presence of these animals, but you have to admire their tenacity. They have endured and even thrived through a century or more of outright persecution and infiltrated the eastern seaboard all the way to my neck of the woods in South Florida.

The dawn found us hustling at a brisk pace to our stand sites. I veered off towards my stand, took the wrong turn in the dark and promptly got lost. Due to the road system I had to walk double the distance at double the time to relocate my stand. This became a race against the clock to make the cut off time to be in stand. I fought a wave of mental nausea at the thought of having to stop and sit on the ground somewhere and wait two hours. As I hurried on, my flashlight beam caught a whitetail doe that let me get within fifteen yards before she took flight. I encountered two other deer that I heard vaulting away into the brush prior to finally arriving at my tree at 6:58 am. Nick of time!

Calm settled in with me and the surrounding woods as I made the change from panic to predator. An hour passed when I detected the unmistakable footfalls of a deer which materialized in the form of a doe who nibbled her way around the edge of my little clearing and finally presented a shot, a shot that I rushed and sent the 2216 shaft over her back. Dejected, I sat down and felt the disappointment of a missed opportunity and the relief of a potential botched shot.

I remained in my tree until 11:30 when I decided to get down and meet up with Ron and Mark at the designated lunchtime rendezvous. I walked down a little gully to pick up my errant arrow and turned to see a deer bursting away to the left. Simultaneously another deer u-turned and ran to the right. Unbelievable! Five more minutes on stand and two would have walked by offering good, close shooting opportunities. That's hunting and none of its fair.

I eventually found Mark down the road. He and Ronnie had a good morning. Ron arrowed a black hog and Mark, using his new Autumn Oak Widow, took a doe. I was happy for the both of them and feeling like the only kid stood up at the prom at the same time. They had field dressing chores back at the check station, so my only choice was to return to my stand and see how the day would play itself out. I whiled away the afternoon eating a sandwich, snacking on trail mix and reading the latest National Geographic. An hour before sunset a fawn bleated and continued to bleat in the woods behind me. Where there's little deer, there's apt to be big deer. In one practiced motion, the magazine is in the pack and the bow is in my hand. As I slowly stood, the forest came alive with animals. It was my private showing of 'Animal Planet.' The noisy fawn came in followed by another fawn and their dams. I could just make out a group of hogs, black tails swishing happily, out on the road busy crunching acorns. A buck was approaching from behind my tree picking at leafy branches as he moved along. The does with their fawns moved around the edge of the glen out of range. Didn't care to shoot a doe with a young one anyway. The buck came on and I readied for the shot as prayed for him to walk under and then out in front of me. He had a different scenario in mind. I was doing my very best statue impression while trying to keep him in my peripheral vision. I watched him stop under me, look up and say, "gotcha bowhunter, I didn't get this rack because I'm stupid." I heard him run and stop and then he started to stamp and walk back as if to make sure he saw what he saw. Four more steps and he was indeed sure. That was the last I saw of him.

Save the pigs on the road, all was quiet. But just for a moment. Four more deer, two does and two yearlings followed by a lone doe came in from my right side. The does and their offspring fed their way behind my stand while the lone doe continued on an intersecting line with one of my shooting lanes.

At ten yards, the Easton Legacy shaft zipped through her ribcage. She ran across the clearing and out of sight. I heard her slow to a walk and slump to the ground. She didn't need time, but I couldn't get down if I wanted to. I still had four deer browsing behind me. To my utter amazement, the hogs out on the road dispersed at the shot but the deer did not. Finally, thirty minutes later, the deer wandered off and I found my doe by flashlight and a generous slice of luck.

I dragged the doe out to the road and made the hike back to the check station where an obliging Thom Lewis gave me a ride back out to pick up my deer. I knew the scheduled game runs were long over for the day so I expressed a good dose of gratitude. "No problem," says Thom, "Your tax dollars hard at work!" On the drive out we saw a deer, more hogs and a sambar that made a quick appearance in the headlights. In addition to the deer pick up, Thom extended the invitation to put my deer, gear and kayak on the government barge and get a trip back to the campground that is conveniently located adjacent to their dock.

Ronnie and Mark graciously helped me take care of my deer. I was glad the campground was nearly empty. I don't know what anyone would have thought about our impromptu butcher's shop. You should have seen the gleam in Piranha's eyes when we were dressing out the doe. She knew that a leg bone was coming her way very soon. She may have body of a dachshund but she has the soul of a wolf.

Dinner was long done by the time I got to camp but I was more than happy to gobble down a cold pork sandwich and discuss the events of my day and that of my companions. Three guys, three kills with three Black Widow bows. Time to start playing the lottery!

St. Vincent regulations allow only one deer harvest per hunt so the next day, Mark and I pursued solo quests for pigs and Ronnie set up for a deer. The day passed uneventfully in an almost relaxing manner. I even took a short nap on the beach to re-energize myself.

Late afternoon found Ronnie and I on the same trail back to the check station. Less than 300 yards from our destination three deer bounded across the road just ahead of us, got spooked by another hunter and crossed the road again. One stopped to check us out, sizing us up from a small rise. Ronnie slowly slipped up and sent a good arrow her way. It was an excellent shot, she just wasn't there to meet it. One quick movement to the right and the shaft passed by the doe with no harm. It was genuinely exciting to watch someone else in a shooting situation.

That evening I treated the crew to supper. We scored some nice seafood at a little place over in Apalachicola. The food was fine but as far as seafood goes, its just pretty hard to match Mark's gumbo!

Back at camp, I started packing for the trip home. There was another day of hunting but responsibilities back at work were calling. I reluctantly pulled out early the next morning with reservations about leaving but retaining the memories of a new experience, good friends and a fine hunt.