The Complete Outdoorsman's Handbook - A Guide To Outdoor Living And Wilderness Survival(1)

I learned at an early age that a flock of crows cawing angrily and milling about meant that they had an owl or a hawk up a tree. Birds of prey, particularly the great homed owl, are traditional enemies of crows. If you are a bird watcher, coming across a group of angry crows like this could mean an opportunity to see a hawk or an owl.

A bluejay calling from the same spot probably indicates that it has spotted some predator, perhaps a fox, and is boldly scolding the predator and announcing its presence. The bluejay will also call when it sees you slipping through the woods. I doubt if there is a deer hunter around whose presence has not been broadcast by a bluejay.

When a beaver far down the lake slaps his tail on the water and dives under, it means only one thing something has frightened it. It may have been a fisherman, but if you are deep in the bush where few people travel, it could have been something else. I saw my first pack of timber wolves, a bitch with several half grown cubs, under exactly this kind of circumstance. I had stopped fishing for a moment to see what was alarming the beaver, when suddenly the wolves emerged from the woods and began walking along the shore. They passed across a small bay, no more than 120 yards from me. Since that time, I have seen other wolves, black bear, moose, and deer under similar circumstances.

TRAINING YOUR SENSES There is no question that our life styles have dulled our sense of sight, hearing, and very probably smell as well. It is not that our eyes are less sharp or our hearing less keen than those of our ancestors, but we don't use our eyes or our ears in the same way.

Eight or nine years ago I took a city friend moose hunting - his first moose hunt. Before dawn the first morning we walked to a beaver meadow and sat down on a high ridge. As the first arrows of light hurled themselves across the yellow grass, we began glassing the meadow for moose.

"There's nothing there," my partner said almost out loud.

"I wouldn't say that. I see a cow with two calves," I whispered.

"Where?"

"Over that clump of spruce. Those moose are just inside the bush."

My partner focused his binoculars on the spot I had indicated, but still could not see the moose. They blended fairly well with the dark spruce, but to me, they were not all that inconspicuous. What gave them away were their backs - the only horizontal lines among a mass of vertical ones. Not until one of the calves moved was my partner able to pick them out. Looking for horizontal lines in a forest is one of the first tricks I learned in the outdoors. Sure I see a great many fallen logs and rocks, but I also see game which would otherwise escape my notice.