Two great friends -- my son David (left) and Mark Rinckey of Honor

Life is a very precious commodity, and speaking only of myself, I try to live each day to its fullest.

There are many ways to live, but my life has been built on a strong foundation of honesty, hard work and helping others whenever possible. Those thoughts will be with me tonight, tomorrow and forever.

I consider myself a very lucky man. Hard work, they say, never hurts anyone and I suppose that is true. I've been fortunate in my life. It hasn't all been easy, and the money I needed to run my businesses hasn't always been there, but somehow we've always made it through.

It hasn't all been easy, but no one ever guaranteed an easy life

My business life, like that of others who are in business, has been a series of ups and downs, high and low points. My writing has always fluctuated with the moods of the stock market and the automobile industry, and there was never anything I could do to cure that except drum up more markets when business slowed down.

I've always believed in delivering the best possible product. If a story need two or three rewrites, that's what it got. I often went out to shoot specific photographs for a special story.

A magazine wrote a story once about me, saying I was an honest man. It wasn't an ego stroke for me. It's something I've always believed in all of my life. Honesty is the hallmark of every man, and as my Daddy once said, we come into life buck naked and with a good reputation and I want to leave it the same way.

There is much to be thankful for. My children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren work hard and are honest, and I'm almost always surrounded by family. They enable me to live my life as I choose.

My choice has always been to work, grow my writing business, and hunt as often as possible. My bills always got paid, my family eats well, and when it becomes necessary to reduce my workload, I made necessary changes.

My avocation also is my vocation; Few can say the same

Few people can say that they've had a job they loved. Many folks can't stand their boss or their job, but that has never been my problem because i am my own boss and my worst critic. I love meeting people, and my weblog gives me a great opportunity to meet some of the finest people in the world.

How many people can say they do what they wish to do. Many of my years were spent working for others, and then I began my machine shop and became my own boss. It gave me the freedom to work when I wanted, hunt whenever possible, and be a productive citizen.

My life, for the most part, has been spent being productive at a job I loved and wanted to do. Designing new bows, striving for the ultimate compound bow, and working constantly toward that goal is difficult but refreshing. We reach a certain point, encounter a problem, and then it takes time to solve it. Solving problems became a theme for me.

And it has made me stronger

I look at my life, and that of my family and close friends, and feel good about my place in society. If I had it to do over again, I would probably live my life the same way.

Such thoughts will surround me as we work our way toward Easter and spring weather, and I will give thanks for a long and fruitful life. I've lived it my way, and that means a great deal to me.

I've written thousands of magazine articles, newspaper columns, and daily weblogs, and it's you -- the reader -- on an individual and collectively, to produce good copy and fine photos. That I've done, and over 72 years, I've done things my way.

My reward in life is not measured by a large bank account, and a big beautiful car, and an expensive home but by the acceptance and occasional good and kind words of gratitude by my reading audience. I do this, not only for you, but also for myself.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Feeling Good Was Good Enough In The Old Days

Today was a great day to be alive. The air was pleasant at 7 a.m., and it's that little touch of coolness that brings out strong urges for fall hunting.

The first of the autumn color will start showing up in another few weeks, and the color spectacle ripens like a tomato on the vine until it splashes forth in full glory. And then, as if a silent reminder to one and all, the color glows briefly, the leaves fall, and we are soon left with many months before fall color graces our lives again.

Today is the kind of day when I remove my Winchester 101 over-under from the gun safe, stroke the fine walnut stock, run a Hoppe's No. 9 soaked patch through the barrel a few times even though it doesn't need it. Hoppe's No. 9, with just one whiff of this famous odor, is enough to bring back a half-century of wing-shooting memories.

More game and far fewer hunters in the old days

I remember my first rooster pheasant exploding in my face from a Genesee County cornfield, and it rose, wings cupping the air, and cackling like some poor demented soul, and my shotgun barrel pushed ahead of the bird. I kept the barrels swinging, and down he came.

Close examination of that pheasant's feathers, the bone-white ring around its neck, the glistening red head, and oh, those long barred tail feathers. This was a bird as beautiful as an autumn sunset.

Quick to mind came a memory of Fritz, a German shorthair pointer of mine, that was steady to wing and shot, and came with a snuffling nose that could ferret out pheasant scent like a Hoover vacuum chasing dirt. That dog could hunt for me, for the neighbor kids, and if a rooster existed, he could find it, work it into a corner, where the only possible opportunity for escape was to flush.

He and I were a pretty good team. He'd point them, and I'd shoot, and if he was of a mind to do so, he would retrieve. Most times, he'd lead me to the bird, and work off to find another one. My job, apparently because I shot it, was to pick it up. He was too busy hunting to care.

Back to the forefront of my memory was a dandy 8-point buck I shot on Oct. 2 one year. I was hunting from a pit blind, and it was a day much like today. Two bucks showed up, and there was an 8-point and a 10-point, and they began getting pretty wound up. Heads would drop, and together they would come, antlers clashing as they pushed each other back and forth. They kept at it for 15 minutes, and the smaller buck was as strong as the bigger one, and they raged on.

Me, I was waiting for a good shot at the biggest buck

I had the chance on a dozen occasions to shoot the 8-point but kept holding out for the 10-point. The problem was the larger buck was quartering toward me all the time while his sparring partner was quartering-away. Both were wonderful bucks, and the distance was 12-15 yards. I finally gave in to temptation, and when they separated and both stood 10 feet apart, their chests heaving from the exertion, I drew, aimed and shot the big 8-pointer. He ran 40-50 yards before dropping.

Days like today bring back memories of many days spent hunting ducks. Those days with hard stiff winds, lowering skies, and a breeze with a bite to it. The ducks would come like feathered speed demons, screaming in low over the cattails before flaring up, turning into the wind, and pitching into the decoys.

I can remember the days before the point system began. There were ducks a hunter could shoot, and some w couldn't. We knew how many birds we could take, and we went about our business in a methodical fashion. The shooting was good some days, poor on others, but there were real duck hunters in those potholes. If they worked a bird, and it passed over us, we would let it go and they would do the same for us. Now, it seems that it’s every man for himself and duck hunting is much the poorer for that stupid reasoning.

It doesn’t take much these days to make them good days

Those were the days, my friend, we thought they'd never end, but sadly, many of them have. I hunt daily now, not so much to feed my family as I did before, but to experience the glory of the outdoors.

There were fewer anglers and hunters back then, more room to move around in, and sportsmen respected each other. Some of that still exists among the older hunters, but some young hunters need to spend time with an old-timer and learn about peaceful coexistence and mutual respect.

Days like this morning bring a flood of memories. And oddly enough, most of them are absolutely wonderful. It's not all about fish caught or game killed, but it's more about just being there to experience the day.

And frankly, that was good enough for most of us. We knew that if we fished and hunted enough., we’d have our share of good and poor days.  Most of us just felt that being was enough; having some occasional good luck was just frosting on the cake.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Let’s settle the playing field first

It's impossible for hockey players to play a game unless they are on the ice, and it's impossible for hunters to shoot a buck or doe if they are sitting indoors watching television.

That's settled, so what do we do when faced with inclement weather? You know: like some of what we've had so far this month?

East winds, northeast and southeast winds, and rain. Some snow flurries today. Copious amount of rain two or three times. Strong blustery winds. Weather that even deer dislike.

If we were to set out every evening during hunting season when inclement weather rears its ugly head, we may have been able to hunt only a few nights so far this season. The abundance of combined weather conditions has been noticeable to most hunters.

The spring turkey hunting season begins shortly, and if nature stays its course, there may be some days when the big birds hunker down and do nothing. Few birds like to move when the wind is strong.

So, what can we do about it? The answer is to go hunting anyway. Some of the animals and birds we hunt in season will move even in bad weather although they may not move very much or very far.

It’s bad weather, attitude and grit will get you a chance

It only makes sense that if critters move for only 15 or 20 minutes, the closer one hunts to the bedding area should provide them with greater opportunity to be nearby when they get up to feed.

Mild rain doesn't bother turkeys or whitetails at all. They are out in it on a daily basis, and can't come inside out of the weather. If it is a soft rain, they often move well. They move less in a hard down pouring rain. I hunted turkeys once in a heavy snow storm and the birds moved well. Predicting movement is not a precise art.

Deer will move on an east wind, but most hunters have few locations set up where an east wind offers them an advantage. A strong wind is much worse than a soft breeze.

Heavy winds put everything into motion. Trees, weeds, cattails and tall grasses move. Leaves (those still on fall trees) shake violently on the trees, go blowing off branches, and leaves are constantly in the wind at ground level and above. Deer and turkeys detest such windy conditions because it removes their ability to see motion because everything within sight is moving. Strong winds make noise, both deer and gobblers depend on their hearing to keep them safe.

Stands located closest to heavy cover offer hunters the best opportunity to see deer on such miserable days. The important thing is to get into a stand without being seen, smelled or heard.

Crow hunters say that these black birds can't count. I contend that deer can't count either, and that opens up one possibility to get into a stand even if the deer bedding area or turkey food or roost sites are downwind of the stand. A friend can drive you in by truck, park with the motor running while the hunter crawls into the stand, and then drive off. That doesn’t work well for turkey hunters because of vehicle lights at night near a roost site drive many birds crazy.

A friend of mine and his wife leased land for many years, and each of them hunted a different parcel. My buddy would drive his wife 3/4 miles back off the road to her stand, walk with her to her ground blind while the four-wheeler idled nearby, and once she was in her blind, he would jump back on the machine and drive away. Again, this technique doesn’t work for gobblers unless they are hunting in mid-day, and guess approximately when and where the birds will travel.

She often saw deer while the sounds of the four-wheeler were still audible in the distance. The noise of the four-wheeler didn't bother the deer during daylight hours, and if anything, it gave them advance warning that people were coming. Two people get off, two walk to the blind, one walks back and drives away. Deer can't count, and this method works well.

Up your chances for success with a few simple field rules

The one thing to bear in mind is that deer and turkeys are used to seeing cars and trucks, tractors and other farm equipment in most areas during daylight hours. Deer will run from all motorized equipment heading in their direction, but they don't run far unless the humans talk to each another. Human voices add another annoying dimension to this equation.

Talking while dropping someone off at a blind or when picking them up should not be done. Deer also are accustomed to hearing people talk, but whether talking near a hunting stand is a good idea, I think it's best to drive up, drop off the hunter, and drive away without speaking. Why ruin a good thing?

One thing about weather: Any time there is a storm moving in, deer and turkeys will usually move just ahead of the storm during daylight hours. If the weather forecasts a storm arriving about 4 o’clock, try to be in a good spot by 2 p.m. It can be a super time to be hunting.

Weather plays an important role in deer and gobbler movements and travel. Rather than sitting indoors and not hunting, try to incorporate some other tactics into your hunting bag of tricks, and hunters may be pleasantly surprised at how well some of these will work.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

There are few people who can tell me they've never made a mistake when going head-to-head with a mature whitetail buck. I've made some really colossal and stupid mistakes.

Making a little mistake that means nothing is not bad, but when a mistake costs you a shot at a good buck at spitting distance, that is something a person will live with forever.

Preaching to the choir is easy because you've made some mistakes, as have I, and we well know the feeling of anger and frustration at ourselves when we mess up.

Fess up! Remember some of your bow-hunting mistakes?

One year a nice buck came past me every night. My stand was in a cedar tree atop a 10-foot knoll. My stand was eight feet up the tree, and when I sat in the stand I was about 20 feet above the trail the buck followed night after night.

The buck was upwind of me, and never looked up at that cedar tree. One day I could hear the buck grunting as he followed his scrape line. He stopped, broadside to me, and as I made my draw, the arrow fell off the rest and rattled through the branches to the ground.

The buck looked up, and then went back to pawing his scrape. I nocked another arrow, began my draw and again the arrow fell off the rest. That buck never hung around long enough to see what made that second tinkling sound.

The question often arises about shooting other critters while deer hunting. I no longer do so, but once while sitting in the same tree stand as noted above, twigs and needles kept falling down on me. I looked up, saw nothing, and five minutes later down came more bark and needles.

I looked up again, and this time saw a big porcupine scratching around on the tree. Not thinking, I drew back, aimed and shot the porkie. It wobbled around, and suddenly I realized what could happen. The animal could fall on my head.

I stepped to the extreme edge of the stand, got two hand-holds and one toe-hold, and down he came onto my stand. A foot nudge sent him toppling over the edge where fell to the ground with an audible thud.

The porkie waddled off, walked down by the scrape below me and died. No deer came visiting me that night.

I could have been wearing a wounded porcupine on my head.

Another time I was in a different stand near an open road that was bordered by a small field, and I was watching a buck 100 yards away. A late arriving hunter came down the two-track trail, knew I was in that stand, and waved at me as he drove past. It's a normal reaction, and I waved back. The car disappeared, and so did the buck. The buck had seen my friendly wave and skedaddled for heavy cover.

Once I was bow hunting in late December, and was sitting in a hay bale blind near a corn field. I have asthma and hay fever so I downed a Benadryl pill to keep from sneezing, crawled inside and soon there were deer in the corn and eating away, unaware of my presence.

One deer was a nice buck, and I'm inside the hay bales, trying to get a shot at the deer. I needed just another inch or two for a shot, and darkness was coming. I tried to force the issue without making any noise, and damned if the two rectangular hay bales didn't move a bit. The small bales moved several inches, and there I went, falling out of the blind and almost on top of the buck.

It's questionable who was more surprised: me or the buck.

All the deer ran off, and at Show and Tell after hunting ended, everyone had a good laugh at my expense. I laughed too as I replayed my smooth move for the other hunters.

Falling out of a ground blinds really requires skill.

One of my dumbest moves came several years ago. We decided to take a different car than the one we normally drove to our hunting land. I'd taken my bow out of the car to shoot a few arrows, and put it back in the car.

The dumb thing was I had transferred everything, including Kay's bow, into the other car. Habit, being what it is, made me put my bow in the car we normally used. I dropped Kay off at her stand, and drove to where I would hunt.

I got my hunting clothes out, got dressed, grabbed my back pack, and started looking for my bow case. It was forehead slapping time as I remembered putting it in the other car.

I spent that afternoon and evening watching deer through my binoculars and spotting scope. It seemed as if all of them were laughing at me, but it was probably just a figment of my imagination.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

I dream of those old-fashioned childhood winters. Hard freezes that lock the ice to the shoreline on all sides of the lake, and just enough wind to scour the snow away and no worry about pitching through when the ice caves in under my feet.

The memories are still fresh even though my first ice fishing trip was taken about 65 years ago. It was at North Lake near Millington in Tuscola County. Our parents owned a small lot and kept an old house trailer there, and we would visit the area often from January through March.

North Lake held bluegills, largemouth bass, perch, sunfish and some northern pike. Ice-up came quick and hard, freezing the lake's surface, and within a week there was six to 10 inches of firm clear ice.

Not many lakes have very safe ice. Use extreme caution.

The early-ice action always featured a good bite. We had triangulated the green weed beds with three shoreline landmarks, and often could return to the same holes that we'd fished the week before. The 'gills and sunfish would still be there, and we would lowered a six-inch sucker below the ice near the weeds, and caught some nice pike on tip-ups.

That was then and this is now. I don't know whether everyone has been paying attention, but the last three or four years has featured much more wind from the east. Such winds often bring rain, and heavy rains make early ice treacherous and unstable. This winter is the mildest I can ever remember.

One wonders if we are in the middle of the global warming that others have talked about for 15 years. I'm not a scientist, nor a meteorologist, but I am observant. I remember things about the previous years, and I see a pattern forming that I really don't like.

The past several years has produced rather dramatic changes in the Great Lakes and some inland lakes. The Great Lakes undergo a cyclic rise and fall of water levels over the years, and levels have been low for longer than normal. Five years ago many Great Lakes marinas had to dredge so boats could enter and leave their slips during the summer months.

Check out the Betsie River where it flows under the M-22 bridge between Elberta and Frankfort. Chinook salmon and steelhead runs have been poor in this river for a few years, and the reason is low water. There is barely enough water flowing through the channel to allow fish to run upstream.

Several years ago Crystal Lake didn't freeze well and I did a story about three men (two from the same family) that broke through the ice. That they lived was a miracle. The ice stayed bad most of the winter.

We can take a long look at this year. The stage was set for some excellent ice. Cold weather, freezing temperatures and no wind set the stage in early November, and for a week it was making ice on small lakes.

No early winter this year. It was brown at Christmas.

Then, before Nov. 15 and the firearm deer opener, it began to warm up. It now shows little sign of making any ice after today’s all-day reasonably warm temperatures.

Bare ground is a common sight. Our opening-day snow disappeared by mid-day. The deer can roam wherever they wish, and they have easy access to green fields, unpicked cornfields, and open woodlands. There is no need for deer to yard up except in some areas that always get heavy snow, and this could result in an excellent winter for whitetail survival. What is good for the deer is good for wild turkey numbers as well.

It also could bring on an early steelhead run, and put fish in the river long before it freezes across. I've seen it happen, and many fish move upstream to winter over in deep holes. I remember once, years ago when I was guiding anglers, when the steelhead run was over long before the spring thaw began. People who waited until April 1 found few if any fish in the rivers and it could happen again.

The weather is changing. That much should be obvious to all, and it is having an effect on many of those who depend on winter sport for their yearly income. Bait shops will suffer if safe ice doesn't come soon.

The snowmobile industry is facing a big loss of revenue as are northern communities that cater to sled riders and skiers. These high gas prices will cause For Sale signs to be posted on many sleds this  winter. Downhill skiing also faces tough conditions without cold and snow.

A lack of snow cover keeps winter hunters house-bound. They feed their hounds all year in hopes of having good snow, and when it comes late, bunny hunting is pretty poor.

Downhill skiers have man-made snow but that doesn’t work for hunters.

Weather patterns are changing. Will this change continue? Who knows, but if it does, the economy of northern Michigan will suffer once again as it has for the past few years. The stakes are growing ever higher now, and people can hang on only so long before being forced to close their businesses and seek other employment … all too often, out of state.

I try to avoid such doom-and-gloom columns, but the changing weather is a major topic of conversation in every coffee shop in the north. Many people long for the old-fashioned winters, and I am one of them.

Rainy weather makes for miserable driving, and anglers and hunters find little solace in a winter rainstorm.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Getting this close to a bear is never a wise idea

Bear hunting is a special brand of outdoor adventure where the hunted can become the hunter. It's where the tables can be rapidly turned on a sportsman, and where things can get very interesting very quickly.

It doesn't happen very often with black bears, but when one attacks, it's not good news. A grizzly will maul and bite a human, often inflicting horrific injuries, but the person often lives.

Black bear, even though they are the most common bruin of all, are perhaps the most dangerous. Their attack may continue until the victim is dead. It has happened many times across North America, and in many cases, the human doesn't survive such brutal maulings. In certain situation, the bruin makes a meal of its victim.

Someone in North America gets mauled by a black bear yearly. It's a matter of fact, and it has happened in Michigan several times over the years.

Anytime a bear is within 100 yards of you, there may be danger

I lay no claim to being a black bear expert, but have hunted bruins, photographed them, and have had them approach within three feet of me. Each experience is one to learn from, and to hope it never happens again. A human's best hope is he does everything right if a bear gets within three feet. One wrong move, and it can mean terrible trouble.

I've never been truly frightened of a black bear even when they've come within spitting distance on a dead run. Knowing some things about bears can help you cope with the animal when things turn sour, and an angry bear is only feet away. What you do may truly affect the outcome of the encounter.

This is not mean to frighten people, but the Michigan bear hunting seasons opens in September. However, during this mild winter, bruins can awaken in their den and now is about the time sow bears give birth to their cubs. Realize, first of all, black bears are unpredictable at any time, and a sow with little ones is something to steer clear of.

Whenever bears are baited or being run with hounds, and  humans may find themselves within close proximity of a bruin, and neither one knows it. Throw in the fact that the bear may be a sow with young cubs, and there is the potential for disaster.

Once while photographing a black bear in Canada's Northwest Territories I was downwind of a foraging bruin. It turned, looked in my direction just as I took a photo with a flash. It startled the animal, and it came walking slowly toward me. It was straight upwind of me.

I talked to the animal in a fairly soft voice. I kept my voice level, and it approached close enough that I could have touched it on the head, which I knew would probably be a major mistake. The animal continued to circle me, and as it moved around me, I turned with it and continued to face it and talk. The bear got downwind of me, caught my scent, and circled back the same path as before and slowly walked away.

Talk to a bear in a soft, level tone. Don't scream or shout. Whatever you do, don't get silly or hysterical. This isn't Disney World.

If a bear is seen, make some noise, don’t walk closer and it may leave

One important thing in bear encounters is to keep a clear head. Don't scream at the animal, and realize that a wild bear can sense anxiety and fear. The same is also true of a junkyard dog. Running from a bear is the worst thing to do. Watch the animal, and read the messages it gives you.

Know this: bears, and especially sows with cubs, will often make a false charge toward a person. They can walk, trot or run, but you'll hear teeth clacking, deep growling, and then the bear will stop at 10 to 20 feet and assess the situation.

It is defending its turf and its cubs, and a slow dignified retreat with soft talk while facing the animal can put an end to the whole business. However, it doesn't always end that way.

Know what to do, and do it, in a bear-man confrontation

The trick is to stand your ground until she stops. Step backwards slowly for a step or two, and talk to the bear. If it does nothing, take two or three more slow steps backwards. This allows the animal some space, and gives it a chance to save face. Its enemy is retreating to avoid what could be a deadly confrontation. Just don't make any quick moves, and pay some attention to your footing. If you fall down, it could trigger an attack that would be difficult to defend against.

Watch the bear. Keep a level head, and don't crowd the animal. If it comes, turn with it, but watch its head because the body will follow the head. Study its actions intensely. A bear that becomes increasingly agitated is now a deadly animal and the risk of an attack escalates.

A bear that approaches within 15 to 20 feet and stops, its ears laid back against its skull, and is clacking its teeth and growling, is a dangerous animal. A bear that does that, and then begins slamming its front feet against the ground, has become truly dangerous. Back up and try to defuse the situation with a slow retreat and a soft voice Don't step toward a bear that is stomping its front feet.

Do not run. Never run from a bear because it's like running from a mean dog: the chances are it will trigger a charge. A full-blown charge with foot stomping, growls, ears laid back, and clacking of teeth is something that will stir your guts into soup and give your mouth a coppery taste. This is no time to lose your head and do stupid things.

Continue to face the animal but try a slow-moving retreat. Chances are the bear doesn't want to force the issue, but this posturing can be a prelude to a mauling and death or a close call. In many cases, the human's movements or lack of them may act as a catalyst that triggers an attack.

Allow bears to save face; Give it a way out but don’t run

Saving face is no different with a bear than with a bar-room bully. Sometimes the issue can be resolved without incident; other times, it can only be resolved with force. A man alone, unarmed, is not capable of fighting a faster and stronger bear. A few instances have been noted of a bear-man fight, including one here in Michigan, and they are the stuff of wild tales ... except some of them are absolutely  true.

Few people will ever face a false charge, and even fewer will come to grips with a full-blown charge. Those who face the latter (and it's difficult to determine one from the other until the attack occurs) and live to tell the story are a rare breed in today's society.

I've faced three, and all were defused after several troubling minutes, but the best advice is to stand tall, make yourself look as big as possible, talk (don't scream) to the animal, and give the bear a chance to save face without injury to it or you.

Backing away or stepping aside when a bruin is very close can leave you with a wildly beating heart, a dry mouth and your life, providing you do everything right. The chance of a bear attack anywhere is rather remote, but it pays to have some knowledge of what to do well before such a need is standing only 10 feet away with its ears back.

Especially if the bear has a surly attitude and you are wondering how you ever got into such a situation. Just remember: keep your head, don't lose control, and you may have a hair-raising tale to tell.

Make a mistake at this crucial point, and even the best Hollywood make-up artist won't be able to make you recognizable to your best friends and family at the funeral.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Deer gather around fallen tree-tops to feed in the winter

Today was one of those days when another 10 degrees of upward temperature movement would have felt nice, but it was a grand and wonderful day with a lovely sunrise.

It also led to this question. Do deer like the tips of branches to eat? We are getting DISH High Definition so we can better view the playoffs with the Detroit Red Wings over the upcoming weeks.

We were told that six trees had to be toppled to clear a good line of sight for DHD television. Those six trees were toppled a week ago, and now three others need to come down to provide us with the perfect line of sight to the satellite.

Some mature trees had to go

The trees cut down last week already are attracting deer. I went out with the DHD guy as he pinpointed the exact trees to down, and there were deer tracks all around the tree-tops.

The ends of the branches have been nibbled, and some new tops will fall tomorrow or Saturday to add a wee bit more food as the snow melts.

Did I want to cut the trees? Not really. I could see the Red Wing games just fine, and it will be interesting to see how much better the game appears than with regular television.

I watch so little television, other than the Winged Wheels and the Tigers, that one could say I don't watch it. I'd rather waste my vision reading a good book than watching what passes for good television. Most of it is not good at all, and too much of it is awful, and much of it borders or crosses the line on obscenity.

I refuse to insult my intelligence by watching most of the garbage and pap on television. Sure, some of the stuff on the National Geographic channel, the Discovery channel and a few other channels offer programming that suits me, but 99.9 percent of the stuff causes me to hit the "Off" button.

Much of television disgusts me and is insulting

Ah, but I digress. We were talking about deer feeding on tree-tops. We had 101 trees cut last December around my land, and the neighbor had quite a number cut as well. There are deer tracks around those tree-tops. Lots of fresh tracks.

The periodic thinning of mature trees, and their sale for fire wood or for saw logs, can provide some money. Certainly not enough to get fat and sassy on, but perhaps enough to pay the taxes.

Several people have asked to cut wood, and I've granted permission providing they place all the tops from each area into a pile at a place of my choosing. I want the piles placed in strategic locations where they will provide a certain amount of cover and food next winter.

There is nothing worse than walking (or trying to walk) through a recently cut wood lot, and every two or three steps it becomes necessary to extricate your feet from clinging branches of tree-tops. I much prefer they be piled up, and I don't care if the pile is 10 feet tall.

The winter snow, and deer nibbling on the tips will cause them to slowly settle. It provides a nourishing source of food that comes as a direct byproduct of improving our forest.

We provide deer with winter browse in key locations

Briers, brambles, saplings and shrubs will spring up this year as a result of that opening in the woods, and this too will increase the bounty of new food for deer, rabbits, ruffed grouse and other critters.

Bunnies will eat on some of the smaller branches and use the brush piles as cover. Grouse do the same thing, and I've found spots where deer have bedded in the lee of a large brush pile and then pass their time in relative comfort.

My ideal spot for a brush pile is near a small roll in the ground. Most of our storms come from the west, northwest and north although southeast storms occur each winter. A bountiful brush pile on the west, northwest and north edges of a small roll in the ground, and another on the southeast side, will give some protection for winter-weary deer. The food is there, and some evidence I've found indicate that is exactly what the deer did last winter.

So, in some obscure way, DHD television will be instrumental in giving winter deer a spot to get out of the worst of the winter weather, and I think that is a grand use for our new technology.

And, I'll bet you wondered how I'd end tonight's blog.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Two examples of nice ice spearing decoy books I sell

I spent just enough time outdoors today to shovel off the deck, say hello to my neighbor and bask in the warming breezes.

At 40 degrees, the snow is mostly off the roof. I spent some time arranging and rearranging books that are for sale on my website at Scoop’s Books. Some titles are once-in-a-lifetime acquisitions for any sportsmen and some are moderately priced.

I also am placing some books on eBay for auction purposes. Feel free to check them out.

I want to buy your old turkey hunting and duck decoy books

It's obvious that not all sportsmen like to read books, and that is OK. They just don't know what they are missing. There are so many fine fishing and hunting books available and listed on Scoop's Books. Find a book cover that interests you, and email me to see if the book is still available.

A hunter might ask: why buy a book on deer hunting? I already know how to deer hunt. Good question but a poor answer. Anyone who doesn't study deer regularly will know something about hunting these animals, but won't know enough about how to hunt them when the going gets tough.

Lots of people can cast a fly, but there are countless books available that can help with casting more accurately but also can teach us how to read the river, determine which insect is hatching, and which patterns will help fool the fish. Nothing is ever guaranteed except paying taxes until you die, but reading can broaden your horizons and help people learn new skills.

I'm constantly looking for fishing or hunting books to buy. I need to buy books in order to sell books, and I'm picky about condition but pay fair prices. So just what am I looking for and hope to buy from you?

I'm primarily interested in turkey hunting titles now. The scarcer they are, the better. Common turkey hunting book I don't need.

The easiest answer is for you to tell me is

• the author's name
• the title of the book
• paperback or
• hard-bound book with a dust jacket

From that tiny bit of information, I can usually determine whether I may be or am not interested in buying that title.

Contrary to popular belief, all fishing and hunting books are not scarce. Most also are not worth big money. Many books I turn down are not worth $5, and I have no need for them. But for you, the potential seller, I will pay within reason what it takes to buy books in good shape that I want for resale.

Books with damaged covers, childish scribbles, underlined passages, highlighted sentences, damp-stained covers or those with other faults are not worth offering. I never buy musty, mildewed or ex-library books because they usually aren't worth owning.

Anything noted immediately above is what I don't want

So, c'mon Richey, what exactly are you interested in? I seldom buy new titles. I never buy Readers Digest or condensed books. I prefer books that state 1st edition or 1st printing on the copyright page.

Topics of interest to me include

• Atlantic salmon
• muskie
• brook trout
• tarpon
• fly tying
• bamboo rod building

and other types of fishing books work for me.

I crave good books on

• hunting ruffed grouse
• deer
• ducks
• geese
• upland game
• wild turkey
• woodcock and
• other hunting books.

I have a mild interest in African hunting books but am picky about what I buy. I do pick up books on duck decoys.

Some hunting authors that I'm collecting; Please save list

There are certain authors I collect.

... and countless others.

I'm always interested in any books written by Michigan turkey hunters like Denny Geurink. State published turkey hunting, management, ecology, roosting habits, food habits, etc. are needed.

People have nothing invested in offering me books for possible purchase. If I can't or won't buy your books, I'll be happy to explain why. If I do buy, know that I will give you the highest possible price, and hope then to be able to resell the books for a modest profit, but that doesn't always happen.

I've never cheated anyone, and don't plan on starting now. My reputation is excellent, and I sell books off my website and some by mail order sales. It's in my best interest to pay the highest possible price, and still realize a potential profit.

I grade books fairly, charge a fair price and pay a fair price when I buy. I've been buying and selling books for 42 years, and one doesn't stay in this kind of business for long by cheating people.

Give me a try. Nasty winter weather will be around for another six to eight weeks. Dig through that pile of fishing and hunting books stashed in the attic, barn, basement, cellar, closet, garage or wherever, write down the author's name, the book title, and whether paperback or hardcover with dust jacket.

If you can read this, you can certainly email me and tell me what you have for sale.

It's that easy. And who knows? The book you sell could be valuable or not, but the payment may allow you to purchase some fishing or hunting equipment. Try me and let's see what happens.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

This nice buck pauses within easy bow range but I didn’t shoot

A hard northwest wind came moaning through the pines last fall, driving the snow horizontally across the newly whitened horizon, and making me wish for the comfort of home and hearth.

The pines were draped with snow, and only the foolish or hungry were afoot in this foul weather. I belonged to the first category, and was hoping a few deer from the second group would filter past my tree. My stand, 15 feet up a pine tree, offered a vast panoramic view of the nearby woods, tag alders and open feeding field. Several inches of new snow covered the ground, and a nearby tag alder thicket provided the only decent cover where deer could wait out the storm.

My glasses were almost useless because they were covered with melted snow, and periodic cleaning of my specs helped some, and the movement was necessary if I were to loose an arrow if and when a buck showed up.

It wasn't a nice day that year to be out, but bucks were moving

The wind sliced through the nearby bedding area like a knife through warm butter. It came gusting across the field, sandblasting my face with hard snow, when a buck stepped hesitantly into view.

The 8-pointer seemed to have come from nowhere. The animal appeared like gray smoke scudding ahead of the wind, moving dark against white from the tag alders into the snow-covered open woodlot.

It traveled downwind, and stopped at random to check the wind, and then seemed to drift slowly across the whitened woodlot. It was the epitome of a whitetails strength to survive in all types of weather and ensure perpetuation of the species. Deer must be tough to survive for long in this type of weather.

It also was the stuff of calendar photos: a snowy scene, green topped pines and a motionless, majestic buck alertly surveying his surroundings. I raised my bow as the buck stepped methodically through the deepening snow to within 30 yards, knowing I wouldn't shoot until it moved to within 15 yards and offered a high-percentage shot at a no-miss range.

It's a close shot or nothing because of my vision problems

The buck began to forage, and conflicting thoughts sent electrical currents coursing through me. Live or die, it's late in the second bow season. I may not have another opportunity to take a buck before the season finally ended.  Besides, it would be a tough drag for one man to get the animal out of the woods to where I could pull it to my car with the four-wheeler. It would be a back-breaking chore just to lift it into my vehicle.

Conflicting emotions offered the thrill of taking a nice 8-pointer while testing my mettle against a savage late-season snow storm. The buck fed closer, browsing on something just off the ground, and my mind was forcing me into a confrontation with myself over the sanity and wisdom of shooting or not shooting this buck.

Give in, and just do it, came one mental command. The flip side said no, it will be too tough physically and there will always be another opportunity.

Flip a coin or do something; I chose to pass on this buck

The buck solved my mental deliberations. It gradually fed into a thick tangle of second growth from a cutting made 10 years before, and it slowly disappeared from sight.

I trudged through the building snow to my vehicle, cased my bow, and prepared to head out. Within moments, the vehicle was filled with welcome warmth, and I calmly reflected on my ambivalence.

Was I too wishy-washy? Had I lost the killer instinct?

The questions pinged around like metal balls in a pinball machine. Minutes of inner reflection told me that the answer was a definitive no to both questions.

There's something about a nasty storm, and hunting in bad weather, that satisfies my mental needs. There also is something about taking an animal's life, or not taking it, that causes great deliberation. It's easier to kill the animal than to allow it to walk away.

Granted, venison is one of my favorite meats. I take deer every year with bow, muzzleloader, rifle or shotgun, and each year I pass up many bucks that could have been harvested.

But, darn it, it feels good to let one live another year and to recall the decision many times over a long winter.

That's why it was simple not to pull the trigger on my bow release. That decision made it easier to yank the four-wheel-drive lever into low-lock and ease down the rutted and slippery two-track for a snowy journey back to civilization where my decision to not shoot made even more sense.

The power of granting life or death over an animal had been satisfied once again, and this time, the buck lived to furnish many fine memories. The thoughts of passing on that buck will live longer in my mind than it would have if the buck had been killed.

Knowing I had made a wise decision based on my personal feelings and simple logic was enough to turn this hunt into a successful one.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

This snow isn’t too deep for deer; belly-deep snow exhausts the animals

A study of deer facts can make anyone a better bow, muzzleloader, rifle or shotgun hunter. Here are some things to bone up on during the off-season.

A deer's home range is the area that annually covered by deer while eating, mating, resting or caring for fawns after birth. The radius of a home range usually is less than a mile in diameter.

Home ranges often are elongated, and may decrease in size as animal populations increase. One exception occurs during the rut when a dominant buck travels widely. A buck's home range decreases in size as the animal grows older or as the local deer population increases.

The theory of migrating whitetails was once ignored by wildlife biologists, but too much evidence exists of migratory patterns in northern ranges, especially during a severe winter. A case in point are whitetails along the Lake Superior drainage system once fall weather starts acting like winter.

Deer do migrate in some parts of the state

In a bad winter (which can coincides with the firearm deer season), deer may travel many miles to find shelter and food. If deep snow falls during the hunting season, look for migration trails that will cross state highways and back roads into heavy conifers or other dense yarding areas. Migrations from the Lake Superior shoreline gains strength as snow piles up, and deer move into huge yarding areas like the Hulbert or Tahquamenon swamps near Newberry, Michigan. during bad winters.

Such has not really been the case in many areas,. Most of Michigan this winter has dealt with little snow. Near Traverse City,  for instance, we often have 80-100 inches of snow by New Year's Day and it just keeps piling through February and March.

The last I knew, about a week ago, the area had received about 25 of snow, and then it melts and disappears.

Deer in southern counties seldom yard up because of severe weather, but such is not true in northern areas. Once snow reaches a depth of 12 or more inches, and cold winds howl, deer head for yarding areas by the most direct route.

Deer yards are often in thick cover with thermal conditions

They choose evergreens (balsam, cedar and pine) where cold, snow and wind have less impact on them, and the dense cover provides some thermal protection against body heat loss. In Michigan, deer-yard confinement is considered to be 20 weeks during a bad winter and 12-14 weeks in milder weather.

Some deer movement is normal except in severe conditions

Deer often bed in thick brushy cover during the day and near feeding areas in the evening. During snowy winter months, deer may venture from a deer yard briefly to feed but return to its confines during the coldest parts of the day or night or whenever snow becomes too deep for easy travel.

Deer require up to one bushel of browse daily to survive the winter. A matriarch doe often leads groups of three to five animals to feeding areas, but if weather is severe and browse is in short supply, does will kick fawns away before they can eat. This is one reason why deer mortality among young-of-the-year deer is very high in bad weather.

A dominant buck will lose 25-30 percent of its body weight during the rut, and that weight must be regained before heavy snows fall or it will likely perish.

Falling temperatures often put deer on the move. However, the reverse is also true in Michigan's northern areas during winter months. The colder the temperature during November and December, the more deer will move to stay warm.

Deer activity decreases in high winds and heavy snow storms. During lengthy snows, deer may be inactive for up to three or four days with very cold temperature says, and will move heavily once a storm passes through. That's the time to go hunting if the season is still open.

Watch the weather forecasts, and see what the 24-hour forecast will be. Hunting is often good immediately before a storm front moves in providing it brings a sudden drop in temperature. If a major winter storm is predicted, it might pay to be afield earlier in the day than normal to take advantage of a whitetails predictable feeding patterns.

An active scrape features a strong urine smell, hoof prints and antler tine marks. Hunt 30-40 yards downwind of an active deer scrape during the first three days of the firearms season. Most but not all scrape activity has ended by the firearm season opener as the rut winds down.

Those does are ready to be bred, and this knowledge can help a hunter fill a buck or doe tag.

Food choices are widespread among whitetails. They favor natural browse and farm-grown crops, and some deer researchers believe Michigan's deer are fairly divided between natural browse and farm crops.

Acorns rate high in nutrition and are easily found during the fall if the mast crop is good, but some years oak mast fails. Most of the state's corn fields have been picked except in southern counties, but a standing corn field will attract deer all winter if it is near heavy bedding cover.

Does often stomp their fawns to death during a bad winter. It's a bad thing to watch, but it's nature's way of allow the strong to survive and the weak animal eventually waste away with no marrow in their bones and a fuzzy face. That's when the coyotes come calling, and a deer yard takes on the appearance of an abattoir.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Bone-white antlers of a resting buck show above weeds during the pre-rut

The buck was banging its antlers against a tree, and I listened to him working a scrape for 30 minutes late last October. The buck was within 20 yards of me but he was screened by thick brush and was invisible.

I sat in my tree stand and listened. He was close enough to hear the urine hitting the scrape, and he was upwind and the pungent ammonia odor was strong. He worked that tree over, yanked at the overhead licking branch, and for all the noise and commotion he made, the buck was impossible to see.

I checked the spot the next day. He'd been working two scrapes, and one was eight inches deep and as big around as two large platters. The buck had pulled the old licking branch down, and I replaced it. It suited him because the scrape had tine marks and a hoof print in it, and the new licking branch looked pretty ragged. The second scrape was opened up, and the licking branch was chewed to a frazzle.

A spot with two or more active scrape should produce  if you don’t spook it

What was even more interesting was that the buck had opened up a third scrape. Huge clots of wet earth was piled at the north end of the scrape, and he had made it the night before. How do I know?

Buck scrapes have dirt and debris piled at one end or another, and if the dirt is piled at the end closest to thick cover, it generally means the deer is tending that scrape in the evening as he leaves the bedding area for a night of chasing cute little does.

This told me several things: One is the rut had not started but the chasing phase had set in. This chasing phase lasts several days before the full rut starts. As long as fresh activity is seen at the scrape, and it is being tended one or more times daily, the rut has not begun. Once the scrapes show no sign of activity, that means the rut is underway.

One thing few hunters realize is that the mid-day hours just before and during the rut can produce a fine buck.

This buck may have other nearby scrapes that it had been working, but once a buck is shot and is taken out of the woods, another will take its place. Nature abhors a vacuum, and when a big brown trout or a big whitetail buck is removed, another moves in and takes over.

Hunting from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. works well during the chasing stage and the rut. If possible, be in your stand by 9 a.m., and sit patiently. The bucks will move during the mid-day hours.

Hunt the mid-day hours during the pre-rut

I first learned of this phenomenon many years ago while hunting ruffed grouse. Two days in a row a buck was seen darting away from me in the same area. I checked the area, found his scrapes, and went back and set up a stand 30 yards downwind of it. The buck came by that first day at about noon, wind-checked the scrape from downwind, and offered me a 12-yard shot.

Hunting the pre-rut and the rut during mid-day hours can pay off. Sure, many hunters can't take time off work to hunt those hours, but keep it in mind for weekends. Hunt near natural funnels between bedding and feeding areas, and once the rut kicks in, start hunting the heavier cover.

My only real problem with hunting the mid-day hours is a personal one. I'm good for three hours maximum in a tree before everything gets sore. I'll stick it out until about 2:30 p.m., grab a bite to eat, and then hunt from 4 p.m. until legal shooting time ends. It means spending long hours in a tree, but it can pay big dividends with a husky buck and the hunting is more fun than writing about it.

This method has worked for me, and can work for you regardless of where you hunt. Try it this fall and see if it doesn't produce action at a time when no one is hunting. It's rut hunting's biggest secret, and now only you, me and several hundred thousand other people will know. Mark this blog and go back and read it again in mid-October, and maybe it will produce a nice buck for you next fall.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Make certain the firearm is properly patterned for a gobbler

Several years ago I killed a 24 1/2-pound long-beard gobbler while hunting in Iowa. My firearm of choice was a Knight muzzleloading shotgun with 150 grains of Pyrodex and two ounces of copper-plated No. 5 shot.

My first day of hunting with Tony Knight found us spooking a pair of roosted gobblers while opening a rusty and squeaky farm gate. Later, as we proceeded to look for unspooked birds, we stopped and began to call.

A nearby gobbler answered, walked right down the edge of an open field in broad daylight, gobbling his brains out, and one shot at 40 yards took care of him.

An easy shot with a muzzleloading shotgun

Mind you, 150 grains of Pyrodex and a two-ounce load of shot, produces a good bit of felt recoil. It wasn't excessive, but 100 grains of powder suits my moods much better.

The load isn't the issue here. I'm trying to decide in advance of April whether to try with a muzzleloader this spring during my hunting period. It worked well for me three years ago, and it was great fun, and the Knight muzzleloading shotgun is very tightly choked, and it works like a dream when shooting at 40-50 yards.

Mind you, I don't like to shoot gobblers that far out unless I can boost the downrange velocity without scattering birdshot all over the place. I have no qualms with shooting a 50-caliber frontloader with an extra-full choke  and two to 2 1/2 ounces of shot and three Pyrodex 50-grain for shooting at that range.

Five years ago, I sat down, and began calling an hour after daybreak, as rain and snow fell in a deluge. Fifteen hens and gobblers filed past me at 20 yards. The two big gobblers in the bunch had several hens between me and them.

Moisture in the barrel turned to sludge when mixed with snow

They disappeared from sight, and I waited another 30 minutes for those birds to move off, yelped once, and here comes a single gobbler running across an open field. He ran every step of the way until he was 30 yards out, and then he stopped, raised his head and began looking around.

I had a red-dot sight on my muzzleloading shotgun, and put the dot where his head and neck meet, and pulled the trigger. A sharp pop sounded, and the gobbler ran off like the hounds of hell were eating at his tail feathers.

The old adage of "Keep Your Powder Dry" came to mind, and I walked out to the car and drove 10 miles home. The muzzleloader was taken apart, the saboted shot cup and shot, and the black gooey stuff that used to be Pyrodex pellets, was pushed out the barrel. I had forgotten to put a latex thumb from a rubber glove over the muzzle to keep the rain out while i quickly set up my one-man tent blind.

What works is patterning a regular and muzzleloading shotgun

I really wanted to take another gobbler with the muzzleloading shotgun, but I have a Remington Model 870 pump 3-inch magnum 12 gauge shotgun that looks as it has been used to pound fence posts, but the shotgun is over 30 years old, and it shoots copper-plated No. 5 shot very well.

It comes with a sling, as does my muzzleloader, and it has produced gobblers from Alabama to Michigan. When the trigger is pulled, the bird dies. With it, my choice is to shoot birds at 30-35 yards. It has a full choke, but not the extra-full turkey choke found on many muzzleloading shotguns.

It is like an old friend. The stock fits well against my cheek, and nestles comfortably against my shoulder, and my good right eye lines up easily with the fiber optic sights.

The 12 gauge is a bit lighter than a muzzleloading shotgun to carry, and on a cross-country hike to find gobblers after the initial dawn action, that regular shotgun can be a big point in its favor. However, the muzzleloader has an extra-tight choke, and can easily kill birds at 50 yards if I choose to take a shot at that distance (which I've only done once). Make a decision which one to use and pattern it well.

Either firearm is fine by me, and in all honesty, shooting a gobbler isn't what tugs me gently into the turkey woods before dawn. It is the opportunity to attempt calling another bird within easy shotgun range. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't, but for me, being there and having a gobbler circle me at dawn is what my hunt is all about.

Pulling the trigger and killing the gobbler is nothing more than a heavy layer of frosting on my turkey-hunting cake.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

A wonderful day on the river can stroke your five senses

Cultivating my five senses is easy during the winter months. Hearing, seeing, smelling, tasting and touching are what enables sportsmen to fully enjoy the entire package of being in the wintry outdoors.

Winter ice fishing turns me on but there isn't much safe ice yet except on a few small lakes and ponds, and so I have to forgo watching the lowering of my rod tip as a pug-nosed bluegill sucks my bait down. Though I may not see that sight right now, or at least until we get more ice, there are countless other things for me and you to watch.

Saw a mature bald eagle soaring on the thermals yesterday, gliding first one way and then another, and their vision doesn't miss a thing. Stand still next to a tree, and they will drift through the sky, but if they spot a human, they will head elsewhere.

Your five senses, when used on an outdoor trip, improves the outing

Well, that’s not always true. An adult bald eagle made his living on the ice of Green Lake at Interlochen several years ago. This bold eagle would swoop down and grab a perch off the ice with an angler only 20 yards away.

Seeing a cold lemon-colored sunrise with frost sparkles in the air and the glint of weak light off ice- or snow-coated branches provides a kaleidoscope of colors. Ever notice how much sharper your vision seems on a very cold day?

Hearing is another of the senses I rely heavily on because my vision is so poor. Put me in a room filled with people talking, and I can't hear a thing, but put me in a tree stand and I can hear a mouse or chipmunk run through dry leaves 50 yards away.

Many times I've heard black bear or deer approach from behind long before I saw them, and it offers ample time to slowly prepare for a shot. The clamor of Canada geese in flight can be heard for long distances, and like a fog horn in pea-soup fog, it is a lonely and haunting sound. It's a fact that a black bear can be as stealthy as a hunting house cat, but I've heard every bear I've shot long before I saw the animal.

Is there anything than smells better to an ardent hunter than the crisp and nose-tingling odor of wood smoke on the wind as we make our way home to the wood stove of a hunting camp. A close second is the smell of fresh-brewed coffee or the crackling sizzle of bacon frying. The latter tantalizes the ears and the nose and triggers the need to taste.

We're short right now of prowling skunks on the snow, but I can smell foxes at a good distance if downwind of the animal. I also can smell changes in the wind, and that is something some people question. The smell of an approaching rain is something many people have come to recognize, but the air takes on a faint change as a new snow storms begins to build nearby.

Think each day about what you can hear, see, smell, taste, & touch

Walk into a grouse cover near an abandoned apple orchard or a wild grape arbor, and if you are downwind from either one, the winter odor is unmistakable. That smell is one that ruffed grouse seek out, and I’ve seen a pair of grouse lately near a winter frozen grape arbor. The birds are still hustling their vittles based on their autumn feeding frenzies of tart grapes.

Taste is normally associated with eating but years ago before there was a problem of beaver fever there were a few springs and tiny inland ponds that had the sweetest tasting water in the world. To dip and sip from those ponds or springs now is not only foolhardy, but a bout of beaver fever would always be a constant reminder of how our world has changed over 50 years.

Taste is an enjoyable sensation, and for me, pan frying a brace of lovely and winter-caught bluegills or perch is something I gladly apply a stamp of approval to, and it’s something I do often during the winter. I gut and gill them, pan-fry them, and pick them up like an ear of corn and slowly strip the  flesh from the rib bones. It is a tempting treat that will be long remembered.

Touching the knobby bases of a buck's antlers at the tail end of the archery season always provides me with a sense of wonder. How and why can antlers turn out in so many different ways is just one part of God's handiwork. All antlers seem as individual as finger prints.

These five senses bring an added bonus to the day - Try it!

The magic of the outdoors is best enjoyed when outside. Learn to test your five senses on a daily basis. Listen hard for the jackhammer rattle of a pileated woodpecker; watch for the slow and cautious approach of a nice buck; listen to the clarion call of geese as they circle and look for open water or grain still laying in a farm field; taste the delightful flavor of a cup of good coffee on a bitter cold day on the ice as the cold and wind tries to suck the warmth from your body; and never forget to reverently touch the buck, bluegill, perch or walleye while fishing or the soft fur of a cottontail taken ahead of a brace of yodeling beagles trailing a hot bunny track.

Our five senses add a special bonus to every outdoor trip, and it becomes especially true on a winter day when bright sunlight glistens off newly fallen snow. These senses magnify the outdoor pleasures if we just remember to use them at every opportunity.

A proper winter day means more than fish or game. Drink deeply of your five senses, and we find a new thrill in giving our five senses a good workout.

Tags: Dave, Richey, Michigan, outdoors, five senses, hearing, seeing, tasting, smelling, touching, wonders

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

A mellow day on Lake Michigan suits me to a T

Our house is structurally sound but some work needed to be done to make it look nicer on the inside and out.

Walls to be painted, carpet pulled up, all of this stuff leaves me cold. Some things got dinged up when my father was alive, and some things have just worn out.

Some changes were needed. I am living proof of a man who likes his home looking nice, but who gets a bit peeved when he can't sit at the table to eat and must sleep in a different bed because new paint is stinking up our bedroom.

Such things I find very annoying. Change doesn't come easy

It's easy to get a bit peckish under such situations, but I go into my office and work. It keeps me out of the way, and I don't have to look at the mess.

Watching people strip walls of old wallpaper leaves me cold. A new sink and other things are coming for the half-bath off our bedroom but only a toilet sets there now.

An old bed that belonged to my grandparents has been my bed for 30 years. Now there will be a new bed. I can accept the change because things will be nice when the job is done.

The question is when will it be done? Things move at a snail's pace, and slow doesn't match my mood. Order this or that, and wait two or three weeks. No one stocks inventory.

Things progress at the speed of maple syrup on a cold day

Some old carpeting has been pulled up, but the new carpeting won't be laid until the rooms are painted, the new doors hung, and the trim work has been completed.

We schedule things, and it always takes longer than planned. We order things and it costs more than we planned. Bathroom sinks and toilets must be ordered, and once everything is done, we'll have to order new carpeting. Who knows what color. We'll know later.

My wife understands this stuff, and I do not. Want a story, call me up and you'll have it tomorrow. Need a photo, it can be scanned and on your computer in 30 minutes. Want a shower pan for the shower, and it's a three-week wait.

I don't do well with house chores;  Never have, never will

I've never been a handyman. My knowledge of tools is pretty much confined to screw drivers and hammers. The more hammers and the larger, the better. I don't understand home improvements, and the cost and work involved in making such wholesale changes is almost unacceptable.

My recliner served me well. It felt great, worked just fine, and is gone along with a sofa, end-tables, another recliner and some carpeting in a trade-off with the builder for doing some work. Cool.

The builder is a good friend, and we both think highly of him. I'd rather he take the stuff in exchange for saving us some labor fees. However, we'll still have to buy a new sofa and some new chairs. I get confused about such things.

Steaming off wallpaper. Now there is a fine mess. It takes time, doesn't smell very good, and steaming means shreds of wallpaper everywhere. One small piece was found sticking to the bottom of my shoe. At least it didn't stink.

We're replacing 13 inside doors. Is that a lucky number or what? We called to donate them to a local charitable organization. They would be out in a week. A week to come to pick up 13 free doors? They didn't show up. Another appointment made for them to get them today. You got it, they didn't show. We're on again for tomorrow morning. I'm willing to take bets that they won't come.

My wife, her sister and a grand-daughter are ram-rodding this project. Guess how many votes I get? There's no place for me but away.

So I'm a bit tight-jawed. I try to keep my mouth shut to avoid hassles. I'm still not at the driving stage after eye surgery so I seek safe refuge in my office.

Don't know how many consecutive days of office-sitting I can take, but I think we may be a third of the way done on this interior rejuvenation. I keep waiting for that silly television program to show up, and within 30 minutes they turn a house into something grand and wonderful.

I used to sit and wait for John Baresford Tipton from the 1960s to arrive from the television show The Millionaire, announce his presence and give me a million bucks. John hasn't showed up in 40-some years, and it's doubtful the home redecorating show will do a 30-minute job either.

So ... it's time to gut it up, tough it out, stay out of the way and keep my mouth shut. This may be a democratic nation, but when refurbishing the house rolls around, all facets of democracy and freedom of speech fly out the window.

If you need me, try my office. Knock three times on the door if you love me.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

A big boss gobbler fell to a well-placed shot during the spring hunt

It starts every year in late January. I submit my spring turkey application, and sit back and dream turkey thoughts. My turkey hunting vest hangs in the corner of my office. The pockets bulge with box calls wrapped in soft brown wash cloths, and secured with stout rubber bands to prevent an accidental sound at the wrong time.

The back of my vest has a couple of decoys and stakes, and there is a turkey wing I slap against tree trunks and brush to imitate a hen flying down to the ground at dawn.

Other pockets contain slate and glass calls, another pocket has a bunch of diaphragm calls, and scattered here and there is a crow call and an owl call although I rarely use them. There is a gobbler call that I have used perhaps twice in 35 years.

My vest contains everything I'll need for a turkey hunt

Most of my joy about turkey hunting comes from calling them. The idea of a big gobbler strutting his way to the call is a magnificent feeling. It is a wonderful sight, watching that bird react to soft clucks and purrs, and to watch a long-beard sneak through the woods, stop and go into a full strut and a booming gobble, is something I've experienced often.

Now me, I am not a good caller. Guys like Greg Abbas, Bob Garner, Bruce Grant, Arnie Minka, Phil Petz, Al Stewart and many others are good callers. Not me. I think I was tone deaf as a youngster, and never could sing a lick. I couldn't carry a tune in a picnic basket.

Countless records have been listened to, and there's no way the sounds that come from my calls sound anything like those on a record or tape.
The tapes have true sound quality, and the notes are crisp and sharp.

Mine tend to run together. There are calls I can't make, and I never try, but no matter how bad they sound to me, it matters little. It doesn't seem to bother the gobbler. Not one tiny bit!

Maybe the turkeys are as tone deaf as me. No one, write that down for posterity, no one is perfect all the time.

I've heard even expert callers blow a clinker once in a while

One of the secrets of turkey calling that I learned many years ago was that gobblers and hens, like men and women, have different voices. They don't sound the same, and humans are not meant to sound the same either. So if my turkey tunes are a little off, it doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother the birds.

I've argued back and forth with hens, and on more than one occasion, my squabbling with a hen brings him to me. Where she goes, the gobbler follows, and more than a couple gobblers have met their fate by following a snarly old hen to my call.

I've read books on turkey calling, and the author advises leaving the diaphragm home if a hunter can't use it right. I always let the turkeys determine whether it is right or wrong, and even when it sounds wrong to me, the birds seem to accept it.

Turkey calling is the epitome of turkey hunting

Turkey calling, to my way of thinking, is not so much about what you say with a call as how and when you say it. There is a certain rhythm to turkey calling, and if a hunter has the sense to know the string of sounds and put them together in the right order, the birds may come.

There is much good to be said about never calling too much. A hen that stays in one spot, doesn't move and squawks at the gobbler may not call a long-beard in. But, then again, maybe it will.

Try a running call a little bit, perhaps answer one gobble to let him know where you are, and that may be all it takes to lure a big Tom to the gun.

However, having said that, I've long experimented with using two calls at once. If a gobbler sounds hot on the roost, and is gobbling and double gobbling, but won't move in your direction, try using a box call and a diaphragm at the same time. It sounds something like two hens, and sometimes it will cause the gobbler to come running to investigate.

Nothing ever works 100 percent of the time, and I've seen world champion turkey callers mess up. Too much calling at the wrong time is a dangerous practice, and hunters must have the experience needed to know when and how much to call.

Shooting the gobbler isn't why I hunt them. I chase this long-spurred bird because I thrill at seeing a snowball-white head bobbing through the woods as it comes to my call. I've been known to let the bird come in, look for the hen and wander off, just so I can catch the buzz of having a gobbler up close.

It's a thrill I hope never to lose, and I'll be practicing my calling for the next three months. Perhaps the practice will help but it's nothing to worry about. I know that with time I can call in almost every gobbler that wants to come.

The problem is that sometimes gobblers just don't want to come. Go figure.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

It doesn’t get any better than a big northern pike at sundown

I've been in this outdoor writing business for 44 years, and over that period I've met most of the greatest outdoor writers of our time.

Men like ...

and many others

All had one thing in common: they loved the outdoors.

It wasn't so much they loved to kill fish or game, but they enjoyed being out there and matching wits with fish or game. Things were a good bit different in those bygone days. Outdoor writers wrote stories that people loved to read. The how-to or where-to stories weren't in vogue a half-century ago.

No knock on current outdoor writers but many of those in the 1950s were great

They called that earlier brand of writing "Me & Joe stories." If a reader read close he could spot some how-to and where-to stuff, but what gave these stories legs was the writers could pull the reader into the story and make them read it.

We felt as if we were hunting sheep with Jack O'Connor, catching big trout with Joe Brooks, shooting ducks or geese with Lynn Bogue Hunt or Van Campen Heilner. We hung on the words of Robert Ruark as he sat at the Old Man's knee and absorbed some of the wisdom that old-timers handed down to the young 'uns.

Corey Ford was another favorite back in the 1950s and 1960s, and his Tales of The Lower Forty were funny but also shared some fishing or hunting wisdom.

Ben East, who lived near Holly, Michigan, was a friend and I spent hours watching him work his red pencil magic over a manuscript, cutting and splicing, turning words of some wisdom into pearls of wisdom. I thoroughly enjoyed my many conversations with John Madson, and believed that few outdoor writers could match up.

He did a great deal of work for Winchester and the Olin Corporation, and he could make the ingredients of breakfast cereal read well. He was a master of turning phrases, of setting scenes, and of working his brand of literary magic on a story. When he finished, the piece was a gem.

Ben East and John Madson were two or the best wordsmiths

Madson was arguably the finest true outdoor writer of the mid-1900s, and we spent many hours together before his death. I have a healthy-sized stack of his letters, and a common letter from one buddy to another became a piece of art when Madson put his hand to it.

There seems to be something that has gone missing when an article just tells the reader how to catch fish or shoot deer, or even worse, where to do it. The old-time outdoor writers did all of that but they also told readers why they should do it.

They wrote from the heart. They invoked our five senses and said why they should be important to sportsmen, and they knew how to drag the reader into the story and leave them at the end wanting more. That's the sign of a truly good writer.

Outdoor magazines no longer have strong editors. I sold my first "Me and Joe" story to Outdoor Life magazine in 1970, and back then, editor Bill Rae was an editor. Editors below his lofty position could offer their opinion, but Rae was a one-man editorial staff. If he wanted a story, he got the story, and suffered no nonsense from junior editors.

I sold a number of stories to Bill Rae, and he happily bought them because I could give him what he wanted and what he knew his readers wanted to read. Now, it's different; there is such a thing as "editing by committee," which doesn't bode well for the writer because many editors don't know what they want. Many want two or three rewrites from a professional outdoor writer. Things have changed and not for the better.

I sell many fishing and hunting books, and some old outdoor magazines on my website Scoop's Books, and I figure if a book is a good read for me, it will probably appeal to many of my readers. I enjoy going back to some of the earlier writers, and although some of their copy was stilted at times, they knew how to grab the reader's attention.

My personal method writing outdoor copy is simple: inform and entertain

It's always been my intention to write from the heart: to drag readers into the story; to offer them something that is nearly impossible to find today in the how-to, where-to world of outdoor writing, and I'm not ashamed to admit to a mistake. I tweak my readers five senses, and they seem to enjoy it.

What comes through in my writing is a deep and abiding love of the outdoors and of fishing and hunting. I know our natural resources needs some restraints, and I know that being afield is part of why we go fishing or hunting.

We share the outdoors with other user groups, and those of us who love these outdoor pastimes, are perhaps the last of our breed. And just think: all of this rhetoric is about our respect for the fish and game we catch and kill, and a deep love for being outdoors.

And it has all come to pass because of another love. A love of reading is what makes the long wait between fishing and hunting trips bearable, and that is why so many people visit this site every day.

I may be the luckiest person of all because I have a deep urge to write what people want to read. And for that, I'm genuinely thankful for my many readers. Keep reading and I'll keep writing, and tell your friends, neighbors and relatives about my website.

I thank you, in advance, for that consideration.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Two hunters with snowshoe hares and with a U.P. black bear

All people are bound by the laws of man to live by a code of ethics, but sportsmen have additional values to be considered if we are to be judged by what we believe are ethical actions.

Hunter ethics are more far reaching than many believe. They include a feeling and a deep appreciation for the animals and birds we hunt, the outdoor environment we and wildlife need and share, and the deep inner stimulation we feel when pursuing our pastime in an ethical, legal and well regulated manner.

This personal ethics policy hinges on those deeply-seated feelings sportsmen must have for the well being and continued health, welfare and habitat improvement of game animals and birds, as well as non-game animals and birds. Hunters must care deeply about what happens to all wildlife, and not just those species for which there is an open or closed hunting season.

Everything in nature serves at least two masters

The habitat that the small Kirtland’s warblers call home is every bit as important to everyone as that used by ducks, geese, pheasants, ruffed grouse, wild turkeys and woodcock.

But hunting ethics go far beyond this simple, yet personal, concept that govern our actions. Michigan laws place additional ethical demands on hunters, making our special-interest outdoor group the most regulated in the state.

Young, beginning hunters no longer can pick up a firearm and head for the woods, fields or marshes without lengthy and well supervised Hunter Education training and parental or other adult supervision. The same rules apply to anyone born on or after Jan. 1, 1960. Any first-time hunter born on or after that date must possess a hunter education certificate to purchase their first hunting license.

They must take a certified Hunter Safety Program, pass a rigorous examination and satisfy qualified instructors on their capability to practice hunting safely without endangering others, themselves and the property of landowners. They must understand the laws that govern their conduct while hunting, and people should be signing up for such classes as soon as they become available prior to next fall. The DNR can provide information on classes.

These training classes teach students how to handle bows and firearms safely, give explanations of wildlife management, teach game laws, and make certain that students understand the laws of safe hunting. These rules are common-sense thoughts that can help keep everyone safe.

All are necessary to obtain an in-depth knowledge of hunter safety, but ethics -- personal ethics -- are almost spiritual inner feelings, something that must come from deep within each individual. They are as much a part of hunting as carrying a firearm or hunting from a tree stand with a bow.

Hunting, and the freedom to hunt, is a part of our American heritage that should be as rich and deep as love of our family and this great country. The American Constitution guarantees us the right to keep and bear arms, but those arms must be used in a civilized and lawful manner.

This constitutional guarantee obligates sportsmen to abide by local, state and federal fish and game laws, and to have respect for themselves, the lives and property of others, and obviously, for the wildlife they pursue.

Recreational hunting is a sound game management policy designed to keep wildlife around in desirable numbers for the enjoyment of future generations of hunters and those who have no desire to hunt but enjoy the recreational value of viewing deer, elk and other game.

No longer is there room for slob hunters and deadbeats in our woods

Hunting satisfies a deep personal need for many people, and it can be a deeply moving experience. But it is as individual as our fingerprints. Each of us who hunts has a different viewpoint on how we should view our days afield.

Ethics, and the feelings hunters have for their sport and the wildlife we hunt, is an emotional package so deeply seated and meaningful that it's difficult to put into words so non-hunters or anti-hunters would understand.

We, as hunters, must develop our own personal code of ethics which goes beyond those laws and rules established by any sporting agency or group. Our sport will be judged by its personal and collective ethics, and the public actions of its many individuals.

Hunting actions and needs require a code of personal ethics to survive ... not only now but well into the future. How hunters behave now will determine whether we will have hunting in the not-so-distant future.

The public acceptance of  hunting and hunters by the public at large is critical  to continuation of our legal hunting pursuits. Act like a slob around non-hunters, and you may find yourself facing rules that shouldn’t be necessary. Idiots don’t deserve the right to hunt or to ruin others chances to spend time outdoors in a legal environment.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Another of my favorite collectibles are my Michigan turkey patches

Everyone collects something. Writers collect information, baseball fans collect cards of their favorite players, and hockey fans collect sweaters of favorite players or signed hockey-pucks or sticks.

My mother collected old Mason canning jars and hid change in old pill bottles. I go through enough pill bottles, but have precious little change to save. Besides, I prefer what little money I have to be in my pocket.

People have been known to collect string, wire and tin foil. Most of my collecting was related in one way or another to fishing, hunting or trapping for the past 55 years. I even have an old bear trap my Atlantic salmon guide used years ago to trap bear in New Brunswick.

My items of collection are different from those of most people

The world of fishing and hunting is rife with things to collect. My late brother collected old Michigan-made fishing lures and black-white postcards, especially those with fish on them. I helped him locate lures and he helped me track down old fishing and hunting books. It worked out well for both of us.

A buddy collects old double-barrel shotguns while another friend collects only Belgian-made Browning rifles and shotguns. Still another collects duck decoys from some of the old master carvers, another collects bamboo fly rods, and many others collect the bear, deer and turkey patches.

One man collects miniature fishing and hunting books. These tiny books can be as small as two inches high. There aren't very many of such books around, and most of them are very scarce.

Although most of my older traps have disappeared, there are still some No. 1 and 1 1/2 long-spring and jump traps used for muskrats, coons, mink and fox. I still have a few of the old metal stretchers we used to dry our muskrat hides prior to the sale.

I have a small collection of very low-numbered fishing and hunting licenses as well as some metal seals for deer, bear, moose, wolf and wolverine. Something makes folks like me collect such things. I have a number of old fishing and hunting digests dating back into the 1940s and before.

Mom did her thing with Mason jars and tinfoil. Dad loved western novels, and especially those published in the 1940s and 1950s.  He also had a bunch of the Dell map-back novels, and many are scarce and desirable to old paperback novel collectors, often for their covers.

My guess is we feel closer to our chosen pastimes of fishing and hunting when we are engaged in collecting some of the memorabilia that accompanies our passions. I also have a small knife collection, including an old Marble Arms Company Boy Scout knife.

Books, knives, old, used shotshells & other objects of interest

Are any of these items worth great sums of money? No, they aren't. I used to reload shotgun shells, and somewhere along the way had the chance to pick up some Winchester-Western 12-gauge AA plastic shotshell cases. Some people are looking for them because they were a great shotshell for reloaders, but one wonders what I'll do with them.

It's obvious to most people who read these daily blogs that I collect fishing and hunting books. Why, you ask? Because it's difficult for us to determine where we are going if we don't know where we've been. The books give me a wonderful idea of what has gone before, and besides, I'm a hopeless romantic when it comes to old fishing and hunting gear.

Over many years my hat collection has grown. There is a story behind every hat, and I still remember most of the stories. Some involve fishing and hunting while other relate more to friends who enjoy the same things that wind my clock. The collection numbers about 400, and each has a story to tell.

I have an old Marble compass and match-safe I've carried while hunting since I bought my first hunting license in 1952. In my pocket is a Case jack-knife that is older than I am, and I well remember always having a pocket knife on my person from the 4th grade on.

Every boy in school carried a pocket knife when I was young, and no one was ever cut or stabbed by one, and having one in your pocket wasn't grounds for being expelled from school. My knife helped me stay focused on what I think are important issues about the old days and life itself, and sadly, those days have ended and a knife -- even though used to trim fingernails or sharpen a pencil -- now results in an unfriendly chat with the police and probable expulsion from school.

Buying Dad two Derringers for Christmas when we were 12

I well remember years ago when our father was a member of the Special Police in Clio where we grew up. Brother George and I bought Dad a pair of pearl-handled .22 Derringers for Christmas one year. We were kids, but the local chief of police knew us, and OK’ed the buy. That wouldn't happen now. The kids, and their unwitting father, would likely be arrested: the kids for buying firearms and Dad for letting it happen.

Some little nicknacks line my shelves. Old bottles of Citronella (an insect repellent), leader tins for storing fly-fishing leaders, an old bottle of Hoppe's No. 9 that I open several times each year to savor an aroma as distinctive as a 12-point buck or a wedge of decoying mallards.

I bought a set of maps published by the Michigan DNR many years ago. There are hot-spots marked on those maps that showed the way to old fishing areas, some great grouse and woodcock coverts, and the neat thing is they show old trails and two-tracks that are no longer visible. Search those maps, and it's easy (sometimes) to find an old lane that when followed will help us restore some great memories of yesteryear.

Some people have asked me: "What good is all of that old crap?" They only see the flotsam of one man's life while I see this stuff as being pretty important to me and my fondest memories. Anything that can bring the old days back to life, if only for a few minutes, may be junk to some but it's one man's treasure for an old goat like me.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Winter snow and cottontails are made for each other

The shotgun was just a prop. The real reason I carried it on a walk around my 20 acres was in case I kicked up a cottontail rabbit. I’ve done a good bit of judicious timber cutting, and many brush piles hold bunnies.

I stoked the twin tubes of my Winchester 12-gauge over-and-under with low-brass No. 6 shot, and whether a bunny bounced out of a brush-pile or not wasn't the point.

The major attraction was an opportunity to be outdoors, firearm in hand, and going for a walk. Six inches of snow fell overnight, and it was just too nice and too pretty of a day to miss an opportunity by staying indoors.

A good day for a walk in the snowy woods, shotgun in hand

I donned a Hunter Orange hat and vest, tied up my boots, grabbed some sunglasses to prevent too much glare, and went for a hike.

The snow was fairly deep and it covered many fallen limbs, and that made me aware of potential hazards. If I didn't watch where I was going, there was the possibility of tripping over an unseen object.

A shuffling step or two would be taken, and then a long pause. The brush-piles stood out in somber and stark relief to the whiteness of the woods, and I encountered two or three fresh bunny tracks. Was it three different cottontails or just one animal making a lot of tracks?

Just walk slow, stop often and it’s like still-hunting deer

I'd follow each one along, stopping often, looking ahead, and crossed the tracks of three deer (one had a big hoof-print), but it was accompanied by a deer with a small foot, and my suspicion was a doe and fawn. One other track was seen, and it was traveling alone. Buck or doe? No clue.

There were several fox squirrels moving about, and one offered a shot but it wasn't taken. I watched the bushytail poke around on the ground only 30 yards away, and it offered an obvious easy shot but there are plenty of days left to hunt squirrels, but there was no interest today.

I noticed a weasel track nosing into one of the brush-piles, but it may have had a burrow to go down, because the white coat of the ermine wasn't visible. Years ago, I trapped a few ermine and always respected the vicious little animal for its hunting ability.

Kicking brush piles can be a good hunting method

My intentions were to stay on level ground, and I didn't want to risk traveling downhill to hunt through this much snow. Such downward hikes require climbing back up, which isn't a bother, except it provides a greater opportunity of slipping or losing my balance.

Only one cottontail was seen and it was boosted from a brush-pile just before the ground fell away into a ravine. I came up with the shotgun but the bunny was 40 yards out, running hard and it quickly ducked into another pile of brush part-way down the hill.

The situation appeared to be one where some caution was required, and on further reflection, my brain questioned the sanity of risking a downhill traverse to the brush. Perhaps I'd get a shot, but another brush-pile lay only 20 yards from where the rabbit took cover.

It appeared to be a rather foolish temptation, and it didn't take long to reject the idea. One rabbit wouldn't feed my wife and I, and later in the season, it would be tempting to take the trail of that cottontail again.

Better to do it later than now. My cap was tipped to the rabbit, and I retraced my steps, kicked around two or three other piles of brush without rousting another cottontail, and my hike ended with simply some great exercise.

The shotgun was nothing more than an excuse for taking a hike. But, with a shotgun in hand, I was hunting and having a good time and on a cold winter day, it was the best excuse I had for spending time outdoors.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

Tres Amigos (L-R) George Richey, John McKenzie & Dave Richey

Those people who just got started steelhead fishing in the last few years missed out on the finest fishing ever seen back in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Good numbers of steelhead were being planted all around the state, and the Betsie and Platte rivers offered great sport that was certainly was as good as it gets.

There was some natural steelhead reproduction 35 years ago, and the DNR was planting fish as well. The number of anglers who knew how to catch steelhead were few, and the numbers of fish were very high.

My guiding career began in 1967, and brother George joined me in guiding fly fishermen to salmon, steelhead and broad-shouldered brown trout. John McKenzie became the third of Tres Amigos, and we cut a wide swath through runs of spring and fall spawning salmonids.

We fly-fished, and taught our clients how to cast & catch fish

Snagging was rampant  in those days, and we fished with No. 4, 6 and 8 single-hook flies, and it may sound like bragging but it's not: we were good anglers and guides, and there was no need to snag fish. We could fair-hook fish on a regular basis. The sheer numbers of fish meant if we spooked fish in one spot, a short distance away would be willing fish.

The steelhead runs were huge in the late 1960s and early 1970s, and I can remember days on the Little Manistee River when we could hook 30 steelhead in a day. Not all fish were landed, but George and John tied flies while I handled the bookings for three guides.

We were a busy bunch, and were on the river every day. We knew where the salmon, steelhead or browns would be from day to day, and we seldom had much competition. We came and went, and sometimes Tres Amigos were all on the same stream, and at times we would be spread out across three different rivers. We'd compare notes at night, and decide who would fish where the next day.

John, 13 years younger than George and I, was a good-looking guy. I often paired him with husband-and-wife teams or father-and-daughters, and his great talent -- besides catching fish -- was being able to teach people how to fish. He was patient, and clients easily learned from him.

We three were a well-oiled team that worked together

George and I were older, and by nature, seemed to attract the older anglers or the chief person who brought a crew up fishing. We treated everyone the same; we'd fish from sunup to sundown every day if clients wanted it, and clean fish at night and be up early the next day.

Guiding fishermen was a way of life for Tres Amigos, and we were very good at what we did. We could spot fish, coax anglers into putting the fly in exactly the right spot so it would be scratching gravel when it passed the fish. Often the fish would take, and we'd have a big fight on our hands.

One thing captivated we three guides: putting people into big fish for the first time. The smiles that crossed their faces when they fought a 15-pound steelhead for the first time; got hooked into a 30-pound chinook salmon; or was trying to land a big hook-jawed male brown trout weighing 12 to 18 pounds. It's been many years since those faces broke out into a smile, but I vividly remember most of them.

There wasn't anything we wouldn't do for each other. John was known to tie flies by hand on the river bank when we ran out. George was always there to coax anxious anglers into following a big fish downstream, and I was the guy that made it all work with the precision of a Swiss watch. All of us had a job to do, and we greeted each peach-colored dawn with a smile on our face and a jump in our step.

Each day was a new adventure for us and our guided clients

For 10 years we were Tres Amigos -- three friends -- who made a living in the best possible way -- being outdoors, on the river, and with a client holding tight to a big fish jumping in the river.

We often went without eating, found ourselves upside down in the river current trying to net a client's fish for them, and we looked out for each other. We also paid attention to our clients, catered to their every wish that was ethical and legal, and we coaxed more out of our client's skill levels that they knew they had.

We put people into fall-spawning rainbows that had tiny tails, fat waists, and 23-inch fish that weighed 13 pounds. The browns, especially the big males, were a golden-bronze with big spots; the steelhead were mint-silver and high jumping; the chinook salmon were tackle busters of the first degree, and some mighty battles would cover a half-mile of river. The coho salmon were seldom finicky about a fly: put it to them at their level, and they would hit.

It was a magical 10 years, and now brother George is gone. John McKenzie and I occasionally talk on the phone, and I miss him. We took a trip down memory lane about years ago. We were there for the finest salmon and trout fishing this state has ever seen, and pride ourselves on being the first fly fishing guides on the river.

And that, my friends, is something we'll never forget.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »