A bear this size, at close range, is a formidable animal. Be aware of nearby bears.

Bear hunting is a special brand of outdoor adventure where the hunted can become the hunter. It's when 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 a brutal mauling.

Someone in North America gets mauled by a black bear every year.

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 best hope he does everything right if a bear gets within three feet of him. 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 meant to frighten you, but the Michigan bear hunting seasons open next month. Realize, first of all, black bears are very unpredictable. Don’t trust them.

Whenever bears are baited or being run with hounds, 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 approach close enough that I could have touched it, which I knew would be a 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 ton. Don't scream or shout.

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 a bad thing to do because they are impossible out-run. Watch the animal, and read the messages it gives you.

Know this: bears, 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.

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.

<strong>Do not run.</strong> 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 humans’ movements or lack of them may act as a catalyst that triggers an attack.

Allow a bear to save face. Give it a way out of a bad situation.

Saving face is no different with a bear than with a barroom 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.

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 critical point, and even the best Hollywood make-up artist won't be able to make you recognizable to your family.

The author’s first bear with a bow. Sometimes, this is all one sees of a bear.

Me and black bears go back a very long time. There have been a large number of close encounters with bruins over 45 years, and some potentially dangerous confrontations have taken place and I’m still respectfully writing about them.

Bears are very curious but can be very dangerous animals and are among my favorite wildlife species to hunt. Granted, they can do great bodily harm and can kill a guy if they choose, and if the opportunity presents itself, but mostly they want to be left alone. They can be downright curious, just like people, but after more than four decades of making a full-time living as an outdoor writer, it's been my pleasure to have crossed paths with bruins on many occasions.

My hunts began in the late 1960s. No permit application was needed back then. A hunter walked into a store, bought a bear license, and went hunting.

Now, with new and different rules, there are more bears moving into new areas.

Those early hunts were fun because I sat on the ground, usually within 20 feet of an active bear bait, and hunting from tree stands were not legal for bear or deer hunters at the time. The first bruin I killed was with a bow at six feet. It wheeled, ran off into tall marsh grass, and I was right behind it, clueless and stupid in the middle of a dense Upper Peninsula swamp.

The animal went down on its back, and as I came running through the tall marsh grass behind it, my right foot came down two inches from its open mouth as it let out a death moan. My next step, I swear, was a 20-foot jump. It really wasn't that far but that animal scared me silly under those circumstances. Circling back, the bear was approached from behind, but it was dead.

Another time I saw nine different bears on opening day of the fall bear season. A big bruin frequented the area but wasn't seen the first day although nine smaller bears showed up to feed at various times from dawn to dusk. The larger bear came to visit the second day, and offered an easy shot.

There have been several close calls with bruins of various sizes.

There have been some close scrapes with bruins including a stand-off with a sow with three cubs in Saskatchewan 10 years ago. Another close encounter came in the Northwest Territories as a foraging bruin was spotted and photographed from a distance of 20 feet. The bear approached to within three feet of me, circled all around as I stood my ground and kept turning to face the animal, and it never did anything except turn and walk away. Its ears didn’t go back, its neck hairs didn’t go up and there was none of that teeth-gnashing business.

Another close call came when a grizzly was encountered in Glacier National Park during an early snow storm as I hurried down the mountain ahead of this violent storm that threatened to close the mountain passes. We eyed each other at 20 feet for what seemed like long minutes but the standoff probably didn't last over 10 seconds, and the big bear ran off.

A few years later grizzlies went on the rampage one year, killed and partially ate parts of some of the tourists. It was a nasty piece of business, and those big bears were hunted down and killed.

Another time, while hunting on British Columbia's Vancouver Island with Jim Shockey, my guide and I saw over 30 black bears on one mountainside at one time. We probably saw 60 different bears in one day, including one with a 22-inch skull that would have placed high in the Boone & Crockett record books.

I passed on that big bear for purely personal reasons.

That bear was not shot by me. I passed on it because the only thing that would have made the animal appealing to anyone was its huge skull. It had rub spots on both front legs like it had been wearing manacles, two huge bald patches were on its hips, and assorted other problems made that animal truly ugly. It was an old boar, probably in its last year of life, and I let him live.

I knew if I shot that bear the only reason for its death would have been the big skull. I left that bruin to feed after stalking to within 60 yards with my Knight .50 muzzleloader. I didn't need a record-book black bear that bad.

Outdoor writer/photographer Judd Cooney and I hiked into one of his bear baits in northern Saskatchewan several years ago, sat down 20 yards from a bear bait, and took photos. A sow with a pair of young cubs came to visit, and he asked if I wanted the sow to turn our way. I nodded affirmatively.

"Hey, bear, over here!" Cooney hollered. The bear backed up a step or two, turned to look our way, and I started shooting photos. Cooney repeated this exercise three times, and then the cubs came over for a visit. They sniffed my boots, crawled over our legs, and walked back to their mother.

Had any cub squalled we would have had an irate sow black bear all over us. The cubs behaved themselves, as did we, and they soon wandered off, making it a thrilling adventure.

Hunting and being around bears all these years has been fun. There have been a few anxious moments when I’ve hunted down and killed bears that had been wounded by other people who were too frightened to go after the animal. I didn’t want a wounded bear in the woods that could cause serious injury or death to someone unfortunate enough to get too close to it.

There has never been a problem during my encounters or when hunting down those injured animals, but anytime a person gets within 50 yards of a wild bear, there always is an element of danger.

So far, I’ve been lucky. Now, with bad vision dogging ny trail, my memories of those times when bears got too close, are still vivid. Each time provided an adrenaline surge that exceeds even that of when a big whitetail buck walks within bow range.

There is a special kind of magic to bear hunting. One only has to remember that this animal you hunt is fully capable of putting you in a casket or a hospital bed. That, my friends, adds some adventure and spice to the hunt.

Face a real or false charge from a tooth-clacking, foot-pounding, enraged black bear, and you’ll experience something that may wake you from a sound sleep for many years to come as you relive that hunt. Bears have the capability of putting the fear of God into a person, and it’s always wise to remember that.

The little bear by the shore is 15-18 months old. The big one weighs 400 pounds.

Bear numbers have been creeping up in the northern Lower Peninsula for at least a decade. In fact, bears are being occasionally seen in many places where they've never been seen in nearly 100 years.

Don't believe me? Consider this: Two bears (perhaps the same bear twice) have been seen in Traverse City, and not far from Munson Hospital. It's a small bear, and probably last year's boar that Mom has kicked out as she prepared for the summer breeding period.

If that's not convincing, a bear has been seen twice in Frankfort near the west end of town. Again, it's quite likely it is the same bear that has been seen on two different nights.

Most new bears to an area are young males looking for a new home.

A number of bruins are being seen through Benzie and Leelanau counties.The Deadstream Swamp on Deadstream Road west of Honor holds some bears. Bears are being seen on a some what routine basis near Thompsonville and Nessen City in southern Benzie County, and crossing roads bordering Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore near Frankfort.

The area near the Manistee River in Kalkaska and Wexford counties are producing bear sightings because it is a natural travel corridor. Make no mistake about it: bruin numbers are rising in this part of the state.

The breeding period is probably why many more bears are being seen in the past month. A new Bear Crossing sign were erected on M-115 just northwest of Cadillac several years ago. The reason is to caution motorists to slow down in that area. Numerous bears have been killed on M-115 northwest of Cadillac and along M-55 west of Cadillac.

Folks,the Highway Department doesn't erect those signs as a make-work project. Bears cross there and some have been killed by cars or trucks. Often, it's young bears that get killed but some large boars are being seen. A 400-pound animal was one of the bears tranquilized in and around Traverse City this spring.

Another location just a few miles west of M-115 at Cadillac on M-55 usually sees three or four bears killed by cars and trucks each year. The area has always been a favorite bear crossing site.

Deer Crossing signs are common in both peninsulas, but when Bear Crossing signs are put in place, it's done for a solid reason. An increasing number of black bears live nearby, and they move through these areas, both at night and during the day.

Other areas in the northwestern Lower Peninsula are reporting more bruins.

The Mitchell Lake Swamp at Cadillac normally holds at least 20 bruins, and some years it may hold as many as 30 animals. An increase in bruin numbers in certain locations is caused by Mom kicking the kids out before she breeds again.

The cubs are nearly full grown, and often will weight 80 to 100 pounds. Most of these transient animals are young boars trying to stay out of the reach of older and larger males. This causes them to wander into new and unfamiliar territory, and a young boar running from a big boar can cross highways and be killed.

Or... the animals can become a nuisance to home owners when they find outside garbage cans tipped over and smashed. Bears frequently come upon porches at night to get into a bird feeder, and beekeepers find young bruins at fault with the destruction of bee hives. There has been some bear damage to bee hives in Leelanau County and in Benzie County near Thompsonville and Nessen City.

These bears are looking for a new home, and frequently come into close contact with humans. There is a poorly-defined line between acceptance and a lack of acceptance among humans when it comes to nearby blackbears.

The bear seasons in both peninsulas will begin in September, and this also can lead to more bruins wandering around as they are unknowingly pushed by humans and dogs.

This acceptance level of these animals can change quickly if they begin destroying property. The farther south bears go, the lower their social acceptance level becomes. Draw a line from Grand Rapids through Midland to Bay City, and south of that line the willingness of the public to share habitat with bears is not very high.

A bear wandering around Clarkston about 20 years ago made the news, and city people were peeking out their windows before walking from their front door to the car. That bruin, a young male, was chased and seen by many people, and was finally captured in the Thumb area about 50-75 miles away. The hue and cry of city dwellers forced the DNR to relocate the animal farther north for its own safety.

The Thumb area is seeing more and more bears as time goes on. There are areas of thick wooded cover and swamps, and such areas quickly become home for a wayward bruin seeking more solitude from other larger bears. How long those animals will survive in the Thumb region is any one's guess but the animals have established an increasing toe-hold in some southern areas.

Sadly, folks have an acceptance level for bears. it varies from one spot to another.

My thought is the animals will hang around as long as they aren't unduly disturbed by humans and don't become a nahir nuisance, and part of that means that humans must keep their garbage indoors, move pet food dishes inside, and if the bears start raiding bird feelers, they must be brought in at night.

And therein is another problem with bears. They need room, and so do humans. Do we need as much as we have? It's a debatable question, but bear habitat is slowly shrinking while the population of bruins is increasing. It could become a no-win situation for down state bears in the future unless the DNRE isolates a few areas for an occasional hunt.

The DNRE is doing a great job of managing black bears, but the animals have been seen near Bay City, Flint, Grand Rapids, Lansing, Midland, and as far south as the Michigan-Indiana and Michigan-Ohio borders.

Some great bear habitat is found south of that Flint-to-Grand Rapids line,and the food sources are much better than those found in northern counties where snow keeps the animals denned up from November through much of April.

Can we look for a greater southern movement of young black bears in thefuture? I think so. I also see more of the animals getting killed on highways. I anticipate more damage being done to croplands by hungry bruins, and great damage being done to bee hives.

Can we expect our southern residents to greet black bears with open arms and a hearty welcome? Not hardly.

It’s doubtful if southern Michigan residents will readily accept bears in their backyard.

One or two bears spread over a 20-mile area wouldn't hurt anything, but if the animals found a cozy little swamp near great food supplies near Lansing, Jackson or Kalamazoo and start being seen on a regular basis, many people would rise up and scream for their prompt removal.

So where will the DNR take these nuisance bears? Most locations with a notable bear population have enough animals already. The Upper Peninsula doesn't need any more.

Humans have moved into their habitat, taken their land, and then complain when they want to take some of it back. Ask those people who live near Denver how much fun it is to move into some of those secluded canyons only to find that mountain lions live there as well.

Mountain lions are far more aggressive than the average bear, but no one wants either animal hanging around their homes and children.

Bears, like state prisons, are a victim of the NIMBY Factor -- an acronym for Not In My Back Yard. So the state scientifically manages the state's bear numbers, but they can't stop the slow southward drift of these animals.

Me, I'm rooting for the bears but know the end is inevitable. The bruins may make very slow inroads into our southern swamps, but bear numberswill remain higher in the northern counties where most people willaccept them.

It's just too bad that people in our southern counties really don't want the animals anywhere within 200 miles of them. It's sad because they don't understand how nice it is to know that bears live nearby although we seldom see them.

Seeing them is a thrill people should experience, at least once in their life. And if that bruin is near home, it may cause a few sleepless nights for those who leave their garbage cans and bird feeders outdoors.

But, simply stated, such causes often are the fault of humans who are too lazy to remove a bear's temptation. Sadly, they often are the first to point the finger of blame at wild critters like black bears. And it’s unfortunate because few people really understand black bears.

 

I thumped this bruin with two well-placed rocks. He left us alone.

There's something about storms that light my fire. I'm not certain just why I find them so intriguing, but I suspect it began near Flint when brother George and I were 10 years old.

We were outside playing catch. Even though I had (still have) small hands, I could throw a knuckle-ball. George was the person who could catch it.

He had a little nickel curve ball and I had my wobbling knuckler. It's what we did in the early 1950s. Occasionally one of us would uncork a wild pitch, and one of us would go chasing the ball down the street.

Head for cover when the big winds come blowing in.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, up came a big wind. Mind you: we were skinny little kids, and I doubt either of us weighed over 60 pounds. The wind was so strong we had to push hard against it to get indoors.

What we had felt was the outside winds of a massive tornado that followed an east-west road about seven miles south of our home and in the north end of Flint, and it covered two or three miles before lifting back up into the turbulent clouds and disappeared. It left nothing but death and destruction behind.

Several people were killed, and the big wind would destroy three or four houses in a row, lift up to dodge a house or two, and drop down again for more devastation.

It made a big impact on me, and several years later, Max Donovan of Clio and I were traveling back-roads. He had me drive, and we were in Tuscola County when I saw a twister coming across a field at us.

"Out-run it," Max hollered. He had an old gutless station wagon, and it was no contest. The tornado hit us, lifted the car two or three feet into the air, and then slammed us back down. My foot was still standing on the accelerator, and away we went, no worse for wear.

In 1970, my father and I joined another father-son team from Ontario, for a northern Ontario fly-in trip. We were crossing a large shallow lake that was filled with big pike when a storm popped up. We fought to keep from capsizing for two hours, and finally wallowed ashore on a deserted island. We waited until the storm passed, bailed out our boats, and went fishing, again none the worse for wear.

The Indian guides blamed me for pointing at the unnamed island.

That storm was the edge of a tornado that hammered its way through Sudbury, Ontario, causing massive destruction. We weren't in the actual tornado but caught some of the heavier winds generated by it.

This Arctic grayling was caught on the Northwest Territories Great Bear Lake.

Some years ago, the sky turned that dark greenish-purple color as clouds rolled and tumbled in the southwestern sky with an ominous sound. The direction was a good clue for possible severe weather, and I watched the tops of nearby maple trees bend almost flat as my wife screamed for me to come inside.

No twister for us, but a neighbor a mile away watched a tornado demolish his brand-new garage. Again. no injuries and the neighbor had insurance on his garage. It was a big inconvenience, that's all.

Kay and I got caught in a hellish big storm on Great Bear Lake in Canada's Northwest Territories in the late 1970s. This lake is just slightly smaller than Lake Michigan. The lodge owner came by in a much larger boat, and took Kay with him. My guide and I followed the larger boat for miles, rising 12 feet into the air on the crest of a wave, and then we'd plunge into the trough with water all around us.

Up we'd go, and there would be the larger boat with Kay aboard, and it was pulling slowly away from us. We traveled into the waves within 10 feet of a sheer rock wall six feet away, and one mistake would find the waves pounding us and our boat into bloody tin foil against the rocks.

We made it into a safe haven called Gunbarrel Inlet, and there were several boats milling about with smoke rising from a small wood fire on shore. I asked someone why they were not up near the fire.

A bear had reportedly "chased" them from shore and out into their boats.

"A bear chased us away," came a reply. I told my guide to head for shore. I put more wood on the fire, shucked out of my rain-soaked rain gear, and stood steaming near the roaring blaze. The first head we'd had in hours..

Someone hollered "Bear!" from a boat, and pointed down the shore. Here come a 200-pound black bear, and I picked up a rock and hollered at him. The bruin stopped momentarily, and I took several steps closer, and my old pitching days came through. No knuckle-ball ball this time but a high hard one that thumped his rump. The second rock was a bean-ball, and he ran off. We returned to the warming fire. We were chilled to the bone.

So the snowstorm and it's eight inches of snow a few nights ago really didn't seem to be anything special. We may see lots of snow, some strong winds and moaning sounds from the eaves, but as far as storms go, this one didn't have the making of anything worth writing about.

But what am I writing about. I've already mention tonight's storm, so in some way, it does influence my thoughts. Personally, I'd just as soon seen it get cold and freeze up the slop for two or three days and then go away.

The most recent storm can't even compare with a few of them during the winter when we'd see 15-20 inches of snow. Storms are interesting, but these little guys are nothing but a little bump in the highway of life. Storms that can kill a guy are those worthy of great respect.

I'm an outdoor writer, and if we base that on the large number of writing and photography awards on my walls, a decent one at that. I enjoy writing about all types of fishing and hunting but I always could use a little bit of help from my readers.

Send me an email at <dave@daverichey.com> and tell me what you most like to read. Is it bear hunting, and some of the hair-raising pieces I've written about my personal bear-hunting experiences over the past 40 years?

Or, might it be bow hunting for whitetail deer? It's my favorite passion, but I also want things to be appealing to you. I realize that it's impossible to satisfy everyone, but with 55 years of hunting and some 250 or more deer under my belt, I can write all day about whitetail hunting techniques.

I want to hear your thoughts.

How about salmon fishing? It's still the big deal on the Great Lakes these days, but all isn't peachy across the state. The Lake Huron salmon fishery isn't quite as good as it once was , and this year the action has been good on Lake Michigan. Will it hold up or not? Let's hope so.

Walleyes have ripped the top off the container holding the biggest angling attraction in the state, and snatched it away from salmon 12-15 years ago. Walleyes are easier to catch, taste wonderful on the table, and they match the moods of those people who don't care to bounce around on the larger Great Lakes.

Where does duck and goose hunting stand on your list of things to do? Do panfish (bluegills, crappies and sunfish) rate high marks, and how about stream fishing for steelhead?

It seems that steelhead fishing (and catching) has slowed a bit from its manic pace of 15 years ago. Do you still thrill to the cold water tightening your wader-clad legs in the spring and fall, and do you enjoy the frosty nip of steelhead in mid-winter below power dams?

Fall salmon fishing in the rivers can be a hoot, and these tackle-busting fish can stir up a bunch of fun for anglers who learn how to catch them with bait, fly, plug or spinner. Hook a 20-pounder in heavy, fast water, and you are in for a long-distance fight that could cover a quarter-mile of river.

Is it salmon or steelhead fishing in our Great Lakes tributaries?

How about hare, rabbit and squirrel hunting? These game animals are what most hunters grew up chasing after. They still rank high marks among hunters.

Let's face it: I don't know anyone who doesn't enjoy wing-shooting for ruffed grouse and woodcock. It's easy to factor ringneck pheasants into that equation too, and to a lesser extent, quail during an open season.

This state needs a mourning dove season again, and even with a season, the nay-sayers would still have plenty of doves cooing during the day, spattering decks with their droppings, and scaring smaller song birds from the feeders. Other states have dove seasons, and their bird populations have not declined nor disappeared, and it's time for Michigan hunters to take some of the birds that we raise.

For a money-strapped DNR, a dove season could help. Studies prove that hunting really doesn't affect bird numbers in this state, and most states south of Michigan have a season. The idea was soundly trounced in recent years, but perhaps it's time for the state to study the matter again.

Most of you know I love muskie fishing, and I enjoy writing about this type of fishing -- one man, one fish, who will win? In most cases, the muskie almost always wins. It's those occasional days when the Muskie Gods smile, and grant us a good battle with a big fish, and that really turns me on. I have never kept a muskie, and don't plan to start now.

Do you enjoy my occasional rantings about how the Traverse City area is growing too fast? It is expanding in all directions except due north, and one wonders when and where it will stop. Perhaps when Cadillac, Honor, Kalkaska, Northport and other small cities become Traverse City's suburbs.

Ethics and poaching problems are major issues for me. How about you?

How about my occasional pieces on the ethics of fishing and hunting? We, as anglers and hunters, must impose our personal code of ethics on our outings. We can't be winking at the fish and game laws, and continue to feel these laws are made for everyone but us. People must study their own brand of ethics, and see if it fits in with those of society.

I spent many years writing outdoor magazine articles, 25 books on fishing and hunting, and 23 years were spent writing about fishing and hunting for a major daily newspaper. Few people would write to the editors and tell them what they wanted. Now, the only boss I have is you folks, and many of you do write. I still would like a sense of direction or I'll continue to do as I've done for nearly seven years with this daily weblog.

Which is to write about what I think you would like to read. I try to keep my daily topics timely, but some input is certainly welcome. Which of you is willing to take five minutes to write a note with your thoughts?

And, don't forget: I have over 600 books for sale and more than 800 outdoor magazines dating from the early 1920s, Looking for a birthday, Christmas or Father's Day gift, outdoor books and magazines make a great gift.

Bring 'em on, and don't be bashful. I wouldn't ask if I didn’t want to hear your opinions.

The burning question is: do you believe in premonitions? Those quirky little things that niggle at your neck hairs and tease your brain.

They steal silently into your mind, planting seeds of doubt or questions. They are the things that make you stop, look around, and try to sdetermine if you are in sudden or unexplained danger.

Call 'em early warning signs. Call them hunches. A premonition, even. They all mean much the same thing. They are those little things that make us secretly wonder if there really is something out there that goes bump in the night.

Kids were seemingly haunted by grave yards or cemeteries when I was a youngster. You were one tough hombre if you could walk past a cemetery after dark while owls hooted under a full moon as the wind moaned softly in the crooked-branched trees as bats fluttered overhead while grabbing insects.

It conjured up thoughts of Dracula, werewolves or zombies accompanied by a family of the living dead. Got the picture?

I conquered my fears as a kid when people told me that a monster lived in our attic or basement. Scared? You bet, but living in fear is no fun so I walked down the basement steps one night in the dark.

I took myself into the darkest corners of the coal cellar, into the old pantry with big hulking wooden cabinets, and sat on the bottom step next to a squat old wringer washing machine. This was a time to prove to myself that I could face up to any monster, real or imagined.

Sat there for 30 minutes, staring into the darkness and waiting for the haints to arrive. None ever showed up.

The boogyman didn't snatch me up that night. Nor did he grab ahold and tear me apart when I climbed the stairs up and into the musty  dark attic.

So, by now, you are probably wondering where I'm heading with this thing. Can't blame you much, but it's about hunches, premonitions or bad vibes. We all get them if we pay attention to our brain and body.

My wife and I flew to Houston, Texas, and our plan was to jump onto a shuttle flight to Lake Charles, Louisiana for an Outdoor Writers Association of America conference a few years ago. I had three seminars to give, and was looking forward to it.

Can't remember when that first little niggling of a thought troubled my mind. It was somewhere just before we reached Houston's Bush Airport, and looking out the window revealed rolling clouds. The weather looked nasty as the tires chirped as they kissed the runway.

It began raining hard, and walking inside, we were greeted with the wonderful news that our connecting puddle-jumper flight to Lake Charles had been canceled. It seemed a tropical storm was camped over everything along the Gulf of Mexico from Lake Charles to Houston.

We couldn't fly and couldn't get our luggage so we  snapped up a Hertz rental car for an exorbitant fee for a 150-mile one-way drive. It rained on us some, but we made it to the convention center. Our clothes arrived 36 hours later from a disgruntled Continental baggage crew.

That little bit of wonder about my concerns slowly died away, and it rained hard for three days. It cleared somewhat on Wednesday morning when it came time to fly back to Detroit and then on to Traverse City. The drive to Houston was easy with some good friends, and we chattered about the conference.

We boarded our flight to Detroit on time, and were informed that we were on schedule. Halfway to Motown, that little worm began crawling up my spine again, jangling my nerves awake, and sure enough, 30 minutes later the pilot announced bad weather straddling Detroit like green and black arches. We landed amidst torrential rain, lightning and thunder.

The next leg to Traverse City required a two-hour wait. Those two hours eventually stretched into seven hours of heavy rain, vertical lightning and thunder that seemed to move Detroit Metropolitan's new airport terminal.

The flight that should have left the airport at 9 p.m. took a major detour, and it was 3 in the morning when the plane was pushed from the gate and 4 a.m. when we touched down in Traverse City.

The point to all of this prattle is this: I had premonitions of something going wrong on the way to Houston, and it did. The same doubts jumped on my heck hairs midway to Detroit on the return flight.

Mind you, there are mild premonitions and severe cases. Once, while hunting during a wind storm in Ontario, it was as if someone whispered in my ear: "Move now or die!" I moved 30 feet away, and watched the top of a dead elm break off and land where I'd been standing.

That is a severe case of how the human brain works. Sadly, some people have it, and others do not. Those that don't often meet a sad fate. I honed my instincts, if you will, on the raw and nasty streets of Chicago near west side in 1957-1958 while attending college. You paid attention or paid a very nasty price for your ignorance. Today, it's called street smarts.

I've seen three people killed because they walked through life trusting people to be as nice as they were. It cost them their lives on the mean streets of Chicago's near west side. Learning to live by my wits -- my instincts -- kept me from becoming a statistic during a year there.

These little hunches, for lack of a better word, can work the other way as well. Sometimes they can lead to some great fishing or hunting or they can lead to a dramatic or deadly situation.

Learn as much as possible about yourself by trusting your instincts. When it comes to gut instincts, your first thoughts are usually right. Argue them at your own peril.

Learn to believe in your premonitions, and act accordingly. Mother Nature can be an unforgiving and formidable opponent for those folka who become clueless, stupid or take chances when they should be giving due diligence to thir ourdoor endeavors.

A  man who has read my daily blogs for several years was wondering. He asked about my countless deer hunts, both here and elsewhere around the North American continent, and was curious whether I could still fish and hunt.

He asked my age and I told him I will be 71 years old next month, and he asked if there were things I couldn’t or wouldn't do again within the realm of hunting and fresh-water fishing.

It forced me to explain once again the lack of vision in my left eye, and the diminished quality of right-eye vision. I told him about the Crohn's Disease which affects my digestive tract, and having broken my back twice many years ago. All have had a long-term effect on my overall ability to do some certain things.

New Year's Eve & a two-mile fish.

I told him a recent stress test found no ht problems with my heart or lungs, but I'm troubled by asthma and hay fever on occasion. I can't run a half-mile with a full backpack while carrying a firearm as I once could.

A complete physical took me over the hurdles a few months ago. Lungs and heart, OK.

*Can I still move? …..

I can still take long walks on snowshoes,  and can ride all day in the saddle on a western hunt without falling down at the end of the trail. I carry perhaps 25 more pounds than 20 years ago, and am trying to work it off. I can still fish the Platte River  (left) and hike through deep snow to get to the rivrer.

 He wanted to know if I still hunted. I can and do hunt on almost a daily basis, and can still climb a mountain providing no one wants to race them to the top. I tell them "go ahead. I'll get there, slower than you but if you find an elk, I can shoot that critter with a 7mm Magnum and make a one-shot kill when I get there."

Most of the dudes who want to race me to the top are about 25-30 years old, and born and raised in the mountains. I question the sanity of those who ask such stupid questions.

I can walk the nasty country where Alaskan moose are found. I can hold my fire on a young bull busting brush on his way to my call. I can make a stalk on elk, deer or moose, and get within easy range of most of them.

 *I can still do most things I set out to do.

 My bow and its internal red-dot sight is perfect for my vision problems. My bow shooting range is 20 yards or less, and I can't remember the last buck I missed at that range. The red-dot aids me in focusing the internal red dot on the target, and shooting a nice buck is not a problem.

Sure, my vision isn't the best but I own many rifles of different calibers, and with a scope it's possible for me to kill deer, elk or moose at 300 yards with every shot. I can adjust my scope to accommodate my vision at that particular moment, and when the crosshairs settle in and the trigger is squeezed, the animal drops and dies.

I killed my Wyoming mountain lion with a bow after a long and very arduous hunt in hip-deep snow. I killed my muskox with a bow and pin sights years ago when I could still see well. I have three record-book caribou and the muskox, and have never hunted for trophies. Skill and good fortune got me within easy shooting range of each one.

 *How about black bear hunting? …..

There have been more bear taken than I care to think about, and it's doubtful I'll hunt bruins again. Again, as the sun goes down and the swamp darkens, I can't see the bear and don't know if I could follow a faint trail for a half-mile to get out of a dark swamp. I’m not anxious to test my skills if a misjudgment on my part would inconvenience someone else who might have to come and find me.

It was a grueling mountain hunt for this cougar (above right).

The bears don't scare me after dozens of close experiences with them, and I'm not afraid of the dark or getting lost. With only one working eye, though, I do worry about falling and running a stick in my good eye.

I can still wade a trout stream, tell you where the fish should hold, and make a reasonably accurate cast with a dry fly. However, if the water is waist-deep it's difficult for me to see the bottom, and on several occasions, I've provided belly laughs for others when I trip and take an unexpected swim.

It's still possible to run a boat but I must be off the water before dark for the same reasons I must be off the road when it gets dark. The lack of sunlight  makes it very difficult for me to see.

 *Fly casting is still possible …..

I can still, on a good day, drop a No. 12 Adams in front of a feeding brown or a sponge rubber spider over a bluegill spawning  bed. I can't tie that Adams to a No. 4, 5, 6, or 7X tippet on my leader. Frankly, four and sometimes six-pound line is very difficult for me to see and tie.

Any wishes? Oh sure, I wish I could have taken a Dall sheep, grizzly bear and a bigger mulie than the dandy I shot on the Kaibab along the North Rim of the Grand Canyon several years ago, but it no longer matters. I have a boatload of outdoor memories, and my mind remains sharp enough to allow me to recall all of my past hunts.

So, to answer the question: Yes, I can still fish and hunt, and I enjoy it more than ever before. Sunrises and sunsets are more important to me now than ever before, and killing another deer or some other critter is less important with each passing year.

I can still do it, and I do fish and successfully hunt, but always being successful is not quite as important as it once was. What is important is the opportunity to be there, to see the game and to hook the fish.

And frankly, as more and more people grow older, many stop fishing and hunting. Not me. I just find the need to always kill something as meaning much less than the opportunity to be afield with bow or firearm in hand.

This is what's most important to me, and spreading the word of good fishing and hunting to my many readers. I'm still getting it done but a few things take a little bit longer to do.

It was mid-April, many years agp. My father was paddling stern and I was in the bow as we canoed the Rifle River down through the Pipeline Stretch.

The river was in flood stage, and we really had no business being on the water. I’d paddled a canoe a good bit and knew what had to be done. Dad, a good canoe hand, was steady in the stern with a  paddle.

We had a third person, a teen-age friend of my age, and he was sitting in the middle of the canoe. We stopped for a quick break, visited with nature, had a sandwich, stretched our legs and prepared to cast off.

Shortly after this photo I was in quicksand up to my belly.

We were just upstream from a fallen tree with open water at the far end of the tree, and both bow man and the stern paddler would have to dig hard, move water with the paddle to cross the river upstream from the tree. My friend wanted to paddle, and I reluctantly agreed.

“This is a bad spot,” my Dad told us. “This is no place to just dip the paddle in the water. Put the paddle in up to the handle, and pull hard. Pull the canoe with each hard stroke. Understand me?”

My buddy nodded but he really didn’t understand. We were 10 feet from the river bank, and Dad was paddling hard. My buddy was dip-dip-dipping, and we brushed up against the upstream side of the tree. It threw Dad into the water close to the bank. My friend went into the drink near the end of the tree.

Me, sitting in the middle, was swept under the tree with the canoe. The canoe took me to the bottom, and then disappeared. I was standing on the river bottom in 10 feet of water, and was in a little box with logs on all four sides and above me.

I was underwater for between one and two minutes before I dug my way through the logs and came up between my buddy’s feet on top of the log jam. I dreamt about that escapade and had bad dreams about it for several years. That was the first time I was exposed  to outdoor dangers but it wasn't the last.

 This was how my canoeing dream always began.

The next time was on Bond Falls Flowage near Paulding, Michigan. We’d been fishing for some of the giant pike found there at the time, and as a side trip we went to see the Little Falls, a small waterfalls visible only during extremely low-water conditions. The electric company had drawn down the flowage to provide electricity to people in the western Upper Peninsula, and we grounded the boat near the falls.

I was in the bow with a rope and jumped off, and landed in quicksand. Down I went to my knees, and by the time I could comprehend what was happening, I was up to my belly. I remembered that it’s possible to swim out of quicksand but one has to lay down flat on it and start swimming with your arms.

It was working but my two friends were tinkering with the motor. I asked them to grab an oar or stout branch, watch their footing and pulled me out. That was a close call, and I suffered a severe skin rash over 95 percent of my body from the quicksand.

That was close call No. 2. A few years later while hunting European Hares and cottontails in southwestern Ontario, the hounds had taken a long-legged hare out of hearing on a windy day. I stood, leaning against a dead elm tree, and suddenly I felt as if someone was pulling me and whispering in my ear: “Move quickly away from the tree.”

I moved and 10 seconds later the entire top of that elm tree fell right where I’d be standing. Coincidence? I don’t think so. That was my third encounter with a possible tragic outdoor death.

Divine intervention of quick action on a hunch?

Sometime after that I fell off the third-story fire escape of a northern Ontario hotel while shooting photos of a sunrise. Somehow, again without  conscious thought, I managed to grab the fire escape support on the way down. The fall stretched my spine, and I slammed sideways into a brick wall 40 feet above a paved parking lot. I managed to hang on even though it had broke my back, ruptured a disc and hurt me bad.

I hung on to the support with both hands, shook my head to clear the cobwebs, and climbed hand-over-hand 10 feet back up to the platform and pulled myself to safety. I later had back  surgery and eventually missed 1 ½  years of work during a painful recovery.

Ah, then there was a dog attack by three vicious canines along Cheboygan County’s Sturgeon River, surviving that big storm on Lake Michigan in 1968 while riding out 10-15-foot waves in a 12-foot car-top boat and a tiny outboard motor. Another time I was shot in the hand and wrist with bird shot by a rabbit hunter in our group. All of these examples could have been deadly accidents but were not.

The gist of tonight’s blog is that if a person actively spends enough time in the outdoors, there is a remote possibility of some danger. For me, after all of these experiences and many others with bears and other problems, I’ve learned to trust my instincts. If something tells me to move, I move and don’t sit around and try to analyze the reasons why.

These survival instincts are more honed in some people than others, and I have always trusted my gut feelings. I lived  one year in Chicago while going to college in the late 1950s, and saw three people get killed by other people. A group of thugs jumped me and two classmates, and I was the only one to get hit. Again, I ducked when it was necessary and received only a glancing blow from a huge right fist to the head. They killed an elderly man 30 seconds after I got away.

Some might consider these stories figments of my active imagination but they are not. All are true, and I survived each one because I trusted myself and my instincts. Call it street smarts, instinct, gut feelings or whatever.

When something whispers in your ear or your guts tell you to move fast, pay attention and act immediately. Ignore them, and try to analyze what may be wrong, and the consequences can be deadly.

Trust your instincts. They will seldom lead you astray.