The peanut butter game…

The other night we watched an Adam Sadler movie (Funny Guys). It’s a pretty crude film but one scene had a game in which the participants licked peanut butter off the face of the person who was “it”.  Oh, yeah, the participants are one or more canines…

Grits and Sadie volunteered to play and I went first as “it” in the game.  Nancy was laughing to hard too remember to photo-document the episode.  I, on the other hand, did not forget…

Peanut butter has been applied, let the games begin...

There's cheating here. You can't block the players from the peanut butter no matter what.

Nancy breaks, I win.

We’re all hoping the duck hunting improves soon, especially Nancy.

A two hour duck hunt…with Santa Claus

I went duck hunting this morning. Was finished by 9:3o, not because we shot our limits. We just got tired of looking at a sky devoid of ducks.

Ran into a guy who said he was Santa Claus. I asked him for  a Red Ryder carbine action, western style, lever action BB gun. He said “No kid, you’ll shoot your eye out…”.

It was a pretty morning inspite of the lack of ducks.  This was my first hunt with Bill R. and throughly enjoyed the morning.  Bill is a new addition to our lease and this means I get to tell him all of the stories the other members have listened to repeatedly over the past ten years.

Too bad there weren’t any birds.  I thought the decoy spread looked particularly good.

Clear, cold, early morning light makes for some interesting images…

Hey, Santa. If I can’t have the BB gun, can you bring a new migration of ducks to the club?

Retro duck hunt…

I got a call from my hunting buddy Mike R. last night.  He had secured permission to hunt a pond north of Seattle.  He wanted to know if I would like to join him.  I hesitated in my response, I knew we would be hunting out of layout blinds in an open field. And the forecast was for rain, lots of rain.

For those of you who don’t know what a layout blind is, think of a sleeping bag with a flip top over your head. A hunter hides in his “bag” with the cover pulled down over his face.  When ducks are in range, the hunter sits up, and at the same time, pushing the cover up out of his way so he can shoot at the birds.

A layout blind in closed position

Layout blinds are camouflaged with whatever matches the terrain where the hunt is occurring. In our case, the hunt was in a flooded pasture with the ground covered with green grass.

Mike with the top of the layout blind pushed up to the shooting configuration

After considering the offer I caved and agreed to go. My reasons were threefold: first, I really enjoy hunting with Mike.  He is an avid hunter who seeks the most pure form of water fowl hunting: ducks coming in close to the decoys. My second reason was there were going to be lots of ducks.  My last reason: I haven’t hunted exposed to lots of rain in a duck hunt in many years.  I guess I wanted to experience the cold, wet, joy of a “retro” hunt of my experiences 20 years ago.

I met Mike at 5:00 a.m. at his house and we made the quick trip to the field.  We began setting out the 14 dozen duck and goose decoys Mike has stowed on his ATV trailer.  That is 168 decoys placed strategically near our layout blinds in patterns to attract birds in close. The decoys were in place by 6:45. It was dark, chilly, and it was raining…

Some of our decoy spread in the background. Notice the rain drops on the water around the decoy in the foreground

The birds were flying at legal shooting time. Hundreds of widgeon, dozens of mallards and occasional flocks of teal and pintails mixed in.  As I mentioned, Mike is a purist in duck hunting.  He likes to shoot birds in close, low over the decoys. And he only targets drakes. We both agreed it would be a “drakes only” hunt.  So with all of the birds in the air over our heads, we held fire since it was too early to distinguish drakes from hens.

We watched a wonderful duck show for 20 minutes and then Mike was able to pick out a drake mallard.  At the command “take’em” we both sat up and Mike dropped the duck with his first shot.  I followed suit with a drake widgeon a few minutes later.

Some of our quarry pass over head...

And so it went, flocks of widgeon dropping from the heights into our decoy spread.  Since it was raining and overcast, color differentiating between drakes and hens was difficult.   Birds swooped down, over, and around us.  Many kept their distance sensing that something wasn’t quite right. Others came in like it was old home week.  We shot and hit, shot and missed and shot and hit.  And the rain continued to fall.

Mike R. and one of his big drake mallards

My “retro” hunt was very pleasant despite the rain.  I had taken Mike’s advice and was wearing two rain jackets.  Well, it was pleasant until my chest waders slipped down below my waist as I was laying back into the two inches of water the blind.  The sensation of that cold pond water flowing down the crack of my …, uh, it, ah, brought back a few memories…  From then on there was a bit of misery to enjoy.

We finished up our hunt by a little before noon and began picking up the decoys.  One of the joys of being wet, cold, tired, and hungry:  a hot shower, hot food, warm, dry clothes, and bed are all going to feel much sweeter tonight.

Our tally for the hunt: 13 drakes (8 widgeon, 5 mallards) and one hen widgeon (I don’t want to talk about it).

I’m home now, equipment is drying, birds and shotgun have been cleaned. I had a warm shower, a great hot meal, and I stood by the wood stove for a few minutes reflecting on the day.

Good night Mike.  Thanks for taking me on a great “retro” hunt.

I probably should have just worn a scuba diving suit…

Betrayal…

I betrayed someone this week.  And I got caught.  It doesn’t feel good, either.  She’s still upset.  I don’t know what to say to her.  She couldn’t come with me on my goose hunting trip the other day  due to logistical considerations.  Now she’s pouting…

She’s holding some of the evidence so I can’t lie about where I’ve been…

Witnessing goose hunting perfection…

Yesterday morning found me in a cut corn field, reclining in a layout blind with my friends Mike and Jennifer.  We were hoping to shoot some of the small (cackler) Canada geese that were in the area.  Mike is a member of Zink Duck/Goose call prostaff as well as Avery Decoys.   Jen is Mike’s girlfriend and a dedicated water fowler in her own right.

Our quarry are the smallest variety of Canada geese.  They are the size of mallard ducks.  The attraction to hunting them is they move in very large flocks and make a huge racket with their calling.  Mike loves hunting these geese the best, especially when he can get a large flock “cycloning” down into the decoys. And he is good at it.

The morning was foggy, too foggy for Mike’s taste.  He was worried that the geese wouldn’t work our decoy spread.  I don’t care too much. My focus is that it isn’t raining.  I’m older now, and laying on my back looking up into rain isn’t enjoyable to me any longer. I don’t care how many geese there are trying to get into our decoys.

The first bunch of geese approach.  We hear their calls long before their forms appear out of the fog blanket.  Mike starts answering their calling with his own high pitch staccato of yelps, chirps, and whines typical of these birds.

The geese respond by passing overhead, turning as though making a down wind turn to approach an airfield. They are still too high to shoot at but it’s clear they want to land with us.  Mike talks to them in “cackler goose” and they respond by getting lower. It takes a couple of minutes and they are 20 feet off the ground and passing outside the decoys on my end. Mike tells me to go ahead and take a shot…

I raise up, the blind doors pop open, and I fire two shots. Results one down in the immediate area, one flies out 80 yards and lands.  The rest jet out of the area.  Mike quickly gets up, and in deference to my age, heads off to retrieve the distant bird. Mike is in his mid-20’s…

Now this isn’t really Mike’s goal on our hunt. He isn’t focused on shooting geese.  His goal is to land a big flock of small geese in the decoys.  He wants a cyclone of geese coming into the decoys…

The birds aren’t cooperating.  Mike expresses his frustrations with the fog.  It’s his opinion that the birds are more wary in the fog and won’t respond the way he wants until the fog lifts. It’s about this time we notice there is a large flock of geese on the ground a couple of hundred yards away.  Their calls from a stationary location give away their location.

Since I’m having a bit of chronic pain in my hip I volunteer to get up and “bump” the geese out.  We don’t want to have that much competition.  Every flock that flies into the area will land with the geese and ignore our decoys.

I make the trek, the geese get up, and as I turn to walk back to the decoys a small flock of the birds, for what ever reason, pass over my head. Whack, whack. I just filled my limit of four geese.  I call Mike and ask if it’s okay if I head to the truck and give him and Jen the rest of the morning to hunt. He’s got no problem.  Jen offers to pick me up for transport rather than have me limp across a muddy field to the truck.  Jen and I are almost to the truck when we notice the fog is literally lifting like a light gray blanket.  We can see the decoy spread in the distance.  And geese. A large flock is now circling Mike and his decoys.

Jen stops the ATV and we just watch.  The geese are making their usual racket of calls. We know Mike is answering but we can’t tell which is goose and which is Mike. The geese make too much noise and Mike sounds too much like a goose.

The geese swirl over Mike. Another flock joins the first one in their circling. Then another flock joins up. They swirl. The first part of the growing cyclone touches down in the decoys.  Mike holds his fire.  He’s in his element. This is his goal.  More birds join in. The racket must be deafening in the blind. There are now over a hundred geese on the ground in the decoys.  When all the geese are on the ground I know things are going to change dramatically, anytime now.

Nothing happens.

We know what he’s doing now. He’s looking for geese with “jewelry”, leg bands.  Trophies. He’s laying there in that blind, peaking out, scanning goose legs for the metal glint of bands.

Suddenly all of the flock lifts from the ground like it’s own gray blanket. We see birds drop. One, two, three.  Due to the distance, the sound of his shotgun fire arrives a second later.  Jen and I are laughing, enjoying the spectacle  from a distance of about two hundred yards.  Jen and I start loading my equipment and geese into the back of my truck. Jen says “Look at that…”

Mike’s at it again. He’s got another cyclone forming in the corn…

“Tweener” time…

The waterfowl hunting hasn’t really hit stride yet, but we’ve had a couple of fun hunts on one of the clubs.  Bill K. and I are the usual team but this year Mike R. has joined us for a couple of hunts.  Birds were few and far between and the hunting doesn’t usually get good until Thanksgiving. We’re between flights of resident ducks, which have left the area, and the migrating birds that haven’t arrived yet.  Thus the term “tweener”.

The first hunt started with Mike and I in the blind.  Bill reported he would stay home and rest. NOT. He showed up at 9:30 but by that time the flight was over and Mike and I had two mallards and two widgeon in the bag.  The second hunt was all three of us in the blind from the start of the day.  The bag totaled four mallards and one teal.

This isn’t to say we haven’t  had a great time.  Both hunts were really fun due to the great company I keep.  Since the shooting has been slow there has been plenty of time for conversation. And the three of us do a lot of talking.  So the question is: what do three men talk about over a four hour period on each of two separate days with no TV, radio, or tweeting?  Here’s your chance to get involved. Please offer your vote.  I promise to publish the results. And unlike King County and the entire state of Illinois,  I guarantee the results are accurate and total.

And thank you very much for participating.

Chummin’ the Sound…

I recently got an invitation from a good friend to go fishing for chum salmon.  My friend, Joe M., said he wanted me to hook up a big brute chum on my fly rod so he could enjoy the show. Chums are typically large sized and very powerful fish.  They’re  starting to enter Puget Sound this time of year on their way to spawning in rivers all along the Puget Sound. There are a good number of areas to fish for chums that accessible to fishermen fishing from the shoreline.

Fishing chums is a fairly simple process according to the fishermen I’ve spoken with.  Apparently all that is necessary is to put something chartreuse in color in front of chums while they are staging to enter their spawning streams. Sounds simple enough. Chartreuse is a lime green color that is favored by a number of fish species including largemouth bass, spotted sea trout, and coho salmon. I’ve already got a number of chartreuse-colored flies of various sizes and styles, one of which is surely going to produce a strike.

So Joe and I met at his office early one morning last week. Joe had indicated that the lower tidal stages were best with the early incoming (flood) tide being the hot time for hooking up.  After a drive of almost an hour we arrived at a small stream the empties into the south Sound. The tide was starting out so it would be a while before fishing would be at the most effective.

Joe’s only major failing is that he doesn’t fish with a fly rod (yet). He is a very accomplished angler, though, and very effective with his light weight spinning gear.  Joe rigged up a small fly-like lure with a light weight sinker. I opted for a small streamer type fly. Both of our lures were chartreuse colored. We made sure the barbs on our hooks had been removed in accordance with State regulations. This will insure we can release our fish unharmed so they can continue their journey up to their spawning sites.  We aren’t interested in keeping any since chums are not very good eating.  Their flesh has an off flavor and doesn’t even taste good when smoked. (And they’re hard to keep lit…sorry, couldn’t avoid saying that.).

Joe watched the water closely trying to see if any fish were swimming in the shallow water areas.  Before long we began to notice salmon jumping periodically around the inlet, mostly along the distant shoreline.  It was easy to identify them as chums by their large size, darker greenish tint and mottled reddish-brown sides.  The jumping salmon raised my hopes for success. Joe, on the other hand, was somewhat disappointed with the relatively few numbers we were finding. Apparently chums can swarm areas making the fishing very fast moving.

Joe and I cast our lines for several hours without results. I don’t mind the slow fishing, it gives me time to enjoy the surroundings which included bald eagles, four different species waterfowl, and several harbor seals that were patroling the area. The seals were hoping for a salmon or two, too. I also use slow fishing times to work on my fly casting skills which are mediocre at best.

Just when I was in my “casting zone”, (in other words, in another land), I had a strike.  I instinctively set the hook and snapped back to current time and location. I was immediately aware of something very big and powerful on the other end of the line.  Joe shouts encouragement and reels in to watch the show. He has been focused on getting me hooked up to my first chum. Joe has landed many of these fish in years past and badly wants me to land this fish.

Hooked to a chum... but not for long.

The fish, realizing something is wrong, heads for an appointment somewhere further south. I’ve never hooked a fish this powerful on a fly rod. I’ve taken many large fish on spinning and level-wind gear but fighting something this huge on such light tackle to a new experience.  I notice line is disappearing off my reel and I am now into the backing line, which is also disappearing.

My rod, 9-ft 8weight, is fairly heavy for fishing in Washington.  I’ve been told that it may not be heavy enough for the larger chum salmon, especially since fighting a fish on a fly rod is different in tactics. Fly rods are easily broken if you handle them or the fish incorrectly. But I’m saved from that problem, my chum friend let’s go of my fly. After a fight lasting four minutes, its gone. Joe expresses his regrets. Me? I just had a great experience and not bringing the fish “to hand” is not that disappointing to me. Joe continues to express his regrets and condolences. I just tell him how much I appreciate him helping me hook my first one.

Want to see a happy fisherman? Hook him up to a good sized fish on light tackle

We return to casting and within 15 minutes Joe hooks  a chum.  This fish takes off in the same manner mine did.  Joe is laughing but still saying he wishes that I was hooked to the fish. I tell him to just focus on the fish and show me how it’s done. I also take the opportunity to snap a few pictures with my Canon digital.

The salmon puts up a strong, powerful fight but Joe defly manuvers the fish into the shallows where he removes the hook from it’s jaw.  My friend gently lifts the fish carefully from the water, supporting it’s mass with his other hand. The salmon probably weighs 10 pounds or so and looks like a barroom brawler. It has a natural snarl on its face, looking like it would take a bite out of you if you turned your back on it.

After taking a few quick photos, Joe eases the salmon into the water and insures it is rested and revived before releasing it. It’s kind of sad to think that within a month the fish will be dead, either by predators or the natural process the results from the spawning. Maybe I’m getting more in tune with death as I go through the aging process myself.

Unhook...

Classic photo opportunity...

Revive and release...

I approach Joe, congratulating him on his success and showing him some of the pictures I was able to catch.  We offer our admiration for the toughness of the fish and honor the power and wonder of nature.  Both of us are tired, having been walking and standing for a few hours.  We head back to the truck and drive to a nearby restaurant for breakfast. I buy since Joe drove (and to honor his success and our friendship).

Finale…

After leaving Clinton and his dog Bones, Grits and I headed to my cousin Suzie’s home. At this point I’m realizing the weird dreams and troubled sleep are related to the high altitude. No wonder I’m having more trouble catching my breath after a couple of miles.

It’s great to see Suzie and her husband Bob. Suzie is Montana born and raised, a real “cowgirl” if you will. We spend time catching up on each other’s lives and family news. Suzie tells me her daughter JoElla wants us to come to their house for dinner the next evening. But first, they’ve offered me the opportunity to hunt their property for pheasants. It seems the pheasants had at least some success nesting this past spring.

The next afternoon finds Suzie, Grits and me at JoElla’s home. I’m urged to get out and tromp the field and try to rid them of those pesky pheasants that were harassing their cat. Suzie asks if she and JoElla’s 7 year old daughter Rylan can join Grits and me on our hunt. What a great idea. But first let me tell you about mother, daughter and granddaughter.

Rylan: one of my most favoritest cousins...

All three of these ladies are great barrel racers. They can drive a quarter horse better than I can drive my truck. I have a few photos of JoElla and Rylan doing their racing but since I haven’t asked permission to post those you’ll have to use your imagination. Picture this: a seven year old, petite little girl mounted on a 700 pound horse racing at high speed around barrels. The rider has got the horse’s headed pulled to the left in a sharp racing turn around the obstacle. And she is only seven years old…By the way, Rylan’s father is also an excellent horseman, too. He has ridden bulls and roped steers in rodeo competion.

Anyway, back to the hunt. I let Grits out of the truck. Suzie takes up my camera and she and Rylan fall in behind the dog and me. We’re hunting an 80 acre field that is bordered by a weed choked fence line. I’ve hunted this fence area last year and found a couple of birds.

Grits heads down into the ditch that parallels the fence. She’s in “search” mode: head down, smelling and pushing her way through the weeds. We walk for a couple hundred yards with no real indication from the dog that there has been anything of interest in the area. Then Grits starts her “lock-on” pattern.

We have "lock on"...

Tail goes up, butt wiggles faster, head buried in the weeds. Her pace quickens. Grits pounces at a clump of weeds…we have a launch…

Whoosh, there’s an explosion of color up from the grass…

A big cock pheasant blasts out  literally at Grits’ feet. I know it’s coming, I’ve been watching the dog and I know the sequence. The rooster still catches me off guard. And, of course, I miss. Twice.

The dog can’t believe it.

"I can't believe you missed that bird. I told you to get ready. Brother. Well, let's go find another one for you to miss..."

And she hates me for it. I know because she gave me a hateful look. Really.

I can only say “Sorry. Find me another and I promise I’ll make good on it.”

She does and I do.

"We have a launch..." If enlarge this photo and look closely at the left side you can see the rooster flying.

"Finally..."

A great hunt, it was. But you know what I remember most about it? My first cousin and third cousin (grandmother and granddaughter) walking behind me talking. What a great relationship they have. And I’m blessed to have been a witness to it.

Grandmother and granddaughter, best buddies...

To Suzie, JoElla, and Rylan (three generations of cousins), husbands Bryan and Bob,

Thanks from Karl and Grits…and the turkey dinner was delicious.

Rylan: Grits and I want to thank you for letting us join with you. You are a great young lady.

On to the Blast of the Cast and Blast…

After two days of great fly fishing on the south fork of the Snake River with guide Brenda Swinney, my buddy Clinton and I were off to Montana for the “blast” portion of the trip.

As Clinton and I headed north we heard the weather forecast called for a change to very cold temperatures.  When I was preparing to leave the house in Seattle a week prior I heard this little voice inside that said “You better throw in your cold weather gear.  You never know about Montana.”

Listen to that voice, it’ll save your butt…

Temps were down to 9 degrees at night and warmed up to a balmy 18 degrees the next two days.  There weren’t many game birds around due to bad weather during spring egg hatching time.  Clinton and I walked the vast open areas of Montana which is one of the primary reason I like to hunt the area.

This area is one that generates a very spiritual awareness for me. Not sure why that is but I know it’s there.

First bird of the trip. Grits is probably thinking "Why am I sitting in this cold snow when we could be looking for more of those?"

After a good bit of walking we came upon a dense patch of brush and Grits started getting pretty focused on something in the middle of it.

She loves pheasant hunting.  She’ll dig around in brush and seems to approach the game as a treasure hunt.  Pheasants are notorious for hiding tightly in cover and won’t jump and fly unless literally stepped on.  That is where Grits excels. She doesn’t try to catch the birds, she pounces at them to make them fly.  It’s like watching a cat pouncing at a bug. Her tail stands straight up, her little butt wiggling in a vibrating mode, and  her head is up high and ears perked.

The result: first bird of the trip; a full feathered cock pheasant and one very happy little yellow Labrador retriever.

Clinton and I continued our trek  hitting areas that held birds in the past.  We came upon a small group of birds we saw in the distance.  Clinton identified them as Hungarian partridge..  I bet him they were sharptail grouse.  So, here I am, a 61 year old, fat city slicker whose been wearing thick eyeglasses since I was 12 years old, telling a 30-something, clear eyed, healthy young man of the country what type of birds they are.

Goodbye $5.00.

We took four of the Huns when they jumped, a “double double” . That’s when two hunters shoot two birds each on the covey rise. Doesn’t happen often if you’re hunting with me…

Clinton, his dog "Bones", Grits and Clinton's double on Huns. Clinton is one of the best wing shots I've ever known

A short walk through the area and Clinton and I each took  sharptail grouse.  This was my first Montana “slam” (taking a pheasant, Hungarian partridge, and sharptail grouse in the same day).  It was a fun day with beautiful scenery and great, long walks in those great vistas only Montana has.

We were scheduled to hunt another day but I had several reasons to opt out: I was exhausted, I had family I needed to get together with, and then I needed to get back to the old homestead. I had been gone for a week at that point and Nancy was expressing feelings of loneliness.

I hear ya, lady…

Clinton: thanks for the great time. You’re a great friend and wonderful hunting and fishing partner.

Just a few pictures from the Idaho portion of a “cast and blast”…

Hooked up...

Brenda makes the capture

A quick photo and...

...a quick release.

Nice cutthroat trout

Grits trying to figure out what her part in "fishing" is all about. Clinton has another nice cutthroat.

Hooked up again...

...and again...

A little scenery...

A pissed off cutthroat

What’s the old saying? A picture is worth a 1000 words. Here’s 13,000 words worth…

Ship's mascot...

Guide Brenda Swinney and fishing partner Clinton