Remembering friends at New Years Day

John McKenzie with a nice steelhead (left) and Herb Boldt with "my buck."

She's tuning up. The distant sounds that anglers and hunters hear are those of a big fat lady preparing her evening song. It's not over, they say, until the fat lady sings. Well, she's getting ready for the last hurrah.

After tomorrow's last day of deer season, we'll all be ready to put the final stamp of approval or disapproval, on the past deer season. The Fat Lady will sing at 30 minutes after sundown tomorrow evening, and another deer season will have faded into oblivion.

The days of parties, getting drunk, waking the next morning with a mouth that tastes like a goat herd walked across my tongue, are things of my distant past. We're usually in bed long before midnight, and will celebrate the New Year over dinner tonight with our gread-grandson.

No parties for me. I’m well past that stage in my life.

Twenty-seven years ago I decided to stop drinking and did. I dedicated my whole being to not inbibing in alcohol. I did the same thing 10 years ago about cigarettes, and haven't smoked one since.

As the year slowly draws to a close I prefer to celebrate by remembering people who played an important role in my life. Some like my father who died more than five years ago at 94. Twin brother George, who passed Sept. 10, 2003, but there have been many others who I miss for a great variety of reasons.

Some key folks from my life have fished around their last bend, and some have hunted for their last time. For each, I cherish those memories that have become far more important than going to some silly party to get hammered on a foggy night like this.

The memory of who have passed on are far more meaningful to me than getting sloshed. As an old drinking friend once noted about New Years Eve: "Getting drunk on New Years Eve is for amateurs. The real drinkers can get drunk anytime, and a holiday isn't needed to do it."

Wow! Now there's a personal philosophy not to live by.

I remember one nice man who gave me a job when they were difficult to find.

There are so many old friends who have turned life's corner, and are but faded photographs and fond memories. I miss the late Bernie McKenzie, who gave me a job in his sporting goods store in 1958 when jobs were tough, and I became the go-to guy for sighting-in deer rifles.

More recently, I mourn the lost of callmaker Dick Kerby. He and I share the same room at Alabama's Southern Sportsman's Lodge about a dozen years ago. He practiced for the turkey calling championships, and I treasure the memory of this man who died in September, 2010.

Then there were Bobbie and Max Donovan. Max was my teen-age mentor, and Bobbie was his younger brother. Those two, and G.V. Langley were always up to running fox with hounds during the winter. Both Bobbie and Max are dead, and who knows about G.V. and Paul Duncan and Jerry Miller, three dog jockies who often ran red foxes with us on the winter snow.

There is Frank McKenzie, who has done a bit of outdoor writing, but he and his brother John are still good friends although I don't see either one nearly as often as I'd like. John worked for me as a steelhead guide 40 years ago, and they are both still going strong.

Another who has moved on to where the steelhead always bite is George Yontz. He was another mentor from my formative years of the 1950s, and I miss him a great deal. His acts of kindness to me when I was a kid have never been forgotten.

Another who has passed, and I mourn his uniqueness, is Robert Traver. This legendary trout angler and Upper Peninsula author wrote under that pseudonym, but his real name was John Voelker. He set a writing standard that others like us can only hope to emulate. He was the Bard of the Upper Peninsula, full of fun, and a fan of the fly rod and tiny flies.

I remember the gracious and gentle kindness of the late Russ Bengel.

I miss the quiet strength and strong sense of purpose that was the late Russ Bengel. He was the last Michigan market hunter to pass on, and he hated shooting ducks and geese for the market at a time when making money was difficult. He regretted his market hunting days, and quietly donated millions of dollars to Ducks Unlimited and Ducks Unlimited of Canada. He donated money to make our habitat a better place for wildlife to live, and he was exceedingly kind to me. He taught me that it was nice to be important but it was more important to be nice. I cherish his memory.

Also gone but not forgotten are guys like Al Lesh who could always help me get a newspaper story on short notice when other options went down the tube. The legendary muskie guide Homer LeBlanc was another person who was a big help, and he had more stories than anyone I know and I honestly believe that all were true.

There's my old friend, Herb Boldt of East Tawas, who is still alive and kicking, and we've fished and hunted together often. We seldom have much chance to get together these days, and it is my loss. He helped hire me at The Detroit News back in 1980, and I've never forgiven him for it. Years ago I was responsible for choosing a deer-hunting spot on the firearm opener, and he shot a big 11-pointer that day.

Herb Boldt with what I’ve always considered “my” buck that he shot (see above).

It was a big heavy-beamed buckI'd hunted for 45 days, and then missed with a bow at 30 yards at sundown, and I always tell him that deer was my buck. It was a 140-class whitetail, and as long as I live, I will be happy that I placed him on stand that year.

There are many older and younger friends, some I have fished or hunted with once and others that we haven't got together for many years. Friends, after all, can be the glue that holds many of us together.

There are people like Gary Baynton,  Lee Blahnik, Les Booth, Mike Borkovich, Bob Brunner, Gordie Charlies, Tom Coles, Boyd Crist, Emil Dean, R.J. Doyle, Doug Esch, George Gardner, Jim Gauthier, Bruce Grant, Fred Houghton, Roger & Paul Kerby, Scott Kincaid, Jerry Lee, Ron Levitan, Stan Lievense, Billy Macoy, Pat Marino, Arnie Minka, Paul Nickola, Phil Petz, Bud Raskey, Lou Razek, Jerry Regan, Jim Riley, Mark Rinckey, Ken Roberts, Mark Romanack, Steve Scott, Dan Small, Steve Southard, John Spencer, Al Stewart, Sam Surre, Walt Tilson, John and Steve VanAssche, and Anna and Nick Willerier. Any whose name I've inadvertently missed, my sincere apologies for an unintentional mental lapse.

Some are household names among sportsmen, and others are not, but know that all have figured significantly in my life for many years, and I cherish their friendship and their loyalty.

And to them, and to you, my wishes for a Happy New Year! Spend the day and evening wisely, remember old and new friends, and be grateful  to those who have gone the extra mile to be a true friend. And don't forget to sing along with the fat lady at the appropriate time.

Peace  be with you, one and all. God Bless.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors