Buying old turkey hunting books

Unique, Rare and Hard-to-Find books are what Scoop’s Books deals in: looking for and For Sale. Contact us today to Buy or Sell.
photos by Dave Richey

I spent just enough time outdoors today to go to the doctor, say hello to my neighbor and bask in the warming breezes. I’m trying to work some nasty knots out of my back, and it’s not working very well.

At 45 degrees, the weather seems almost balmy. I spent some time arranging and rearranging books that will be for sale on my Scoop’s Books website. Some titles are once-in-a-lifetime acquisitions for any sportsmen and some are moderately priced. I may have a new address for my new book website soon. I hope to have 1,000 or more fishing and hunting books up very soon.

These fishing and hunting books are meant to provide two specific things for book buyers: education and information.

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 & 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 at the above email address 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.

It's the same with turkey hunting books. I buy as money as I can afford for my collection, and still need some others. If you have any turkey titles, and might consider selling them, send me a list of the book titles and the author's name, and I'll get with you soon.

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 books I don't need.
The easiest answer is for you to tell me the author's name, the title of the book, and whether it is a 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. I absolutely will not buy print-on-demand books.

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 this list. There are certain authors I collect.

Robert Austin	Fred Bear	Havilah Babcock	Larry Benoit	Wayne Bledsoe
Stewart Bristol	Bob Brunner	Nash Buckingham	Doug Camp	Thomas C. Chubback Burns
Peter Hathaway Capstick (first editions only)	Russell Chatham	Wally Chodak	Thomas C. Chubb	Malcomb Commer
Wingbone Cryer	Eugene Connett	Ralf Coykendall	Paul Dalke	Henry Davis
Jack Dudley	John Duff	George Bird Evans	J. Wayne Fears	Bill Harper
William Harnden Foster	Percy Haver	Marv Heeler	Vic Jansen	John Knapp
Dana Lamb	Homer LeBlanc	J. Stockley Ligon	Doyle Loadholtz	John Lowther
Thomas McGuane	John Minor	Art Moraski	Richard Nissley	Jack O'Connor
Hoffman Phiilip	W. H. Purser	John Pusztay	Larry Ramsell	George Richey
Robert Ruark	Ernest Schwiebert	Louie Spray	Bob Swineheart	Robert Traver
Jack L. Turner	Ted Vogel	Alfred Weed

and many more.

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 43 years, and one doesn't stay in this kind of business for long by cheating people.

Give me a try. The nasty winter weather is behind us, but late spring rains may stall your outdoor activities.  Take a bit of that time to 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.

A kill is not always needed

To shoot or not to shoot? That was the major question at the moment

Perhaps, because I greatly enjoy the hunt, there is no longer a feeling of the need to kill. Maturity?
photo David Richey ©2012

I was in Colorado 15 or 20 years ago on an elk hunt. My buddy and I had seen several bull elk so far and our hunt still had a few days to go. We spotted a small elk herd from a distance, glassed them to see what they looked like.

"The bull on the far right is a nice 6X5," he whispered. "The middle bull is just a spike, and the left one is partly hidden. I can't see his rack."

The bull then eased from the black timber and offered a us  a long  look

"Wait. He's stepping out, and he's a dandy 5X5 with good ivory tips," the guide said. The right and left bulls are shooters. We have the wind in our favor, and if we can get 75-100 yards closer we can sneak in close for a good shot if cows don't get in our way."

To shoot or not to shoot? Shakespeare never had this problem. For me, it was easily solved. I chose not to make the stalk and take the shot. The bulls were decent racks but not what I'd hoped for. I offered them to my buddy from Michigan.

This hunt took place in September. I was looking for something big; I'm not a trophy hunter, but had fond hopes of getting a big bull. Besides, I wasn't keen on shooting a nice bull elk so early in the hunt.

"Want him?" my buddy asked our guide who also had an elk tag. "The best bull is on the right, and most hunters would be tickled to take him. He's broadside, and after a short stalk it would be an easy bow shot at 40 yards."

He knew I could kill a  bull elk at 40 yards, but I didn't want to shoot the animal
I shook my head no, and the three of us moved quietly from the area to look for a bigger bull. The guide and my friend kept looking sideways at me, probably thinking I was nuts for not shooting.

Sometimes elk hunting should be a solitary sport

The next day we drove as far as possible to get near a water-hole up an old mountainous two-track. We left the truck behind, and then climbed uphill within easy reach of the water-hole. Two hours later, we were there and had scouted the entire area. An elk bugled briefly and we shifted our attention to the sound.

"Here comes a nice bull," the guide said. "He looks great: heavy antler beams, long tines and a 5X5 rack. I'll try calling to see if he's interested."

My neck hairs lifted at the sound of elk music drifting through the mountains, and the bull responded by moving closer. The call had him interested, and for good reason: The bull wanted water from the water-hole, and figured he may have to get past the other bull. He closed to within 100 yards, turned broadside and challenged the unseen bull.

I again shook my head no to the unasked question. My friend couldn't understand my apparent reluctance to shoot a bull. Neither could the guide.

"I shot a beauty here two years ago, and since I have a choice in the matter, I'll wait for something bigger," I told him. "If I see an elk larger than what I've already taken, I'll shoot. Until then, I'll hold off and shoot a deer when I get home."

Many elk were seen but we never fired an arrow at any of them

We saw 16 antlered bull elk on that Colorado hunt, and I passed on each one. My buddy wound up shooting a nice 5X5, and was very pleased with his choice. It was his first elk with a bow, and a wonderful accomplishment.

I shot nothing, and wasn't disappointed. He, a first-time elk hunter was ecstatic, but still couldn't figure out why I wouldn't shoot. He didn't realize that I'd been here before, and had shot my share of bulls, and didn't need to do so again.

I assured him that he'd been a great hunting partner but the simple fact was I hadn't seen an animal I wanted. The hunt offered thrills and many opportunities, and no one could have asked for anything more. I had numerous chances to shoot in a sport where one lost opportunity may be all a hunter ever gets.

A successful hunt doesn't always mean returning home with game. I had many chances to shoot, but there was no need unless I saw an elk I really wanted. The animal I had hoped to take never materialized, but that didn't diminish my time afield.

If anything, it enhanced my hunt, which is difficult for other hunters to understand. My time was well spent, and seeing game in beautiful hunting country was a plus, but I've never regretted my decision.

A kill isn't always needed to produce a meaningful hunting experience. On this and three other elk hunts I passed up nearly 40 bulls. I was happy and proud to see my hometown friend connect on a fine bull.  But he wasn’t sure about my choice.

I hunt for what I please, and what is legal, and if I don't shoot, it's because of one of three reasons: the bulls were too young to shoot or I simply couldn't catch up with them. Perhaps a third choice is possible.

Perhaps because I greatly enjoy the hunt, that when it comes time to shoot, the urge to kill the bull has gone away.

In any respect, the guide and other hunter had a choice and decided, this time, not to shoot either.

For us, the hunt had been enough.

Caribou in the snow

Caribou moving in the snow

I'll never forget my first caribou bull with a bow, in that remote snow-covered land of northern Quebec.
photo Dave Richey ©2012

One of the most fascinating things about northern Quebec is how many lakes and rivers there are, and how few people inhabit the region. Some Montaignais Indians and a small group of Inuit from the sub-Arctic coast, and that's it for thousands of square miles of bush country.

My first Quebec-Labrador caribou hunt took place in 1971, and it left much to be desired. I saw two caribou, dropped the only bull with one shot, and that was it.

My next hunt was in 1974, and it was far different than my first outing. It was on the George River, north of Schefferville, Quebec, and near the Torngat Mountains. My Montaignais Indian guide, Peter Wanish, spoke very little pidgin English, a bit of French, but we managed to communicate with hand signals and a few spoken words.

Sign language proved useful between my guide and I

As all hunters can do, we learned to communicate.

We headed upstream through a series of rapids above Wedge Hills Lodge, and the sky was the color of soft putty. A cold wind blew out of the north, and we came to an area where the mighty river narrowed. My compound bow was ready, and we took up a position 10 feet uphill from the river bank as we kneeled behind some low-growing trees. We were near the edge of the tree-line, and our meager cover would have to do.

The weather turned colder, and then it began to snow. An hour later there was 12 inches of snow on the ground, and my Bushnell spotting scope was trained on the opposite shore a quarter-mile away. It wasn't needed.

Wanish muttered a guttural "Caribou!" and lifted his finger just off his lap and pointed. Caribou were filtering down toward the river, and stood there looking across. We didn't move, and the caribou stood at the waters edge, and more caribou began to pile up behind them.

The snow gained in intensity, and much of the time the animals could not be seen. And then, a stray gust of wind would flatten out the snow, and through the gauze-like haze of huge snow flakes, we would see them increasing in numbers on the opposite shore. I lifted my Bushnell  binoculars, and when next the snow cleared, there was a steady string of 'bou filtering down through the few trees off the hillside, and the animals just kept coming.

The heavy snow caused thousands of caribou to cross near us. This was an age-old migration route, and trails had been cut deep in the shorelines where generations of Quebec-Labrador caribou had traveled.

Now, after many such caribou hunts, and having taken 28 big ‘bou with double-shovels, I'm convinced that only three things make caribou move: Cold temperatures, heavy snow fall and because the animals decide they want to do so. Cold and snow is what hunters can depend on if the weather cooperates. Migration routs like this can be a hit or miss situation in this country in August and September, if the animals decide to move. It is with eagerness and a madly beating heart when they do.

His whispered warning: “Get ready, they’re coming. No move.”

We watched the animals pile up on the opposite side of the river, and then Wanish grunted again. "Caribou. In water. Swimming!"

He looked at me, signaled for me to get up on one knee and get ready for a close shot. He motioned me to stay behind our skimpy shoreline cover.

I looked across the river, and at least 1,000 caribou were in the river, swimming our way. Their heads were sweeping our shoreline with their eyes, their antlers interlocking with those of other bulls, and on they came as we remained motionless. We were where the animals wanted to go.

They would disappear from sight through the thick snow, and then we'd see them again. The current was swift but the caribou are strong swimmers, and their hollow hair serves as insulation and they seem to bob like a cork on the water.

I singled out a bull with a good rack and a white mane and waited

Once they were within 100 yards of us, they became more visible. A big white-main bull with long main beams, good mass on top, good bez tines and a double shovel was clearly the largest one that would make landfall near us. The other caribou was allowed to swim ashore and leave.

My attention remained riveted on that bull, and as he reached shallow water, he lurched slowly up near shore. Dozens of caribou had already walked past us, and we were just downwind of them. They climbed the hill behind us and disappeared.

The bull stepped ashore, stood on the sand and rocks, shook himself like a Labrador retriever shaking himself off after retrieving a duck, turned broadside to me, and I came to a full draw. Aiming, I had to wait for a cow to pass in front of me, and then made a smooth release on the bull.

The arrow disappeared behind the near-side front shoulder, and the animal stood there for several moments, and started up the hill and fell. From shot placement to death took less than five seconds. It didn't bother the other 'bou, and they just passed by his position on either side, and for 15 minutes it was a steady parade of caribou walking past.

That bull was mounted but his rack was never scored, and years later, I had another bull scored that was slightly smaller, and it made it into the Boone & Crockett record books. This animal is a bit wider, a bit higher, and has more scoreable points. One day I may have it mounted but it’s not necessary.

One day, that caribou may get scored but each time I look at him, all I see in my mind's eye is a huge snow fall, strong winds, and a massive caribou migration that put 2,000 to 3,000 animals past us that day. Believe it or now, hitting the caribou migration isn't easy.

Memories of other hunts may be come or go, or may be forgotten, but I'll never forget my first caribou bull with a bow, on a lonely northern Quebec rive shoreline, when the snow fell and the caribou just kept coming. It was a wilderness spectacle that  has stayed with me for many years, and will never go away.

Michigan wolves are increasing

Wolves are becoming more common in the midwest

Wolves have been steadily increasing across the Upper Penninsula of Michigan. Protected for the latter half of the 20th century, they are now slated for culling once again.
photo Dave Richey ©2012

You love 'em or hate them. Wolves have few people who could care less about these apex predators.

Discussing Michigan wolves means people are either "for them" or "against them." Wolves, somewhat like black bear numbers, have a certain human acceptance or tolerance level.

Sadly, wolves kill other animals for dinner. Sometimes they kill things just to kill them, and it becomes a "sport." It's just what wolves are very good at doing.

Wolves have spread through the U.P. and parts of Lower Michigan

When predatory animal numbers exceed the social carrying capacity in that area, the local human residents find themselves quickly switch sides from "for" to "against." So, managing bears or wolves is as much about managing people as it is about managing wild animal populations.

It appears there are somewhere between 500-600 grey wolves in the Upper Peninsula, which includes Isle Royale, and best-guess scenarios have the animals well distributed from north to south and east to west. The number climbs in the spring when wolf pups are born, and drops slightly during winter months as some wolves perish for a variety of reasons.

Wolves are fascinating creatures, and here are some facts about Michigan's gray wolves that may be of interest to readers.

• Key dates from 1838 to the present include: 1838 is when Michigan's legislature enacted a wolf bounty; 1840 was when wolves disappeared from the southern Lower Peninsula; 1910 was when wolves disappeared from the northern Lower Peninsula; 1954-1956 was when the last original verified wolf pup was produced in the Upper Peninsula; and 1965 was when wolves were legally protected.
  
• Other dates of interest was 1974 when four wolves were trans-located to the Huron Mountain Area in the U.P. All four wolves were killed within a year; 1991 was the first year when documentation of the first wolf pup was produced in the U.P. in nearly 40 years; 1996 was when wolves were believed to be present in all U.P. counties; 1997 was when Michigan adopted the Michigan Gray Wolf Recovery & Management Plan; 2002 saw Michigan reclassifying its gray wolf population from endangered to threatened under the Michigan State Endangered Species Act; 2003 saw the Federal government reclassifying Michigan wolves from federally endangered to federally threatened; and 2004 saw the first documented return of the gray wolf to the northern Lower Peninsula where one was accidentally trapped and shot by a person who thought it was a coyote.
  
• As of last year, Michigan's gray wolf population was about 500-550 animals. The breakdown since 1989 is as follows: 1989 showed a state mainland total of two wolves; 1991 saw 17 wolves; 1992 saw 21 wolves; 1993 had 30 wolves; 1994 showed 57 wolves in eight packs; 1995 found 80 wolves in 12 packs; 1996 showed 116 wolves in 16 packs; 1997 showed 112 wolves in 20+ packs; 1998 had 140-150 wolves in 20+ packs; 1999 showed 174 wolves in 30+ packs; 2000 had 216 wolves in 30+ packs; 2001 had 249 wolves in 30-50 packs; 2002 showed 278 wolves in 60 packs; 2003 had 321 wolves in 68 packs; 2004 found 360 wolves in 77+ packs and 2005 found 405 wolves in 86+ packs. It's unknown exactly how many wolves are present this year as pups were born earlier in the year.

Wolf numbers are steadily increase as deer numbers go down

One thing that holds true is some increase in Upper Peninsula wolf numbers is being seen, and the animals occasionally prey on farm animals. We're seeing the tip of the ice berg on wolf predation on cattle, sheep. etc., but wolves are preying heavily on whitetail deer, and to a much lesser degree, on U.P. and Isle Royale moose.

• It's estimated that each gray wolf can consume 17-20 whitetail deer annually, states the Timber Wolf Alliance, a program of the Sigurd Olson Environmental Institute of Northland College in Ashland, Wisconsin.
  
• Gray wolves (Canis lupus) are the largest member of the Canidae family. This family also includes coyotes and foxes.
  
• Wolves do not necessarily require deep wilderness to survive. They can live anywhere there is an adequate food supply, enough suitable forest land to roam and, most importantly, human acceptance. Studying human acceptance is not easy, and many people who rather see them all dead.
  
• Wolves are carnivores or meat-eating mammals that feed primarily on  beaver and deer, but also add to this diet some birds, small mammals and snowshoe hares. There has minor depredation complaints from farmers, and all complaints are investigated by the DNR and/or Federal officials.
  
• A pack of wolves will cover at least 100 square miles or about three geographical townships. They can travel long distances quickly for short periods, but maintain a dog-like trot for 20 hours without resting.
  
• In 2004, wolves killed 17 domestic animals including five dogs in the Upper Peninsula. Many bobcat, coyote and snowshoe hare hunters are lost each winter. If the dogs get too far from humans, and too close to wolves, Fido and his buddies get eaten.
  
• Wolves survive as families in a pack system with a strong hierarchical structure of members that include: the alpha or apex male and female leaders of the pack, juveniles from previous litters, individual wolves that may not be genetically related plus pups from the present year. They work together to maintain the survival of the pack which leads to the survival of the individual animal. Packs are very dynamic, developing and breaking apart depending upon circumstances such as the death of an alpha male or female. The average number of wolves in a Michigan wolf pack is four to five animals, on average.
  
• Isle Royale, in northern Lake Superior, belongs to Michigan. It has held wolves for many years, and in 2005, 30 wolves lived on the island where their primary food source are beavers and moose. The entire island is a National Park, and no hunting is allowed. The numbers of wolves on the Island has gone up and down for many years.

Wolves will go where their food is found but try to avoid humans

Wolves are survivors, and deadly predators. Killing other animals is what they do, and a pack is very efficient. Personally, would like to see some wolves in this state and throughout the upper Midwest states of Minnesota and Wisconsin.

Much thought is needed to determine the social carrying capacity of wolves in this and other states. However, if wolves prey too much on farm animals or deer in small areas, they will no longer be accepted by local residents.

The trick now is to determine that carrying capacity, and control wolf numbers before an all-out war breaks out as has happened in western states. Breaking laws to illegally remove wolves is not the answer.

Apathy describes many anglers and hunters

What would spring fishing be like without steelhead?

Apathy is killing our outdoor heritage activities. Speak UP for hunting and angling activities. If we don't we'll loose them.
photo Dave Richey ©2012

Does apathy adequately describe many of Michigan's anglers and hunters? I think it does. For those who haven't visited a dictionary, apathy means a lack of emotion or feeling or a sense of indifference.

An election in 2006 proved that most hunters didn't care much about a Michigan dove hunt. The measure got whipped in a bad way, and few hunters seemed very upset about it. No one seemed to care.

Folks, believe it or not, but that vote for a Michigan dove season went much deeper than keeping state sportsmen from shooting mourning doves. It was the first big step in a long parade of other items that can and one day will be stuck on the ballot. The next one might directly affect something you feel strongly about.

Would apathy keep people from fighting for their country?

How would you feel if it was put to a vote to end archery hunting. Or,  the next vote may be to prohibit firearm hunting for deer and/or other game species. It might come to a vote to outlaw dogs while hunting which would affect most bird hunters and bear, bobcat, coyote and fox hunting. Don't think so? Dream on!

Does anyone out there understand that the anti-hunters whupped us on the dove issue? Why, because many hunters are apathetic. They don't care enough to get involved. They wait for others to fight their battles for them. Read again the definition of apathy. It's present here.

I know a guy who whined about the dove season being defeated. The man has never voted for anything (including presidential elections) in his life, never discussed hunting issues with anyone other than his buddies, and he was most upset when I told him he didn't deserve the opportunity to whine and gripe. That behavior is reserved for those who have enough courage and gumption to vote.

People who don't vote on issues of importance to anglers and hunters should have no say in how a democracy is run. And trust me on this: anti-hunters know that sportsmen are unwilling to take a stand, and many folks claim to be too busy to vote. Say what?

Who among these unenlightened sportsmen is willing to wake up and see what goes on around them. They gripe and complain about a possible raise in license fees, but when the sporting segment of this country needs help to fight anti-hunting measures, where are these folks? They are too busy to care. Apathy reigns supreme.

Many avoid the voting booth as if the curtains were coated with asbestos. The day of letting others fight our battles is over. People who want to hunt, now and in the future, had best realize that forces are underway to eliminate all types of hunting. Wake up!

The deer kill was down last year. It also was down the year before last, and likely will be down again this year. Do you care? As a hunter, aren't you concerned about a declining deer herd? You should be

Will the same people who are against legalized hunting want to ban ownership of firearms? What will happen to our wildlife if the DNR has no money to manage it, which has already happened. Will the United States become neutered like Australia and Great Britain? Does anyone care? People need to get a grip on reality soon.

An out-of-control deer herd is entirely possible. The state has worked hard for years to reduce the herd size, and in many areas, they did their job too well and the deer numbers are way down. We saw the results of this problem the last two years. Each person can make a difference but they must get off their backside, learn what the really important issues are and get involved.

Michigan United Conservation Clubs, the state's largest conservation organization, is trying to fight the good fight. They keep people posted on what is happening, but MUCC membership rolls have shrunk dramatically from their highs of 20-30 years ago.

Why? The short and ugly answer is public apathy. Sportsmen no longer care about joining groups. They often say they don't have time or money to be a member. And for some that is probably true.

Others have different priorities. Where fishing and hunting was once their good time, bowling and golf may have replaced some of the leisure time activities. Others simply are not joiners, and care little about joining Delta Waterfowl, Ducks Unlimited, National Rifle Association, Trout Unlimited and many other excellent organizations that are trying to fight for all sportsmen.

Where do we go from here? I'm one man, preaching to the choir and to those who enjoy reading about the outdoors and who has nothing against hunting, but I'm only one man. I'm not a one-man army.

Speak up and show some true American spirit

Others must stand up and be heard. They must stand and fight the good fight. Are you willing to step up to the plate for our fishing and hunting and wise management of those resources?

I've heard it many times at a conservation club, Kiwanis meetings, or in other places. People actually ask me to fight their battles for them. I'm just one man with one voice, but they must make their voices heard. Sportsmen must become involved before it is too late.

Hunters of all stripes, whether bird hunters or a bear and deer hunter, must unite under one common banner to endorse all forms of legal hunting and be prepared to vote on critical issues. If one method of hunting is lost, as happened on the dove issue, anti-hunters will go after the next least defensible hunting method. Will it be bow hunting as many believe?

It could be dog ownership which would hurt hunters who use a pooch for their sport. If they don't support bear and deer hunting, and treeing coons with a hound or chasing bunnies with a beagle, than it is quite likely their lack of action will help future anti-hunters win.

The past issue was supposedly about dove hunting. That's nonsense. It was simply the first nail in the coffin of legalized hunting in this state, and hundreds of thousands of hunters stood by and watched it happen.

How sad. And who will feel sorry for you when your favorite fishing or hunting sport comes up on a ballot, and one by one, our outdoor pleasures and heritage are taken away from us because apathetic sportsmen don't care enough to become involved?

Or because they are too lazy, and cannot comprehend what is happening to them. It's time for many people to wake up, smell the coffee brewing, pull on their boots and fight for our hunting heritage.

It really is worth fighting for. Grow up, wake up, and fight. And if we lose part of outdoor heritage because of apathy, don't come whining to me to fight even harder. I've fought this battle for more than 50 years.

What exactly have you done?

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Looking forward to the trout opener

Sometimes I enjoy big-water fishing off the beach

Michigan's trout opener hits the waterways the last Saturday in April. Grear up for another great year of fishing.
photo Dave Richey ©2012

My memories of the general-season trout opener are strung out now over 60 years, back to those days when my late twin brother George and I would have a visual race. It was to see who would be the first to spot the Sturgeon River glinting through the late-April sunlight.

Spotting the river first was as much fun as hooking a fish. We would count down the days to the opener, and in those days, a desperate anticipation overcame us. We were ready, and had been primed for the opener for many lean months.

It became a visceral thing. We could feel it coming, and each check mark on the calendar brought us one day closer to when we could fish our beloved Sturgeon River between Wolverine and Indian River in Cheboygan County.

We could sense the thrill and excitement deep in our guts

We could easily remember the first cold chill of the river current gripping our skinny little legs. We'd pick the brain of George Yontz, the steelhead guru of Hillside Camp, three miles north of Wolverine on old M-27.

We had fresh six-pound line on our reel, sharp No. 6 or 8 Eagle Claw gold hooks, and carried our treasured jars of Atlas salmon eggs. They sold for a buck a jar in those days, but salmon eggs produced better than worms or other bait.

Those early days meant a limit catch of 10 trout per day, and the Wolverine Hatchery and its hatchery truck planted fish just before the opener. It took years of catching lots of small trout in Phase 1 of our trout-fishing education before we arrived at Phase 2. That was when we'd had enough of the tiddlers and wanted more than a flip-flopping small trout.

We were primed and ready. It was an adventure for us

We wanted bigger fish, and it wasn't long before we were catching our fair share of steelhead. That phase of catching big fish stuck with us for many years before we graduated to accepting the challenge of meeting and greeting our trout in tough places where catching any trout -- large or small -- was a difficult challenge.

Many opening days have passed with the speed of an old man racing headlong through life, each year passing even faster than the previous one. To think that 60 years have gone by, and I've been out there for every opener to capture the moment with fly rod, spinning rod of camera, is a testament to my devotion to these grand game fish.

There have been a few openers where the Blue Wing Olives and Hendrickson's hatched well, but more often, the opener produced high winds, rain, and very often snow, and the fishing wasn't worth beans.

Art Neumann of Saginaw always handled the countdown

However, trout fishing isn't all about catching fish. It means meeting old friends, discussing past openers, learning who had fished around their last bend, who was ill and couldn't fish, and where the hot-spots might be later in the day.

For 23 years I covered the opener for the newspaper, and that usually meant very little fishing. Sometimes, if the action was good, I could shoot photos and write my copy, and still have time to fish for an hour or two.

Trout fishing also was George's love, and we shared so many wonderful days together on so many Michigan streams, and each one brought both of us a sense of peace and tranquility. We often didn't talk because twins know what the other is thinking. It's true in many cases, and especially for us. We didn't need to speak.

George and I could always communicate without talking

Many times I'd nod my head, George would spot the Hendrickson lift off the surface, and we both marveled at this transformation from a nymph to a flying insect. Sometimes a grunt and a look would indicate a mink running the bank or the flash of a trout under a sweeper.

We spent so many years greeting the dawn somewhere on a trout stream. We both loved the Holy Waters of the AuSable and Manistee rivers, but sometimes we would be on a steelhead stream or fishing a back-of-beyond beaver pond. Tiny cedar-shrouded jump-across creeks and brook trout were on the agenda at times, and occasionally we would fly-fish trout lakes.

Trout fishing, unlike a sport where a score is kept, was much closer to being a deeply religious experience to us. It was something we felt strongly about, and although in George's later years he would rather fly fish for bluegills than trout, he never lost his love of trout, trout fishing and the places where these game fish live.

It's up to me to carry on that tradition alone or perhaps with my son, David. But even that is out of the question this year as he heads for Florida to fish for tarpon.

I still enjoy fishing alone, do so often

It's OK, because sometimes fishing alone puts a person in a much different mood. We become more humble, easily satisfied, and we thrill to the magic of a rise, and we always are blessed to just be there for one more trout opener.

And just think, we have less than two weeks before the state-wide season opens on the last Saturday in April. I don't know where I'll be, but it will be on trout water, somewhere. Bet on it!

Ever taken a gobbler with a muzzleloading shotgun?

A nice beard on a very nice spring gobbler

Blackpowder and spring turkey hunting are like soup and sandwich; they go together - just keep the moisture out of the mix.
photo Dave Richey ©2012

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 saw us spook a pair of roosted gobblers while opening a rusted 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 30 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 bird-shot all over the place. I have no qualms with shooting a 50-caliber front-loader with an extra-full choke  and two ounces of shot and three Pyrodex 50 grain 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 or 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 sink 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 sight.

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.

Listening TO Only A Few Spring Gobblers

Jakes – shoot or let them walk by

Pick up on a FEW Spring Turkeys and listen closely
photo Dave Richey ©2012

It was a beautiful morning to be alive. I slipped out the door about 6:45 a.m. into 42-degree temperatures, and it felt wonderful.

The sun wasn't up yet but sharp spears of golden light shot upward from the eastern horizon, and my thoughts were on how beautiful the morning was. I stood there, a moment frozen in time, and waited for the sun to start bulging the horizon of the eastern sky.

It seems to start slow, and then the top surface of the ball of fire broke through, and up came the sun, growing more orange and red as it rose. It's a magic that I never tire of watching, and if there is a reason for rising before sun-up, it's to witness the rare beauty of dawn.

Watching a golden sunrise on opening day

I stood, transfixed by its beauty, and asked myself how anything could be any better. And then I learned how.

Off in the distance, so far away it could hardly be heard, came the very soft tree yelp of a hen turkey. She cutt once, just checking on the whereabouts of the other birds, and then a full-throated gobbler chimed in and the sound was loud even from a long distance away.

It's always amazing how loud a gobbler is when he roars as the sun comes up. The volume of sound is impossible to believe unless it is seen and heard up close.

He nailed that gobble with lusty exuberance for the day, and she gave another soft yelp. Big Daddy, still sitting in his roost tree, gobbled and then hit a double-gobble just to show everyone in the nearby trees who the Boss Gobbler in these parts happened to be.

Another Tom gobbled once, and again 10 seconds later, and then the Big Boss Man tuned up the woods again. The hen yelped a little bit more, just enough to keep the gobblers fired up, and then the Toms began gobbling back and forth at each other.

A gobble or double-gobble is pure Michigan excitement

Four individual gobblers were heard, and the fury of this sound was awesome. One or two small jakes tried to gobble but couldn't quite pull it off. Like adolescent boys, their voices were changing but they simply couldn't hit that low bass note and keep it going.

It was one of those days when I wished I could be sitting on the ground in my camo, a shotgun over my knees, and start lighting a real fire in their bellies. I love to listen to that low-pitched humming sound that gobblers make when they are close to a hen.

Many people have heard it, didn't know what it was, but if you are hunting and hear it, don't move because a gobbler is close. The sound doesn't carry far, and two or three years ago I was calling a gobbler for a buddy when I heard it.

"Don't move a muscle," I whispered. "There's a big gobbler behind us and he is very close. Don't move anything. We'll wait him out."

If you hear a gobbler spitting and drumming, sit still and don't move

That bird was within 15 feet of us, and I could hear him pacing back and forth in dry leaves, but he wouldn't circle around. We later learned that he had two big hens with him, and he was trying to lure my two hen decoys to follow along with him.

Unfortunately, I was too far away to hear this sound but I have no doubt that once the hens and gobblers flew down, that it would have been audible if the birds were close.

These birds on this delightful day serenaded the morning for 20 minutes while I stood and listened. And then, as if the switch had been thrown, they shut up and started moving.

I pulled the newspaper from the tube, walked back to the house, and stood on the back deck for another 10 minutes. The birds were indeed on the move, and I heard one gobbler rattle out his love song to the hens as they walked off in the opposite direction.

The turkeys, just like me, appeared happy to see the snow gone off the hillsides. All of winter's snow back in the hollows is gone, but I'll greet the dawn with the birds many times before the hunting season begins.

There's not much need for preseason scouting because I know the pattern of these birds and where they roost. I'll stay far away from them, hope they are not spooked out of the area, and each day they greet my distant presence with a gobble, is another memorable moment in my life.

Calling gobblers is more fun than shooting one

Somehow, I hope that's the way it may turn out but I have some doubts. It's been spring for five weeks, and I doubt many birds will be in the mood this spring. Some hen  birds have been seen on nests, and we're seeing very little gobbler activity if compared to past years.

But when my season open April 30, I'll be out there as usual, to greet the dawn with optimism. And I hope for just one lusty gobbler to call to me and my buddy. One chance may be it for this spring season, and we'll try to make the most of it.

Big gobblers attract attention

This is one of the big boy's smaller buddies

This jake can kickstart the adrenaline flow, but the truly 'Big Boys', attract attention; and no small amount of worry for the hunter(s!), hot-on-their-trail.
photo Dave Richey ©2012

One thing about turkey gobblers is true. There are far fewer big old longbeards running around northern Michigan than jakes.

The other day I spotted a huge longbeard in a field about 15 miles from home. The bird was wandering alone although two or three hens weren't very far away.

What struck me about this bird, besides his larger than normal size, was his beard. The beard was at least 10-12 inches in length, and appeared to be as wide as a big paint brush. It hung ponderously off his chest, and swayed from side to side as he walked.

Big longbeards like that cause traffic jams

I noted the time of day, drove a half-mile down the road and out of sight of the gobbler, turned around and drove past him for another look. From this angle the bird looked even larger, and the beard was dragging the dirt whenever he bent over to feed.

This was a gobbler of extraordinary proportions. Such birds are difficult to keep hid because he seemed bound and determined to stand out in the open where he could be seen by every vehicle that traveled the busy road.

We drove away, and the next day we went back looking for this Monarch of the open fields. Sure enough, he was in the same field, walking the edge of a wood lot, and about 100 yards off the paved road.

The question is how long will he stay there? If he keeps showing himself, every turkey hunter west of Interlochen and north of US-31 will be trying to hunt him. The bird is on private land, and seems enthralled with the area.

It's my assumption that the big gobbler and some hens are roosting nearby. I see him about two hours after sunrise, and the birds never stray too far from this spot.

My bet is the bird will be scared by human activity

Company came and spent three days here, and I didn't have any chance to go out checking on the big gobbler. I know for certain that at least two other hunters know about him, and suspect he has now been seen  by many more people.

The burning question is whether he will still be around when turkey season opens. I spotted another car parked along the road, and figured he was watching the bird.

He had binoculars to his face when I pulled up. He turned, saw me and whispered "Big bird." I nodded in agreement.

The bird walked off into the woods, and he asked if I had known the bird was there. I told him I'd been watching the gobbler for a few days.
"Are you planning to hunt him?" he asked. I told him that I might if he sticks around.

"Do you think he will still be in this area when the season opens," he asked. "I just spotted him on my way home,  and I've never seen a beard like that before."

His was a valid question. Would this bird still be in the area when the turkey season opens? It's not very likely.

I felt the big gobbler would disappear before the opener

"I doubt if he will still be here then," I said, being honest with the guy. "A bird that big attracts a great deal of attention, and I suspect people pressure will force him to move on.

"How far he and the hens will move is just a guess. I'd expect him to breed those hens before the season opener, and then he will be off in search of other hens. He could be several miles away when the season kicks off."

Would I hunt him? Certainly, if I could get hunting permission for that land. However, my guess is he will be gone in a week or less because other people now know where he is, and if cars continue to stop and watch him, the pressure will force him to get on his way.

And, perhaps that is a good thing. Such big birds are tempting, and poachers often figure a way to shoot such birds out of season. That is one reason why I didn't say how far west of Interlochen Corners or how many miles north.

I may go looking for him again tomorrow, but it wouldn't surprise me if he is gone already. Perhaps I'll be lucky and find him again, and then, I may never see that gobbler again.

The next time I spot him, if there is a next time, there will not be any notations in my blog. The only reason I've written about the bird is because of his size and because I know he won't hang around there long.

He will shove off, move elsewhere, and it's likely he will take over the hens of a smaller gobbler, and soon he will be following the hens. They will keep him moving, and the more nearby eyes and ears there are, the safer that bird will be.

Location is KEY

Big gobblers, like the left one, must be played carefully

Big tom turkey's don't get old or big by being easily fooled. Timeing and location play key roles in turkey hunting success.
photo Dave Richey ©2012

There's an old real estate adage that almost everyone knows. The key thing to remember is  location, location, location. Where the land or home is located means almost everything.

This old saying also holds true for turkey hunters. Location means everything, and if a hunter is going to have any kind of success with a big gobbler, he must be in the right spot at the right time.

So far, I've talked to just two people with a first-season turkey tag, and neither man has found gobblers yet. Both cite high winds, rain and on again, off again cold weather and snow as various excuses.

We had some snow on the ground yesterday

One guy was looking for birds near home, and his brother was scouting a nearby area. My buddy checked where he'd seen a gobbler fly up to roost the night before, and estimated he was 150 yards away.

He waited for dawn, listened to the bird gobble once from the roost tree at about 6:30 a.m., and called twice, and that was all it took.

That bird might have come to him if he'd called, but the season is still about two weeks away," he said. "The bird flew down from the tree, and shut up."

His brother, who had not seen or heard a bird, and had traveled to what would be a new hunting location when their season opened. They walked into the area, sat down with their backs to adjacent trees, and began to listen for birds.

"I soon heard a bird that wasn't very far away," he said. "I listened to him for 40 minutes. He seemed to have a couple of hens and lesser gobblers with him. We sat still and never spooked the birds.

That's one way to play the pre-season scouting game

"At first we thought there was just one bird but it turned out to be two adult gobblers traveling together. Finally, one split away from the other, and came our way only to be spooked by a roaming coyote. Those birds should still be around when the next season opens."

Well, that just might be a bit of wishful thinking. All scouting does right now is show and tell you where the birds are today. They could be, and quite likely will be, two miles away when the season opens. The birds often do return to an area eventually if they are not badly spooked.
I've heard it mentioned many times by turkey hunters that they believe gobblers and hens may be spooking from decoys. If there is no wind, and the decoy doesn't move, the bird won't come in. Obvious, this isn't an across-the-board belief, but some birds seem definitely afraid of one or more decoys, and a scouting hunters should never put out decoys before the season opens.

More and more people are using decoys now than ever before. It stands to reason that some birds are spooked by the fakes.

Being in the right spot at the right time is crucial to success. I don't consider myself a great caller, but I know enough not to call too much once my season opens. Finesse the birds a little, don't call too loud so the bird gets spooky, and chances are good you can close the deal on a gobbler. The trick is to be patient, and don't call too loud or too often.

Years ago, my wife and I drew first-season hunting tags, and we got set up early, and she wanted to take her gobbler with a bow. I had her sitting inside a hunting coop. I had three decoys -- two hens and a jake -- positioned in front of her with the jake only 15 yards away.

I sat outside with my back to a big tree and waited for the first gobbler to sound off. A few crows called, and then he tuned up the volume and rattled the trees in that woodlot. I gave a soft tree yelp, and he gobbled again and again while I remained silent. It's part of the teasing process.

Here's a bit of good advice to try on a solitary gobbler

As a southern buddy used to tell me: "Tell 'em what you think they want to hear, but give them a pack of lies. Make your calls sound too good to be true, be patient and they may come."

Five minutes passed, and the longbeard gobbled again, and I gave a soft tree yelp, waited until he quit gobbling, slapped my pant legs a few quick times to simulate a bird flying down, and could hear that bird busting branches as he flew to the ground.

He gobbled again on the ground, came walking through the woods, walked within three feet of my boots and strutted out to whup on that jake decoy. I could hear him drumming and spitting, and he gobbled out a challenge to the jake decoy, and walked in to smack the fake bird around.

The gobbler offered Kay a good shot, and that was the end of that bird. It wasn't the largest gobbler she has killed, but doing it with a bow was a major accomplishment.

A year earlier, much the same thing played out as I called in a nice gobbler for her, and she took it with a shotgun. In fact, I've called in most of her gobblers over the past twenty years.

A person can be the best caller in the world, but if he is in the wrong spot, there will be no birds racing in his direction. Personally, I'd rather know where the bird is roosted, and be a mediocre caller, than to be in the wrong spot with championship calling skills on my side.

Location to a turkey hunter, as it is to a real estate agent, is the most important part of the hunting equation. It's what can put a tasty bird on a turkey platter this spring.

Just make certain your scouting efforts don't spook birds out of the area, and for Heaven's sake, be smart enough to leave your calls at home while scouting before the season opener. The birds don't need more of an education than they already have, and it pays to scout with binoculars or a spotting scope. Find the birds, drive away, and know where a few birds may be when your turkey season opens.

Missing my twin brother

George Richey, holding his former, 2lb. 7oz., Michigan State Record pink salmon.
photo Dave Richey ©2012

It was one of those mid-September days when it felt right to be going through my deer-hunting backpack and sharpening broad-heads. It was something to do while waiting for my next trout fishing trip to arrive.

So I was puttering with my bow quiver of sharpened heads when a memory jolted me as it entered my mind without me thinking. It was of brother George, and he was coming down the Little Manistee River in high water in early April with a rampaging steelhead on his line.

"Try and get a net under this guy," he hollered. "I hooked him a quarter-mile upstream, but he's riding the current broadside. Stick your net in the water, and I'll put him head-first into the net. Ready?"

We'd done this for each other and both knew what to do

My net was pulled from under my belt behind my back, and my rod butt went in underneath the belt. The fish was 10 feet upstream as my net went into the water, and George leaned back on the rod to get the fish up onto the surface, and just at the right time, he dropped the rod tip and the fish dove right into the net. My job was to lift it from the water.

"Good dip," he said, as we waded ashore. The steelhead, a red-sashed male with bright cheeks and gill covers, was 16 pounds of broad-beamed raw power. George worked the No. 4 wiggler fly free, eased the big guy into the river, and with a mighty splash it was gone.

Another time George and I hunted Le Chateau Montebello, a famous resort in Quebec. We were there to hunt deer, and the guide told us we would be lucky to see a deer. If we did, he said, it would be a shooter.

The guy put on one-man drives, and I've been involved in deer drives for most of my life. I can tell good from bad, and this guy was an expert. He walked softly, yipped like a beagle puppy on occasion, and he never hurried the deer. They just moved slowly ahead of him.

We driven deer for years, and this guy was the best I'd seen

Far off, on the third day, I heard him yip softly to let us know he was coming. It was a large area to watch, but 10 minutes later a white-antlered 8-pointer eased from the woods and stood, side-lit by the afternoon sun against a pine, and he was a beautiful sight to behold.
He turned to look the opposite way at George, and I slowly raised the rifle and aimed. He went down at the shot, and George almost beat me to that buck. It was the only deer either of us saw on that hunt, but he wasn't disappointed not to get one. He loved listening to the wolves howl at night, and was happy that one of us shot a good buck.
"Good shot, good buck, and where's the guide?" He asked. "This buck weighs well over 200 pounds, and we will need help to move it far."
The guide showed up, we boiled a kettle to have hot tea with our sandwiches, and then had us a four-mile hike back to his truck and he drove up to the dead animal. It is the only whitetail I've taken in Quebec, but it's important to me because George and I shared the hunt in a unique part of Canada.

Ours was never a competitive thing. We just had fun

Neither of us have ever been truly competitive with each other, but years ago before I wrote the first story about runs of pink salmon in Upper Peninsula streams, George was with me to share what might or might not be an adventure. We didn't know if we'd find the pink salmon.

We would fish pink salmon in the morning and hunt bears in the afternoon, and we found some fish in the Big Huron River. They usually spawned during September on odd-numbered years and we found hordes of them on the first gravel patch above the river-mouth.

We'd been guiding river fishermen for a few years, and started catching pinkies of flies. An orange fly tied on a No 6 hook seemed to produce best, and they were some of George's tried-and-true steelhead and salmon patterns. The fish weren't big but they were aggressive.

"Here's another one," he said. "I'm taking it in to the store to get it weighed. I figure it to be just over two pounds. There's no state record for these fish so one of us should set the record."

Back he came, and it weighed 2 lbs., 3 oz., and so I tried to beat him. Mine weighed 2 lbs., 4 oz. The next day we caught fish of 2 lbs., 5 oz, and then 2 lbs., six oz. It was on the last day that George caught one that weighed 2 lbs., 7 oz., and it became the state record that held up for many years.

I was tickled for him, and he got a Master Angler award, and the mounted fish hung in the DNR offices in Lansing for years before his record was broken. He didn't care. He'd had his "15 minutes of fame."

And that was the neat thing about brother George. He could go with the flow, be happy doing anything outdoors, and greet each new day with a smile on his face. He had the capacity to make people feel good.

He's been gone for nearly nine years, and I miss him greatly. I'd trade many of my tomorrows for a single yesterday, doing something outdoors with him.

Always be prepared for a bow shot

The Boy Scouts of America have a famous motto: Always Be Prepared

To best the better deer, operate on the Boy Scout motto: "Always Be Prepared"
photo Dave Richey ©2012

That same motto should certainly apply to bow hunters, especially those who hunt the December archery season. Bucks are does can appear and disappear without warning, and hunters who have their bow hanging off a limb or hook are not really prepared.

One of my friends told me last fall that a pair of does snuck in on her, and before she could lift her bow off a nearby limb, the buck and both does had vamoosed. She didn't spook them; the buck was keeping the does away from the food source, and when they left he was pulled along in their wake.

"What did I do wrong?" she asked. She wanted the truth but wasn't really prepared for my answer.

Her problem was the same of most people: not being ready

"You weren't ready," I told her. "I learned many years ago to always be prepared for a shot. The hunter must always be ready, and it's one reason why shooting bucks is easy for me."

If a buck is within range, and offers a broadside or quartering-away shot, from the first sighting of the animal until the arrow slices in behind the front shoulder, is a matter of five seconds or less.

Many hunters tire easily of holding their bow. It fatigues arm, shoulder and back muscles, and stiff muscles are slow to respond.

I often lay my bow across my lap while sitting down, and the release is always on the string. Too many people tell me it takes them 10-15 seconds to get the release on the string when a buck shows up. For most of them, the buck is out of range as they fumble and make small noises while trying to put the release on the string.

They get all jittery at the sight of a buck within bow range, Their heart beat speeds up, they make useless movements and make noise and waste time, and by the time they are ready the buck is gone.

Get into a proper shooting position in your stand, and ready the bow. That means having the release on the string from the beginning to the end of the hunt. Trying to pull a release out of a pocket when a deer is nearby is a lesson in frustration and futility.

Being ready  means a shot is imminent and all things are in place

If my bow rests across my lap, all I have to do is rotate the bow upright, and begin making the draw when the moment is right. Missing that right moment is easy when the hunter isn't mentally and physically prepared.

A friend of mine, who bow hunts about 85 days per year, wears tall knee-high rubber boots as we all do to cut down on human scent. He has developed a novel way of always being ready for a bow shot.

"I sit while hunting, and being right-handed, will stick the lower limb of my C.P. Oneida Black Eagle bow into the top outside edge of my boot," he said. "A buck walks in, and the bow is upright, and I begin my draw (the release is already on the string) while sliding the lower limb out of my boot.

By the time I'm at full draw, my red-dot sight is tracking the animal. When it stops or provides me with an ideal shot, the arrow is released. It takes about two seconds to draw, aim and shoot, and there is very little movement to spook wary deer."

What many hunters don't realize about late-season hunting is that bucks are hungry, and are trying to regain weight lost while in rut. This is a vital concern for them, and if does are traveling with a buck, he may drive them away so he can feed.

Some hunters will pass up a 4-, 6- or small 8-point buck in order to help serve as a steward of our natural resources, and will try to shoot a doe. The does are flighty because bucks are hooking at them with their antlers, and they come in and out and seem to be in constant motion.

Just remember that Boy Scout motto while hunting

Hunters like the woman who missed her opportunity tonight must learn to be ready at all times. It requires paying constant attention. Deer can appear and vanish within a few seconds, and hunters who are reaching for their bow or fumbling with a release are usually too late.

I tend to daydream a bit while on stand but my mind is always aware of what is going on around me. I can slip from an idle daydream into drawing my bow in an instant, and hunters who can do this time after time seldom miss an opportunity to shoot at a buck or doe.

They, like a true Boy Scout, are always prepared for action.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Avoid these turkey hunting mistakes

Do everything right, and avoid Mr. Murphy, and you can shoot a bird

Hunt wild turkeys long enough and you're gonna make a blunder or two. That's bankable.
photo Dave Richey ©2012

"Keep your powder dry" was the motto in the 1700 and 1800s when muzzleloading hunters and frontiersmen roamed parts of North America. Those who failed to follow that sage advice often went hungry or had their hair lifted and cut off below the roots.

My list of hunting mistakes with game, especially turkeys, is endless. Years ago, while hunting in a heavy rain with a muzzleloader, I forgot to cover the muzzle. I set my front-loader against a tree with the powder and shot charge in the barrel but the shotgun wasn't primed.

I set out my decoy, retreated to my chosen spot, and primed the muzzleloading shotgun. A large number of gobblers and hens came, and milled around in a tight circle near the decoy, and I couldn't shoot for fear of killing more than one bird. They eventually left, and I called again.

Make certain to learn the exact location of a roosted longbeard

A lone gobbler a half-mile away answered, and I sweet talked him with a soft yelp and some hen jabber with a push-pull call. He came running up. I saw him first at 30 yards, and then he dropped into a little dip in the ground, and popped up again at 20 yards and stopped. The shotgun was up, and when I pulled the trigger, the primer went off with a pop. The powder did not.

I'd forgotten to put a balloon or anything else over the muzzle to keep my powder dry. The Pyrodex was a black semi-liquid. It was a lesson well learned and never forgotten.

I took a guy out one day, late in the season, and spotted a jake 150 yards away. This guy wanted to shoot a gobbler, and beard length didn't matter. It took 30 minutes to bring the jake within 80 yards, and the guy was aiming at the bird.

"He's too far away," I whispered. "Don't shoot yet. Let him get to within 35 yards." He said the bird was only 35 yards away, aimed and shot.
The young gobbler hauled tail feathers into the woods. The man maintained the bird was only 35 yards away until I asked him to give me a prominent landmark where the bird had been standing. He said the bird was right near that little bush that stood three feet high.

He was urged to pace it off in approximately 36-inch steps as I walked beside him counting the paces. I got 80 steps and he got 77 steps, and then he realized the mistake he had made. It was the last gobbler we saw that day.

Pay attention to distance and don't take long shots

This didn't happen to me but to a friend. He knew, within 50 yards of where a gobbler had roosted the night before. He snuck in the next morning, and stopped well short of the roosting area to wait for the first gobbles of the morning. The sun came up and all was silent.

He gave a very soft tree yelp or two but nothing responded. He stuck with it, and finally with a great deal of impatience, he uncorked a loud yelp on his box call and something happened. A big gobbler bailed out of the tree he was sitting under, and it flew 75 yards, hit the ground a'runnin', and that was it. He had set up directly under the gobbler and missed his big chance.

Two friends, on their first gobbler hunt, went looking before dusk and spotted several dark birds on the ground. Just before dark they flew up into a tree. These guys knew about roosting birds and were happy.

Be positive roosted birds are wild turkeys

They returned the next morning well before dawn, set up about 100 yards away, and waited for the day to wake up. Tweety birds tweeted, crows cawed, and they yelped on box calls. They could see several dark forms in the trees, and called again and again.

Eventually the birds flew down, and went to where the hunters had seen them the previous night. No amount of calling seemed to work, so one of them slowly eased his binoculars from his backpack, and with infinite patience, eased them up to his face and studied the birds.

The birds they had roosted the night before were not real turkeys. They were turkey vultures, and they were feeding on carrion on the ground. They admitted it, and took their share of ribbing.

There is only one sure thing when turkey hunting. Murphy's Law always applies, and simply stated: If anything can go wrong, it will. Keep Mr. Murphy in mind, try to outguess him, and sometimes the gobblers react as you plan and the hunt is a success.

Of course, when we mess up, it's still good for a laugh even when we don't feel much like laughing at our silly mistakes. Trust me on this: if you hunt wild turkeys long enough, you too will make a blunder or two.

Fish stories and deer tales

All too often outdoorsmen get caught up in stretching their adventures afield so far they frey and break. Too bad, the truth is often far more interesting.
illustration - i65Design+Media; photos - Dave Richey

A deer tale is made up of some of the very same components as fish stories. Both usually require the use of both arms and hands to measure how long the trout was or how wide the  antler spread happened to be on that big buck they missed.

Oddly enough, some deer tales are true. Others may be partly true, and some have no truth to them whatsoever. For them, the  teller seldom lets the truth get in the way of a good story.

Some of these tales will provoke a questioning response from the listener. Some are out-and-out lies, and others may contain a kernel or two of truth simply because they are so outrageous, it seems likely they must contain some truth.

Some people lie when the truth would be more exciting

Over 58 years of hunting, some deer tales have come my way. Many are considered lies because I can see the teller's lips moving, and know he never tells the truth.

Years ago, a man who is not prone to lying told me a tale about a hunter he knew. The gent had watched a nice buck jump a dry drainage ditch at the same place several days in a row. The time was almost always about 5 p.m.

My friend's friend decided to ambush, bushwhack or dry-gulch the animal with a bow when it jumped the dry ditch. He peeked through tall marsh grass and watched as the buck moved closer. He said he came to full draw, while laying on his back in the ditch, and waited ... or so the story went.

The buck was heard near the edge of the ditch, and as the buck sailed over his prone body, he released the arrow. The shaft skewered the buck just behind the brisket, hit the spine, and exited the animal's back.

The buck could be heard alongside the road, flopping about, paralyzed, and slowly dying. He said a driver, sailing along in his car, almost hit the deer as it folded up inches from the edge of the road. The driver nearly had a heart attack, and thought the animal would crash through the windshield, which quite possibly could have happened.

My problem is: how does a bow hunter draw a bow while laying flat on his back? How does he nail a firm anchor point? Go ahead, try it: try laying on your back and draw an arrow.

Could it have been done? I doubt it. What do you think?

This next story I’ve heard from several people. Some truth involved,

Years ago several guys traveled to Tennessee each year to hunt those wild Rooshian boars, as the locals called them. Their weapon of choice was a spear. They found a boar, taunted it until it charged, and when the boar with its knife-sharp tushes came at them, they would put the back end of the spear in the ground, and when the pig charged, they met the charge with a spear point.

The storyteller said they killed several boars with a spear, and wanted to try it on deer. They knew it would be impossible to get a buck to charge so decided to try spearing a deer from a tree stand, even if it wasn't legal.

One of these yahoos saw a small buck walk past his stand, and he drew back his arm and threw the heavy spear with all of his might. The point went in behind the front shoulder, knocked the deer over, but it ran off and the spear fell out.

The violator climbed down, gathered up his bloodied spear, and started following the blood trail. He trailed the deer for some distance, saw it laying dead and walked up to it.

He squatted down, the spear held with the point upright like an African warrior, to admire the splendid throw he'd made. The spear was suddenly snatched from his hand. He jumped up, cussing up a streak, only to see a smiling conservation officer. The gent lost his deer and spear, received a ticket, paid a big fine, and lost his right to hunt for three years. That was rather a boneheaded play.

The fish and game we take deserve the truth, not a bunch of lies.

Such stories are almost too far-fetched to be true. Both show a wonderful sense of imagination, even if they probably aren't true. One of the secrets to telling a joke, a tall tale or a lie, is each one should contain some semblance of truth.

It's that little dash of truth, like mustard on a hot dog, that makes the tale somewhat tasty to the listener and easier to swallow. And, over many years, I've spent a good deal of time with conservation officers, and some of the tales they tell are about as far off center as these. So, perhaps they could be true.

I've got some other whoppers I've heard in the past, and some day soon I'll trot out a few more for your reading pleasure. If you've got a good one, send it along.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Fool a gobbler on his turf

Choose your spot wisely and you’ll shoot a nice gobbler

Make the right assumptions and you will fool that gobbler on his home turf and enjoy a successful hunt.

There are a great number of assumptions in today's blog. I am assuming that you'll roost a big gobbler the night before your turkey hunt opens.

We further assume you know which tree he will roost in, and which little wooded opening he will try into. For good measure, we'll also assume the direction he and his harem of hens will take to the closest strutting zone after fly-down.

I told you there were many assumptions. And, if you think about it very long and hard, you will note such basic assumptions exist on almost every spring turkey hunt.

Now, the trick is to get into place within 100 yards (give or take 25 yards) of the roosted limb-hanger. The question of the day is simple: Does the gobbler fly down into the field or into a wooded opening?

If the open field is close, it can affect where you choose a stand. If the bird lands in the woods, the hunter can set up in the woods, along the path they normally travel to get to the field or near the field edge.

If you don't assume correctly, you are counting on luck

There are hazards to setting up near the wooded opening. It is easy to bump a bird if you mistakenly get too close to the roosted gobbler and he or his hens hear or see you moving into position.

Another problem with setting up in the dark is it is lighter from above, and the bird can see down into the woods better than you can see while sitting down in the woods. The fly-down may come so early (minutes before actual sunrise), and it can fly down and the beard may not be clearly visible. The gobbler may walk past a hunter gobbling like crazy, and it's easy to assume this is a gobbler (which it probably is) but it may have lost its beard. It wouldn't be legal to shoot a beardless bird.

I prefer to set up fairly close to the open field, and call once or twice to get the attention of the gobbler, and sit back to see what happens. Just remember now to face the west when you set up or you may be looking directly into a fiery sunrise and not be able to see the gobbler as he moves past.

Pop the bearded bird if it flies right to you at fly-down

The trick here is to move 10 to 15 yards into the woods, sit down and be ready for a shot. The gobbler may twist off two or three lusty gobbles from the roost, fly down, gobble once again, and then move out without gobbling again.

If preseason scouting indicates where the bird roost, and it is a short distance (within 100 yards) of the field, I'd set up near the field edge. This provides perhaps the easiest and quietest place to sit up, and you can avoid spooking birds.

There is  no need to be breaking branches at the last moment. If you've watched the birds walk out of the woods to the strutting area, once they move off across the field or back through the woods, find a key location, locate where you will sit, remove those broken stubs that stick your back or butt, clean away all dry leaves underfoot, and determine where you will put the decoys (if you use them).

Prepare such a spot a day or two before the season opens but make certain the birds are gone before you do anything. Take care of your set-up area, and move quickly away. Try to avoid being pinpointed by other hunters.

Get in place early and quietly arranges calls, and then relax and wait

Come opening day, I try to be in place at least an hour before daybreak. Sit back and relax, and don't start second-guessing your spot. If it looked good by light of day, it should look good on opening morning.

Make certain you know how to get into the area without stumbling around. Turkeys are accustomed to hearing deer, raccoons and other ground-dwelling critters move around in the dark. A tiny bit of noise is acceptable but no talking.

Muffle box calls and push-button calls so they don't squawk if you bump against a sapling or tree limb or trunk in the dark. I lay out all the calls I plan to use on a green or brown towel next to my left leg within easy reach.

Enjoy watching the woods come alive, and be prepared for that first gobble of the day. Shooting a gobbler is anticlimactic to hearing the first few gobbles and watching a snowball-white head come bobbing through the woods as the bird comes to the call.

Pulling the trigger is the least of my concerns. For me, calling and fooling a gobbler on his turf is what the hunt is all about.

High gas prices hurt consumers

Dave Richey holds up a nice mint-silver steelhead

Knee-deep in a spring steel run may be replaced by knee-deep in too costly fuel prices to even get there.

Well, duh! It's true that the price of gas is affecting everyone. It's hurting the economy, and yet two major oil companies announced recently they made record profits last year.

And just think, they feel proud of their accomplishment. And they probably wonder why everyone is ornery with them.

We had to go to a downstate funeral last weekend, and I got to chatting with one of the people at the funeral home. They told me that spring fishing trips were no longer being factored into their budget. They said they no longer could afford to drive north to fish for steelhead.

I'm not seeing the heavy steelhead pressure of the past

Another person told me that although he drew a tag for the first turkey season for Area K, he wouldn't be hunting this spring. He also said that money was tight, fear of layoffs at Ford and General Motor, and a lack of money would keep him near home.

Frankly, where I live at Traverse City, people are accustomed to the local gas stations raising prices Thursday afternoon, and dropping them slightly on Monday morning. They try to tell us that demand dictates the price, and to a point that is true.

However, gas stations have known for years that more people fill up prior to the weekends. So ... the fuel prices get cranked up.

I read somewhere that Michigan tourism wants to get more people traveling around the state. Good luck on that one, because many folks are having a tough time just buying enough gas to drive to work.

Sure, people can car pool but most don't want to. There may come a day when people will be forced into carpooling whether they want to or not. We, as a nation, have become so dependent on low-priced fuel that we've been spoiled.

So what happens? Big Oil figures it out, and starts jockeying prices, and what happens, they have record profits in 2005. Does anyone need a road map to figure out how those profits came to be?

Massive profits only help Big Oil get bigger and richer

Many local fuel company owners claim they do not manipulate the prices, but any second-grader could figure out why they raise prices on weekends. I'm not a big fan in trying to get people to do things, but ...

I've often wondered what would happen -- if anything -- if everyone took a week vacation and stayed home. No trips to town, the bowling alley or onto Lake Michigan to fish. How much impact would that have on local oil companies? Would it get their attention?

We all know the oil companies could ride that out, and could probably ride out a month-long boycott, but somehow, some way, this business of high-priced gas gouging must end.

The automakers are working on cars that will run on alternate fuel. Is anyone naive enough to believe that this alternate fuel will become just as expensive as fossil fuel?

And then, one trip into downtown Traverse City, and we'll see foolish drivers going 15 miles per hour over the legal speed limit. They weave in and out of traffic, and crowd up on the next car's back bumper, goose it hard to get around, and then sits idling at the stop light.

The roadways are filled with high speeding motorists

They've gained nothing but have wasted enough fuel to ruin any chance for better gas mileage. So I ask: Are gas prices affecting sportsmen?
Absolutely. The spring steelhead run seems to be sputtering along but the number of anglers are down. I don't see as many people trolling the harbors for spring brown trout.

Let's face it. An angler that lives downstate, and wants to drive anywhere up north on Friday night, fish hard on Saturday and Sunday, and drive home Sunday night, will probably spend $60 to 100 on fuel. Add meals and perhaps lodging, and it will cost them a minimum of $200 for a weekend.

If I were working at Ford, General Motors or any of their parts suppliers, I'd think twice about making the trip. I talked last week to a guy that wanted to drive up to fish steelhead, but changed his mind and fished a nearby river for suckers. He caught some fish, they put a bend in his rod, and he had fun. His total expense was 10 bucks.

Anglers and hunters, if the fuel costs continue to soar so greedy gas companies can make greater profits, they may soon learn that doing things closer to home will be their thing this summer. And, Michigan tourism, bless their souls, may find fewer and fewer people making the trek up to the north country.

And they don't have to look any farther for someone to blame than the national and neighborhood gasoline companies.