You might have missed this chance, but with a well-placed call, you stopped him dead-in-his-tracks and in your sights. |
Trust me, it works ... on a fairly regular basis.
You might have missed this chance, but with a well-placed call, you stopped him dead-in-his-tracks and in your sights. |
Jim Low (right) presents the Jade of Chiefs Award. A humbling acceptance speech. photos c. Tom Ulrich ©2012 |
CHENA HOT SPRINGS, ALASKA -- OK, it’s true confession time. I have a mistress, and have had for 44 years. There, I feel better getting that off my chest.
She’s not some cute woman 25 years my junior. My wife knows about her, all of our friends know this little secret, and they know I’ll do whatever she asks of me if it is possible. It’s been this way for more than four decades, and I’m actually proud of my actions.
Whoa! What’s up with this? Richey is publicly confessing to having a mistress. Well, yes, I am doing so and freely admit it.
My mistress is an organization. Her nickname is OWAA, which stands for the Outdoor Writers Association of America. We began as just friends back in 1968 when I was much slimmer, had blond hair, and was more tidy than now.
I’d began writing outdoor magazine articles in 1967, and seemed to have a way with words. Magazines bought the first six pieces I wrote, and two went to Sports Afield. I figured this was so easy I should have started writing in high school.
The good times lasted as long as those first six stories, and then I smashed headfirst into the brick wall of magazine rejection slips. My first six stories were something of a tease, and despite the rejections, I felt head over heels in love.
Writing was all I could think about, and even though I had some natural talent, I had to learn how to write saleable copy. That took more time than I earlier believed was possible, and after several years, my reputation began to build. Magazines began to come to me, and sales increased.
With increased sales, my reputation began to grow, and as time went on, I ran for the OWAA Board of Directors. I wasn’t nominated, but 20 people thought enough of me to sign a petition and in time I became a Board member. After three years, I got an Outstanding Board member award and was kissed goodbye.
I then ran for the Board again after a year off, and yet again had to gain 20 signatures to get on the ballot. Again I was elected a board member, and again three years passed, and then I said goodbye for another two years, and was re-elected as a Board member the third time, somethng that has happened only twice in OWAA history.
I served on my mistress’ Board of Directors for a total of nine years, ran for 3rd vice-president several times, but was never elected. It seemed my mistress had other plans for me, and over many years I served on many ad hoc and standing committees. If memory serves me right, I served on nearly 50 different committees over four decades.
Somewhere along the way, I was rocked to my sox by being awarded the J. Hammond Brown Award, for many years of continuous service to my mistress. With the Ham Brown comes a lifetime membership. She and other Board members thought enough of me to give me this award.
I was deeply honored, and nine years later she blessed me with the Excellence in Craft Award, which meant a great to me because I came to feel my mistress was again paying tribute to my work. Sometime shortly after, an article was written about me in OWAA’s Outdoors Unlimited newsletter, and it called me a Legendary Writer. Now, my friends, that’s some pretty heady stuff.
After another nine years of service to my mistress, and after a long flight to Fairbanks, Alaska earlier this month, the angels smiled again. This time, dressed in jeans, baseball cap, jacket and scruffy beard, I hobbled up the podium steps while leaning on my stick, and was presented yet another prestigious OWAA award – the Jade Of Chiefs Award by Jim Low, a past recipient of the award and a past president.
If I’m correct, I am the 44th recipient of this award since it’s inception in 1958. It is not awarded every year, and in my wildest dreams, I’d come to believe that this award wasn’t to be. It isn’t given by OWAA, but given by other living OWAA recipients to honor a person by affirmation of OWAA adherence to, and support of, the principles of conservation. It is the highest conservation award among outdoor writer’s groups.
It puts me in with some pretty heady and influential past and present writers. Past recipients include such worthies as
and many others that I have known over the years.
This award was granted for a wealth of conservation stories I had written for The Detroit News, and during my freelance career. A 13-part series on profit poaching in Michigan brought this problem to the forefront. Other stories including an 18-part series about the need for increased study on state black bear numbers, and more positive studies on this animal. I covered Indian Treaty Rights and negotiations from both sides, fought hard for a dove season that lasted only one year, and many other resource management stories.
My 44-year affair with my mistress, and 36 years with my lovely wife Kay, has brought me many highs in my lifetime. It hasn’t all been fun, and that’s one of the things about life we must accept, but I consider my life and career to be the best thing that has ever happened to me.
My long-term friendship with these and many other writers have been a joy to my life. I’ve mentored many beginning writers over the years in hopes they carry the literary torch for conservation in the future, and it’s all been a great and wonderful time.
My life as an outdoor writer has become the model for my professional career. Honestly, I must admit to being one of the luckiest and most humbled men men in the world. And I also admit that my wife, and my mistress, are greatly responsible to me being what I am today.
May God bless and smile kindly on all present, and all who have blessed me with their friendship. Your obedient servant. -- David J. Richey
My wife Kay knows how to shoot bucks. A quartering-away shot photo c. Dave Richey Outdoors ©2012 |
You may have read this before because I've posted it a few times over nine years. If so, revisit it, determine for yourself how it may apply to your hunting techniques.
Ever see a buck coming through the woods and suddenly it flees for no apparent reason? Have you ever had a doe stop upwind of your stand, snort, blow, stomp her foot and run off even though the wind was right and you hadn't moved.
Sure you have. It happens to everyone on occasion. What follows may disturb some hunters, could cause other sportsmen to wonder if this topic is true, and if so, how does it happen?
New hunters arrive on the scene every year, and probably haven't read this before or missed it when it was published years ago. It needs to be revisited every so often.
Trust me on this: This topic will be a quantum leap for some deer hunters when they read it. I've stated my opinions at deer-hunting seminars I've given over many years, and some folks sit in total disbelief. They look as if they've been sucker-punched.
Don't stop reading just yet. These thoughts, if you accept and think logically about the topic, may make you a better deer hunter. We'll be talking about your mental rather than physical actions.
It's not important that hunters believe as I do, but over 40-plus years I've tested this theory on countless occasions in many scattered locations. Each time it is tested, the result is the same. I strongly believe what follows to be true, and all I expect of readers is to study and decide if they believe and trust it.
Know this before we go any further. There is much that modern science doesn't know about the brain, brain waves, and how it affects people and many of the wild animals we hunt.
Here goes: I believe, being a very capable and deep thinking predator, that deer -- especially does -- can sense the presence of danger without the benefit of movement, noise, scent or other stimuli. I once hunted mountain lions in northern Arizona, and my guide told me the reason he feels cougars kill mostly mule deer bucks is because those deer are so full of themselves they act and feel immune to danger.
They are not alert or attuned to the presence of danger. Does, on the other hand, are constantly alert to the possibility of nearby predators as they try to protect their fawns from predation.
My thoughts are pretty straightforward. I believe that thinking hard about killing an incoming buck or doe can transfer some type of danger signal to the animals. Are human thoughts carried by brain waves? Do these vibes, for lack of a better description, throw out a silent alarm that does can pick it up much easier than bucks?
I never think, after spotting an incoming buck or doe that I am going to shoot that animal. My brain stays in neutral, idling without conscious thought. I purposely avoid thinking about shooting and killing the animal. I may and often do spend that time thinking about my next article to be written.
My belief is to never stare at a buck or doe. Looking into a deer's eyes seems to allow that animal to feel or sense human presence. My thoughts remain neutral, and when I draw, aim and shoot, I'm concentrating on my aiming point but am not thinking about killing the animal.
Testing this theory over many years has proven informative. My normal hunting method is to allow my eyes to sweep over the deer without lingering on any part of its head or body. It's easy to establish the animal is a buck if antlers are visible, and that data is stored in my mind. I know it is a buck but no longer think about it, and I never dwell on such thoughts, which I feel are counterproductive.
Instead, I think about going hunting the next night, which stand may be productive under the current wind direction, or I'll recall something that has nothing whatever to do with hunting. I could just as easily think about painting the basement walls, which is a horrid thought, even when trying to fool a nice buck.
However, my mind knows why I'm out there, and that is to possibly shoot a buck or doe. However, my mind focuses on another thought or topic, or on nothing at all, and when it tells me it's time to shoot, the bow is drawn, the red-dot settles behind the front shoulder and the arrow is gone before my mind tells my finger to shoot.
The deer never senses a threat or any unease. It doesn't feel my predatory instincts coming its way, and the deer remains relaxed. Calm and cool thoughts or even not thinking at all is far preferable than telling yourself that the shot will go through its lungs and heart. That may happen, but if you don't think hard on it, I'm convinced the deer will not bolt unless you move or make a sound at the wrong time.
On the other hand, I've often thought about killing the buck as a specific test. I'll think: Here comes a buck, and look at those antlers. My eyes scan the bone on the buck's head, and then I look at its eyes, and then strongly focus my attention on the heart-lung area.
The buck, suddenly alert, turns his head to look around. My eyes lock on his, a predator against a nice buck. His head turns slowly away, and I come to full draw, think about driving the arrow into the chest cavity, and at about that time, the animal suddenly bolts off in panicked flight.
There has been no noise or sudden movements on my part, and no way the deer could smell me. But my thoughts were keenly focused on shooting that animal, and perhaps this comes from my many years of hunting experience and shooting many deer. Perhaps my vibes are stronger than those of others who have largely been unsuccessful.
Think of it this way. I no longer drink, but back in the day, my entering a bar was always an experience. If I were a stranger, I'd immediately sense the vibes of other people looking at me, and then would come a strong feeling that someone was staring intently in my direction. With practiced determination, my eyes would scan the room until the person staring at me was located.
It was then I'd size up the situation. Is this a friendly person or one who wants to put knuckle bumps on my noggin? If I sensed agitation or aggressive hostility, I'd turn and walk out while it was possible. It's the same thing with deer. Flight is always preferable to fight.
In some areas they often say a person has "street smarts." Why. Pray tell, don't deer have "woods smarts?" They do, and their instincts are more finely honed toward survival than yours or mine.
If deer sense danger, however it is transmitted to them, it becomes an instinctive reaction. It's like an adrenaline rush: it triggers the fight or flight response. Deer don't grow large antlers by ignoring these little niggling feelings. I draw the line at granting deer human-like qualities, but am convinced these animals can pick up hostile vibes from someone trying to shoot it with a bow, which are invariably close shots.
Deer can do the same thing, as humans although how they process this invisible information is an unknown factor. Years ago, while shooting some of the deer photos needed for stories, the deer would hear the shutter click, look around, and nothing happened. Minutes later another photo or two would be taken, and the deer would become used to the noise. Nothing happens, and they would soon relax.
It's strange but deer seem to sense when a hunter or photographer means no harm, and while an old doe may go charging off, if they are not unduly alarmed, they often return within minutes.
Deer that may sense a hunter intent on shooting them can get as freaky as a mule deer doe when she suspects the presence of a nearby cougar. She doesn't want her or her fawns to be dinner, and will take whatever evasive actions are needed to avoid the predator
Bucks, on the other hand, seem unaware of danger unless it picks up some predatory vibes, catches a whiff of human odor or sees some movement. Often, if a doe spooks and runs off, a nearby buck may do the same thing without feeling any sense of danger.
This is where it becomes extremely important to remain in a non-predatory mind-set. Think about killing, and things can quickly change and game can vanish without a shot being taken.
Never look deer in the eye, never think about shooting them, scan past the animal, never put a lingering stare on the deer, and if I'm about to shoot, my mind is emptied of all predatory thoughts. Ninety-five percent (or more) of the deer that have fallen to my arrows were dead before they knew their lives were in danger.
I repeat: it's not necessary you believe this, and hunters can continue to hunt as they choose. However, when I hunt, my purpose is to get close to deer, never get them excited, and if the right buck comes by, I'll take the shot. Cougars hunt the same way and they are far more deadly predators than most humans.
It's quite likely this may be the most radical bit of deer hunting lore you'll read this year. I'm not trying to change your hunting style or your mind-set, but ask you to consider an alternative line of thinking when deer approach. Many of the key hunters in North America, if pinned to the floor with a hammerlock, will agree with these thoughts. All I'm taking is your time (the line from an old song) and my hopes are you'll give this the mental consideration it deserves.
Feel free to share your thoughts. Do you agree or disagree? Your comments, please. Contact me at dave@daverichey.com. Thanks for your time spent reading this. Give it some thought, and you may or may not disagree.
George Richey (both photos) landing and holding a big king salmon photo c. Dave Richey Outdoors ©2012 |
September 10 is a day I won’t likely forget. It’s the first day of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula black bear season, but that’s not why I remember it even though I’ve shot a bear on that day on several occasions.
Yesterday was the ninth anniversary of my twin brother George’s death. It happened nine years ago. He was taken ill and learned he had seven different kinds of cancer, and four days later died in Traverse City’s Munson Hospital.
He faced his impending death bravely, didn’t quibble about the outcome he knew was coming, and greeted death on an optimistic note. I lay in his hospital bed, clinging to him while staring at the heart monitor. The flat line seemed meaningless because of the gravity of his various cancers. It simply spelled an end to a great life.
You see, George and I began steelhead fishing many years ago in the early 1950s, and we traipsed all over the Upper and Lower peninsulas in search of steelhead once we became old enough to drive. We were always together in the early years, and we could read each other’s mind. He could start a sentence and I could finish it. Twins often have such gifts.
We both loved the same things. First it was steelhead, and then jumbo brown trout in numerous locations, and then salmon came along in the mid-1960s. George jumped on the lure bandwagon by manufacturing a wide variety of Michigan Squids, Michigan Sparkle Flies and other trolling flies for salmon.
George’s son – Casey Richey of Frankfort – has taken over the fly business, and has expanded on many of his father’s ideas. Casey held the brown trout state record for a short time before it was beat by a larger fish caught in the Manistee River.
George had a long run with his lure business, and lived to age 63. He died just five months after I retired from The Detroit News as their staff outdoor writer-photographer, We made plans for countless fishing and hunting trips, and we both looked forward to retracing our earlier study of Lake Superior tributaries for steelhead.
We’d planned a more leisurely assault on such rivers as the Big Two Hearted, Huron, Middle Branch of the Ontonagon, Mosquito, and many others that we’d fished in the late 1960s. We’d planned a pilgrimage to the Rock River for pink salmon as we’d done in the early 1970s.
He had caught more than his share of Chinook and coho salmon during our 1967-1976 guiding career on Lake Michigan tributaries, and during his lengthy career in the lure business. He also tied fishing flies for added income, and came up with several flies that he formulated to work on clear and dark-watered streams.
George had a great deal of fun with big salmonids but he and I shared a secret love for back-of-beyond jump-across creeks and silt-laden beaver ponds for brook trout, and wee little ponds and lakes for bluegills.
He didn’t share in my love of big game hunting, but he would go on such trips just so we could share another memorable event together. He shot mule deer and whitetails in Texas, was on a one-shot big whitetail hunt in Quebec where we saw only one whitetail over a four-day hunt. He shot two caribou in northern Quebec, and one was a cow caribou, which he proclaimed, as “having a bigger spread than any whitetail he ever shot. That netted him a good razzing from others in camp, but George didn’t care.
“If they are picking on me,” George said, “they are leaving someone else alone.”
That was George. Many people knew him, everyone liked him, and those who knew him through his lure collecting, admired the depth of his research for his books Made In Michigan Lures and Made In Michigan Lures II. Both editions are available from me, and the first edition is rare and very collectible.
He was a picker. He could look through a mountain of old lures, often a pile that had been picked by another collector, and find the proverbial diamond in a coal mine. His skill at uncovering old Michigan-made fishing lures was legendary. His skill at identifying old Michigan-made lures was an enviable one.
In many respects, George was a legend in his own time. Not only as a fly tier, fishing lure maker, fishing guide, angling and lure historian as well as an outdoor writer.
Brother George and I grew up in a little town north of Flint (Clio) and moved north after years of barbering in Clio and Flint. He was a well-known hunter and angler, and many people came to pick his brain on a variety of topics.
He liked people, people cared for him, and he made a lasting impression on others. Readers often write me to ask if George and I were related, and when they learned we were twins, they didn’t know how there really could be two of us.
We were proud of being twins, and we each praised the other when such praise was needed. He’s gone now, but will never be forgotten by me or those who knew him, and I guess I may now have to do the steelhead assault on the Upper Peninsula streams alone. It just won’t be the same without him but it will give us something new to talk about when I meet him again up yonder.
I still miss him and that empty hole in my heart is where he lives.
A buck steelhead hovering over a spring spawning bed photo c. Dave Richey Outdoors ©2012 |
Steelhead laying on a spawning bed photo c. Dave Richey Outdoors ©2012 |
A nice king salmon caught in early fall on a Michigan Squid photo c. Dave Richey Outdoors ©2012 |
A black bear near Traverse City eating summer berries photo c. Dave Richey Outdoors ©2012 |