The Last Hooraw Is Upon Us

She's tuning up. The distant sounds anglers and hunters hear are those of a big fat lady preparing her song. It's not over, they say, until the fat lady sings. Well, she's tuning up her vocal cords right now.

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

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

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

Herb Boldt with a nice buck I put him on years ago.

As the year slowly draws to a close I prefer to celebrate by remembering people. Some like my father who died more than three yearss ago at 94. Brother George passed Sept. 10, 2003, but there have been many others who I miss for a great variety of reasons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arnie Minka (left) and guide Mark Rinckey with a nice steelhead.

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

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

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

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

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

Roger Kerby with a big coyote.

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

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

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

And to them, and to you, my wishes for a Happy New Year!

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Some Bucks Do Fool Hunters

Some bucks do fool hunters, but in many cases, the animal simply gets lucky and the hunter never gets a shot. Over many years I've watched this happen to me and other hunters. Now as the 2009 deer season plays out the couple days of the season, the thought of being fooled by a buck's actions brings to mind several instances from previous years.

One year a buck came sneaking in from behind me, and then stepped out into the open, away from any ground cover. He stood, only 15 yards away, and it would have been an easy shot except for one thing.

The tall pine tree that my stand was in had long boughs that dipped down almost to the ground. This nice 10-pointer was perfectly positioned for a quartering-away shot except one end of a big pine bough covered his heart-lung area. His head and rump were clearly visible but not his vitals.

The buck stood motionless, sniffing the air.

That buck stood there, motionless, for 15 minutse watching other deer walk past, and never moved. When he felt it was time to walk off, he turned around and walked back exactly the same way he had come, and I never got a shot.

Did this buck fool me or did he just get lucky and decide to stand in the only place where I couldn't thread an arrow through? He didn't know I was there, but he chose just the right spot to stop. He didn't do it on purpose to avoid being shot; he did it because it was the natural thing for him to do.

I've hunted caribou many times in northern Quebec. I've also watched caribou come across the tundra for two miles directly to me only to reverse directions and head back the other way.

Did those caribou fool me? No, caribou do that all the time. I don't think even they know what they are going to do next. The same holds true for some whitetail deer.

I was up in an elevated coop where I could see deer come for 200 yards. A big buck began moving my way, and over the course of two hours, the buck kept coming. He was coming from my right and behind me, and his head was up even though he was upwind of me.

I couldn't turn to shoot so I had to wait until he walked past. Ten yards from where I'd planned to shoot him, a big doe sidled up next to the buck. The angle was just right so I couldn't shoot the buck because the doe was blocking his heart-lung area. The two deer walked off without ever knowing they were very close to extreme danger.

Did this buck fool me or was luck on his side? He was just plain lucky that night, but the doe that came from out of nowhere was what really fooled me. She was totally unexpected.

Bad luck when a doe takes an arrow meant for a buck.

A buddy got fooled last fall. He was watching a nice buck circling around checking out some does. The buck eased around the deer standing out in front of him, and when the buck was perfectly positioned, he drew and shot. Between the hunter and the buck was a doe that chose the wrong time to move. The arrow hit that doe as it started walking past the buck, and she caught the arrow in the heart. In fact, even though I'm aware of last-second doe movements, I've shot two does that moved into the line of fire when I shot at a buck. Bad karma on their part.

Again, the buck didn't fool the hunter. Bad stuff sometimes just happens and there is no way to prevent it.

Another time I sat in a treestand that had been productive all year. Two or three bucks and a couple of does had been taken there, and I set up  one night in that stand. A big 10-point had been seen nearby on several occasions by other hunters. The wind was right, and I made a last-minute decision to try it.

Several does and a few small bucks filtered past my stand, and I let them go. Fifteen minutes of shooting time remained when I spotted the big buck coming. He was moving in a direct line to me, and would pass cross-wind at 15 yards.

He stepped right along and kept coming. Closer and closer, and a big branch concealed my body. He couldn't smell me, and on he came. I could just see a bit of him between the branches, and he continued on until he was well within easy bow range.

All of a sudden he stopped. The buck looked in all directions, and the only thing around was the tree I was sitting in. He stood stock still, as if waiting for something to happen. I was at full draw, and I had to slowly ease down. The buck didn't see the movement, but he was really wired.

The buck stood, and stared at the tree, and moved away.

He turned slightly, moving sideway away from me, and once he was 50 yards from the tree, he broke and ran.

He didn't see, smell or hear me. I think he may have seen another buck or a doe get shot from that tree, and once he got too close, he stopped and stood motionless. He fooled me because I really thought he would continue along the same trail where other deer had been shot/

Some deer researchers believe a deer's memory doesn't last long but I'm convinced that some gut instinct may warn a deer. And this buck was one that completely fooled me. It's this uncertainty that makes deer hunting so interesting. We really never completely know what a deer will do, and it's this trait that makes it so much fun.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Cracking The Big Muskie Barrier

It's already started. A dream came wandering through my brain last night, and there I stood, knees braced against the boat's stern with a rod bowed almost double from the force of a big muskellunge. It was taking line, and then began circling back to stare at me with an evil look on his toothy shovel-shaped face.

The dream had some basis in fact, and it was three years ago when I first fought and lost a huge Lake St. Clair muskie near Detroit that wouldn't come up off the bottom for the longest time.

Muskie dreams are just what they are: dreams of big nasty-looking, toothy fish. Most dreams have some basis in fact, and occasionally my muskellunge dreams contain combined elements from two or three different unforgettable fishing experiences. These dreams always show up during the middle of the winter when most water waters wear a mantle of thick ice. We still have four to five months before Michigan's muskie 2010 season opens.

Larry Ramsell with a 45-pound Upper Peninsula Great Lakes muskie.

What causes these dreams? Beats me, but I suspect it comes from thinking of fishing for them.  Two years ago, I tipped an old buddy -- Larry Ramsell of Hayward, Wisconsin -- off to a Michigan hotspot I've known about and fished for 30 years. I couldn't go because I was recovering from one of many eye surgeries, so I gave him a clue.

The general locale was the St. Marys River in the eastern Upper Peninsula, which encompasses a large chunk of watery real estate. He and two others fished the first day and caught a 42-inch fish.

The next day one man landed and released a small fish, another one hooked and lost a large muskie, and then Ramsell nailed a 53 1/2-inch muskie that weighed approximately 45 pounds, and they missed my hotspot by 30 miles.

Ramsell is a great muskie angler, and perhaps the most savvy of all. He recognized good muskie water, and fished it hard and caught fish.

A photo of Ramsell and his trophy fish appears above, and I'll probably dream of it tonight. However, to illustrate how fickle muskie fishing can be, Ramsell returned the following year and never caught a fish. A cold front moved in, and he and I fished in high winds and rain for two days without having a strike.

The odd thing about muskie fishing is the reason we fish for them. It becomes a personal quest for a trophy fish. The above fish isn't Ramsell's first 40+-pounder, but very few fish of such honest sizes will tip the scales that far. He admits that the quest, the enduring search, for an even larger muskellunge is what drives him and many others to travel widely and to fish often for a larger fish.

Satisfying that quest does occur, but not for everyone. I've hooked three or four 40-pounds in many years of fishing for them. The trick is to fish all the known big-fish waters but never fail to try other lesser-known lakes. Long Lake near Traverse City, Michigan, undoubtedly holds 40-pound fish or even larger, but very few are landed. Most are hooked by accident by people fishing for other species, and invariably the fish breaks off and gets away.

Years ago, I boated a big muskie on Dale Hollow Reservoir, on the border of Kentucky and Tennessee. That fish weighed 36 1/2 pounds, and it is the biggest muskie I've landed. But this type of fishing is an itch that always needs scratching.

The only thing that relieves the itch is to go again. And always, lurking in the darkest corner of our brain, is the thought of our biggest muskellunge. A quest to top that fish, and not necessarily to keep it, is what keeps us pounding the water when others have quit.

The Lake St. Clair fish I hooked three years ago was never seen. Fish hooked while trolling, and this holds true with big fish, is the muskie will stay deep. It may roll on the surface toward the end of the fight, but they normally stay down until they get wore out.

My unseen fish hit a down-rod on the corner of the boat, with the lure in the prop wash, and it ripped off yards of line. We cleared other lines, and that fish and I tussled for more than 20 minutes. I'd move it up off bottom, and down it would go again, and take out more line. Back and forth we went until I could sense the fish tiring, and it rolled under the surface where it was impossible to see the length or girth, and then it rolled again, and the lure came free.

Ralph Cagle with a nice muskie but one under 20 pounds.

Then there was a muskellunge hooked while fishing after dark. The lake was Murphy Lake in Tuscola County, and this happened years ago. Me and another guy were casting huge plugs that sputtered along on the surface with gurgles and small splashes from our muskie-size Hula Poppers and Jitterbugs.

"Blub-blub-blub" would come the watery burble as we retrieved the surface lures with an occasional pause. My partner got a big backlash when his lure was near the boat, and a big northern muskie chose that moment to strike the lure and it broke the line.

An hour later as we lamented the lost fish I had a massive jarring strike. I'd worked for an hour on those hooks, and they were razor sharp. That fish hit, and I pounded the hooks home twice. That fish took out 30 yards of line, and I played her with a cool hand.

Even at that, the fish was a monster. One develops a sense for big fish after hooking a number of them, and I'd triggered that fish quick and hard. It was hooked well, and I played it under the light of the moon. Nearly 20 minutes into the fight, the fish ran toward the boat, rolled over, splashing us with water and we came undone.

I suspect the prolonged fight and the big hooks wore big holes in that fish's jaw, and when it rolled, the heavy lure fell out, and the giant muskie swam free.

I remember another big muskie that followed a Suick twice in three days on Wisconsin's Tomahawk Lake. It looked half as long as the 16-foot boat but I know it wasn't quite that big, but it was well over 50 inches long. Could it have hit that magical weight of 40 pounds?

Perhaps. My buddy from Wisconsin, who had seen and caught several large muskies, estimated the fish at 55 inches and at least 45 pounds, perhaps more. That 'lunge still appears in the my dreams.

Another time on Ontario's Lake of the Woods near Kenora, I had a savage strike at boat-side from an unseen muskie. The fish had missed the plug as I lifted it out for another cast.

The next thing I knew there was this enormous muskie camped three feet behind my Bobbie Bait. I kept the lure moving, plunged the rod into the water at the boat, and kept it moving. That fish followed it through several Figure-8 and J-stroke rod movements, and then it sank slowly out of sight without offering to strike the lure.

How big was it? I caught a brief glimpse, and it was well over 55 inches. Was it one of those legendary 60-inch fish? Beats me, but I know I saw that fish in my dreams for two or three years. Writing about it now may bring the dream back to life again.

Years ago, Craig Lake in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula was a hotspot for big muskies. It was a small lake, hard to reach at that time, and motors were not allowed. A good man on the sticks could row around the lake easily in two hours.

A buddy was fishing a spinnerbait when a muskie struck at the fast-moving lure and missed. I pitched a black Suick over there, and the fish bulged the water behind the lure but didn't hit. I applied rod-tip English to the lure, and it followed the lure all the way to the canoe. That fish probably weighed 40 pounds but we'll never know.

Later that day a buddy caught a muskie weighing 25 pounds at the other end of the lake. It would have been dwarfed by the earlier fish.

I've been privileged to have caught a great number of muskies in my life. I've missed some very big fish, hooked some truly huge fish, and lost all but the Dale Hollow muskie, and it remains my largest to date.

Guide Steve VanAssche with a big Lake St. Clair muskie.

Will Lake St. Clair produce something big this year? I honestly don't know. It has produces plenty of big fish, and numerous 40-pounders have been taken and several fish much larger have been seen. Luck, and being in the right spot at the right time, are what anglers need. Skipper Steve VanAssche of Harrison Township, Mich. is a great guide. Phone (586) 524-2827 for information.

It is very difficult to crack that hallowed 40-pound mark, and although a few people do it each year, it is not a common situation. Granted, on occasion a novice will catch a truly big fish by accident or good fortune, but for dedicated muskie hunters, nailing a 40-pound or larger muskie is why we chase these grand game fish.

Crack that 40-pound, and it becomes much tougher to continue climbing that bigger and bigger ladder. Granted, muskies to 50 pounds are caught but very few are hooked and landed over a year.

And, if we crack that 40-pound mark, we'll go for a 45-pounder. And then a 50-pounder. Fishing for big muskies cam become an incurable addiction.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Renewing An Old Tradition

Forget all the New Year's Eve hoopla. I'm not even interested in small home parties. Such things no longer interest me.

All the parties celebrating another year ending doesn't mean diddly to me. I'm in bed and asleep long before the Big Ball drops in New York's Times Square or the Big Red Cherry falls in Traverse City, and the crowds of people go wild. I'm zonked out when all the bars empty out and the drunks hit the highways. The roads are not a safe place to be on that night.

A bit of celebration may be in order, and I'll do my celebrating one of these afternoons real soon. No, no drinking for me. I quit alcohol 26 years ago, don't miss it, and prefer peace and quiet, solitude, wild nature and the sounds of silence. However, sometime between now and Friday night, I'll renew an old tradition of mine.An old fishing tradition of mine.

A typical brown trout from the early 1970s.

Many years ago while guiding from 1967 to 1976 on the Platte and other rivers, I celebrated New Years Eve in a certain way. For many of those years my celebration took place on the upper Platte River, upstream from Haze Road, and it was just me, my Shakespeare Black Beauty fly rod and the river. The fish and I had a quiet celebration of another fine year of fishing, of guiding and living, and of taking care of one another.

I'm not really sure why this year-end personal celebration ended, what caused it to stop, but it ended some 25 years ago. I've thought about it for several days, and about the time the salmon and steelhead disappeared from the upper Platte River before Dec. 31, was about when I quit the tradition of a last-day fish.

No bells or whistles this year. Just me celebrating life and living, giving thanks for the good things in my life. and there was always something about the upper Platte River that has been haunting me. This year, like  the last three, will be a necessary trip, one of another personal reunion with flowing water, and if a fish is hooked and landed, it would be a bonus.

Twenty-five years ago there were still plenty of fish in the upper Platte River on New Years Eve, but things changed years ago. I suspect it's been a decade or more since there were a few steelhead in this river stretch at the tail end of December. No matter, because I wasn't there to catch them. I was there to celebrate my many years of fishing the Platte, and the river had indeed been kind to me.

Renewing the tradition and bringing it back to life.

Last year I slipped into the river at Haze Road, and worked very slowly upstream, scanning the shallows through Polarized sunglasses. I came to the old cabin on the right, and the owners had added a second story to the building. The old cabin had been there even before I started guiding in 1967.

There, just upstream from the cabin, was where a tree had toppled into the river during a storm in the late 1960s. The top of that tree landed six feet from the far bank, and the current dug out a bath-tub sized pocket under the submerged tip. That spot, for nearly 10 years, would produce big browns on a daily basis. How big? They averaged eight to 10 pounds, but one memorable hook-jawed old male of 15 pounds sucked up an orange fly of mine, and we kicked that river apart for several minutes determining who was boss.

He came to hand after a strong fight, and was landed, unhooked and released. One year, from mid-October through Halloween, that little pocket would produce five (the legal limit at the time) brown trout daily. Most of them were released unless someone wanted a wall-hanger.

The tree and the brown trout are now gone, and further upstream was the spot where in 1963 I caught my first steelhead from the Platte River. The current had hollowed  out a hole of quiet water under a shoreline cedar, and a buck steelhead and his lady friend were spawning. A local man during that era made and sold Colorado spinners, and I had one knotted to my line. This was in the days before the single-hook rule, and I'd watched the lure maker cast to a spawning male. He never fished for the female, and his rod was a fly rod with an automatic fly reel and 10-pound monofilament. The spinner was knotted to the end of the line.He'd stalk close. and begin casting. As soon as the spinner washed past the male, he'd lift it out and cast again. Cast, lift it out, cast again, time after time until the male hit. That was what worked for that big male under the cedar, and I quit counting after 300 repetitive casts, and my arm and shoulder ached like a bad tooth, but somewhere between 300 and 400 casts, the buck hit.

We fought it out with no holds barred, and I landed that fish. It's cheeks and gill covers glowed with the color of orange-pineapple ice cream, and a crimson sash streaked its lateral line, and even though it was my first steelhead from the Platte, it was quickly released.

Once the site of thousands of spawning salmon.

Further upstream was a shallow gravel bar that was once covered with the spawning redds of thousands of coho salmon. Shallow pock-marked areas all held fish back in the good old days, but not on this day nor will they be present this year.

I stood, the current gurgling around my ankles, and listened as a mated pair of Canada geese flew overhead, honking, and the sounds carried on the soft breeze with a touch of wildness on this day. Back in the woods a ruffed grouse made that little putting noise they make while feeding, and thousands of memories of people and fish washed over me.

I sat on a snow-covered log, and drank in the glory of what had been and what will never be again. In that era, steelhead followed the brown trout and chinook and coho salmon upstream to feed on free-drifting brown trout or salmon eggs.

An accurate cast with a No. 6 orange fly would work. The fall steelhead would go crazy, tail-walking across the river, trying to rip off line on strong downstream runs, and each fish was a victory or sorts and another reason to celebrate the passing of another year.

Such a venture this year will bring back other memories of another era. It was one of more fish than most modern steelhead fishermen could possibly imagine or comprehend, and it was a time when big brown trout were common, chinook salmon to 30 pounds and coho salmon to 18 pounds could be caught with some regularity. The river is no longer that way, nor has it been for many years.

Sadly, things have changed. It seems that the good things always do and all that remains are the memories, and they are enough for me.

Trips down Memory Lane no longer the same.

My two-hour memory trip on the river last year was filled with calmness, solitude, the chuckling sounds of river currents washing around sweepers, and a feeling of loss. I no longer need large numbers of fish to make me happy, and many times one or no fish will work for me, but last year was just about me and the river and more memories than I could bring to mind during a two-hour fish. The fly rod, archaic as the guy carrying it, was nothing more than a stage prop.

Not a fish was seen while covering a mile of river, and on any other day that might have bothered me, but not a year ago or this year when I return. I was there to pay homage to the river of my  dreams, one that has nurtured me through the beginning of my writing and guiding careers, and a stream that has helped make me what I am today.

Happy New Year, and this year why not take a moment to remember your home stream. Going back more than 40 years to another era will be another quiet and solitary celebration for me.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Favorite Winter Game Fish

It's becoming ever more difficult to pick ice-fishing lures. There are almost as many for the winter months as during open-water seasons.

There are three basic fish groups I love to catch through the ice -- bluegills, perch and walleyes. All are mighty fine eating at my dinner table, but I've almost given up on trying for lake trout, pike and splake through the ice.

Tip-up fishing is fun for the first hour or two, and then I get bored. If flags are going up, using tip-ups can be a lot of fun. However, it seems as if there are dozens of days where "wind bites" provide the only action while the days when the fish really bite well have become scarce.

Besides, I like having a rod in my hand. I've used the oldfashioned  custom-made jigging sticks, home-made jigging sticks, and rod and reel. I much prefer a light-action spinning rig spooled with two- or four-pound line, depending on what I fish for. I usually have one spinning jig set up with six-pound FireLine when jigging for walleyes.My favorite baits and lures for these game fish are:

Bluegills and sunfish

My favorite rig is two-pound clear or green monofilament line and a tiny tear-drop jig or ice fly jig. I choose sizes like 1/16 or 1/32-ounce, and buy them in a variety of colors. Yellow is always a good choice, as is yellow with red spots. If fish are really picky, use smaller lures and shift to one-pound monofilament. Even small 'gills feel like a whale on very light line.

My preference is to pick a teardrop jig and bait it with a mousie or wax worm. Fish off the edges of green weed beds, and it doesn't take much effort to catch bluegills and sunfish. Start fishing near bottom, and slowly work your way up at least halfway to the surface. Most of the action will come near the bottom of the lake.

My bluegill rods have a tiny fine wire spring bobber at the tip. I use coiled wire rod holders, stick the rod in them, lower the jig and bait to bottom. and raise it an inch or two off bottom. Jig it a few times, and let the rod and rod holder sit on the ice. Reach down, jig it again, and keep trying different depths or different holes until the fish are located.

A late-winter bluegill will barely suck in the jig and bait, and if the fine wire bobber bends a bit, set the hook. Occasionally they will hit quite hard, but it's better to count on a soft take. Don't set the hook hard or you'll spend most of the day tying on new tear-drop jigs.

Yellow Perch

These game fish are even more fun to catch , and i use a similar rig for perch as for bluegills but use four-pound clear or green monofilament line. Two basic methods work: using a Russian spoon baited with a perch eye, emerald shiner or a wiggler.

Of these methods I favor a line with a egg sinker on the bottom and two dropper lines spaced six inches above the sinker and another hook a foot above that. It's not uncommon to catch two yellow perch at a time with this rig.

Again, I like the wire rod-tip bobber, but perch often hit hard enough to make the need for a bobber useless. Bait both hooks, making certain the the minnow is hooked in the fleshy part of its back behind the dorsal fin. Hook the minnow too deep, and it will puncture the spinal column and kill the minnow. Ease the bait slowly to bottom, and reel up slack line  so there is a bend in the rod that sits on the ice in the rod holder. Lower the minnows too fast, and the rapid descent will tear the minnows off.

The Russian spoon rig is meant to be jigged up and down, and white, white-red, yellow, yellow with red spots -- all work. Bait the spoon's single hook and lower it to bottom, raise it up a few inches off bottom, and then use short jigging strokes of two or three inches with frequent pauses that allow the lure to flutter back down to bottom.

Walleyes

These fish love jigging lures baited with emerald shiners. My favorites are the Hali, jigging Rapala, and the Do-Jigger. I add an emerald shiner to each hook, and jig it softly with short two-inch strokes. Hard and forceful jigging strokes will litter the bottom with dead minnows and be unproductive.

This is a sport where it's important to keep moving and trying different locations until a school of fish is found. I use either a spinning or bait-casting rig with six-pound FireLine, and make certain the hooks are sharp. Use short jigging strokes, and most fish hit on the up-stroke although some will hit as the baited lure flutters down. If there is a secret to successful winter ice-fishing, it is to begin fishing near bottom, keep moving in search of roving walleyes, and fish all depth but most of these glassy-eye game fish will be found near bottom. The biggest secret to catching winter walleyes is to find they. After that, the fish are not all that difficult to catch because they are always on the prowl for a quick and easy meal.

The lure, the bait and the jigging method is what turns all three of these winter game fish on, and fishing through a hole in the ice is a great way to spend a winter day.

122709_droblog_FavoriteWinterGameFish_((tag: bluegill, Dave Richey, ice fishing, line, lures, Michigan, minnows, outdoors, shiners, walleyes, yellow perch))

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Blowing On The West Wind

The wind came in hard a couple of days ago. Straight out of the west, skipping across Lake Michigan like a flat stone, and came slamming into our woods.

Some of my timber -- just 100 trees -- had been selectively cut a few years agi, and my intention was to check things out. The wind early was about 20 miles per hour, and it kept blowing harder as the day went on.

I wanted to check things out, look for deer tracks in the snow, and start making plans for hunting sites for next fall. I know where deer bed in my area but it was not my intention to go through those spots today or to put up stands anywhere near them next year.

I need bedding cover and food plots.

Any removal of timber changes the complexion of a wood-lot. The sole purpose of cutting down some trees is to increase the amount of sunlight that hits the forest floor. The more sunlight, the greater the new growth that will spring up, including trees to be cut in the future.

New growth is what deer and grouse and wild turkeys thrive on. It increases the number of songbirds as well, and once these trails have had all vegetation killed with one or more applications of RoundUp, the soil can be tested, limed and fertilizer put down. And then, when the conditions are right, they can be planted in May or early June.

By mid-July the clover and corn would be up and the other crops will have gained a toe-hold in the soil. It doesn't take deer and grouse and wild turkeys long to find the new growth.

But the question is just how much space will I have for a new food plot back in the woods? I need an area that receives a good amount of sunlight, isn't prone to washing away in a heavy rain, and it must be located close to a bedding area. Two spots hold great promise, and I checked them out today.

Planning what I hope to accomplish.

A little trimming here and there, and the judicious use of brush-piles can help funnel deer from the bedding to the feeding area. It's my thought to stay away during most of the winter, and then look at it again after the majority of the snow has melted next spring.

I want the soil to drain well but retain some moisture. The sun has to get to the seeds and when the ground is warm enough, the seed will do its job. I want well-rooted plants, and I want this additional food source within 150 yards of the bedding area.

I expect to build two or three elevated coops in strategic locations. The coops will offer plenty of room to turn around in, and offer 15-20-yard bow shots. I'm not looking for lots of deer, but it would be nice to have one really good buck show up every year.

There have been no bucks for me this year. It's hot that I haven't had my chances, but I chose not to take a buck. I passed up bucks this season and haven't fired an arrow or a bullet. We've hunted most near home in preparation for next seasons changes.

Rather than travel we hope to hunt near home.

I love to hunt new spots, but my failing vision prevents me from driving home at night. I must depend on Kay for the driving, and once it turns cold, she rarely hunts. So ... the answer is to hunt closer to home.

We know we won't see as many deer -- bucks or does -- here as we would in other areas but we'll be able to slip away more often during the rut and hunt during mid-day. If the wind switches we'll be only  minutes from the house instead of being an hour away. When the snow falls, and icy roads become treacherous, we'll still be near the house.

It's doubtful if we'll have another timber cutting for another 10 years. It will give us plenty of opportunity to work with what we have, build our coops according, hang ladder-stands where they should do the most good, and get to know our local deer population again.

It wasn't much but that is what I did today. There will be a great deal of work to be done next spring and summer, but in the long run, we think it will be worth it after we put our sweat equity into it. Putting together a mix of good food choices in the right spot, allow plenty of room for bedding, and hunting the fringes of the heavy cover should produce for us.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Some Christmas Thoughts

There were thoughts of bow hunting this evening. They were very brief thoughts, and the notion quickly passed as windy rain drizzled down my windows.

I have deer hunted a good many Christmas days over the years, and there have been a few bucks taken. Not many though, and frankly, it's become difficult of late to muster up much energy after chowing down on a big dinner.

Too much food makes me act a bit like an old bird dog curling up before the fire. I turn around in a circle two or three times, slump into an easy chair, tip the foot rest back, and if the chatter isn't too loud, I might study the insides of my eyelids for an hour or two.

This old dog took a nice little nap.

Old dogs, especially those lean and long-legged pointers, hit the floor like a sack of old bones, and are about as noisy on a hardwood floor as that bag of bones being dropped. The dogs curl up, make little puppy-like sounds as they follow the heady scent of a grouse, pheasant or woodcock through their dreamy coverts.

The older I get, the more sense it seems to make to sleep off at least an hour after a big meal. It allows the grub to settle into all the nooks and crannies of my digestive tract, but sadly, I didn't get a chance to doze today.

Some basketball game was on, and two or three of the players acted as if they had eaten too much, but perhaps that was just my lazy attitude this afternoon. It would have been a decent bow-hunting day, albeit a bit windy.

Nasty weather today with rain and a stiff breeze.

There was just enough huffy, puffy breezes to keep me indoors. A keening wind may be fun to listen to but the deer do not move well in a heavy blow. The continuous rain borders on sleet, and may turn to freezing rain as the temperature drops.

There is a lot of snow still on the ground, and somehow, heading out for an afternoon of bow hunting in too much deep and sloppy snow seemed pointless. It's not that I might not have seen a deer or two, perhaps even taken a shot, but it seemed a far wiser strategy to spend time with family.

I kicked back, put my feet up, and remembered two or three Christmases over the past years when I hunted. As I recall, all had snow on the ground and with much colder temperatures. Our snow this year is deep, and where I live 86 inches have fallen since it first began drifting down from a leaden sky last month.

Years ago, the cold and snow made the deer move, and on one such day, a nice 8-pointer came walking by and offered an easy shot at 12 yards. The buck ran 45 yards, and fell with a two-bladed hole through his heart. It was an easy shot, and a wonderful Christmas gift, and one I've remember for a long time.

I seldom hunt on Christmas now.

Now days, as a general rule, hunting on holidays (especially Christmas) is something I seldom do. It doesn't bother me to hunt Thanksgiving Day or New Years Day, but I usually stay inside on Christmas.

And, guess what? Sitting out today didn't bother me one bit. I can still hunt through Jan. 1, and expect to do so. Some cold weather would certainly help, and then I'll hang up the bow for a month before starting to practice for next year's bow seasons.

Merry Christmas from my house and family to yours. May the best of the Christmas season bless and keep you, and while you're at it, say a nice prayer for the men and women in our Armed Forces, who make such Christmas events like this possible for us. God bless one and all.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

My Christmas Wish

The world of ours is filled with hotbeds of hatred, and as we prepare to celebrate Christmas tomorrow, there are governments and peoples who would wish this country and all who live here dead.

This great melting pot of society called the United States Of America stands on guard against those who would destroy us and our way of life. And, in these hell-holes around the world are Americans, some soldiers and some civilians, who represent our country.

They stand tall and proud, most wishing they were home with their family, and not in a position where someone is trying to kill them. I wish each of those people were home, safe and sound, and with their wives and children or with their parents ... alive and well.

As Christmas dawns tomorrow, our Armed Forces will be fighting on our behalf.

One of the most wonderful days of the year will dawn tomorrow, and while many of us celebrate with our families, our soldiers will wish each other a Merry Christmas while watching each others back. They don't like the role they are in, but wish to help or get out of the country.

Politicians waffle back and forth, and there is much talk about a call-up of even more troops, and I think of my grandson who proudly served his country for a year in Iraq. He came home after a year in-country, won't talk about the war over there, and we saw him, his wife and newborn baby just last week. He's one of the lucky or fortunate ones. He made it back.

None of us talked about the possibility of his being recalled to Iraq for another year, and all we know is he has said he would go back if called on to do so. He is, after all, a Marine and that's what Marines do.

We understand his feeling of obligation, and he understands our hopes that he won't have to return, but the thing I find most troubling on Christmas Eve, is why our young people need to be there at all. I understand the politics of it, and the reasons for it, but he and many other have served their time. Is it necessary they return?

Our military is fulfilling an obligation brought on by politicians.

Many of the people who have served feel an obligation to this great nation of ours, and to the Iraqi people who are caught in the middle of this horrible example of urban warfare.

I, and millions of others, wish there were no wars to be fought, and that everyone could coexist peacefully, but that bit of thinking is naive and misleading. So, our men and women find themselves in a battle they didn't start, and one that most would prefer not having to fight, but fight they will. They go into harm's way for those of us who can't fight this war/

Tomorrow, as many of us gather around a groaning table supporting enough food to feed many more people than will be eating it, I'll think of my grandson and many others. He is in college and working in Pennsylvania, and it's my hope he can stay there. It's my hope that all who have served will not be forced to endure another tour of duty.

This current war, like the one in Viet Nam, may not be won on the battle field or anywhere else.

I feel now as I did about the Viet Nam War that our soldiers were not being allowed to win, and for every soldier who returns with a whole body, there are many who have seen enough hell that they suffer from recurring mental tortures. It has occurred in every war, and our Armed Forces can't escape the mental misery of this one either.

I wish families could be reunited, fathers could kiss their babies and their wife, and that for once this world and those who live in it could be at peace. Don't get me wrong: I strongly support our troops in what they do. I pray for their deliverance from fear, wounds or death.

Some of my early years were spent in the military between Korea and Viet Nam, but I was trained and ready. There was no need at the time for me, but having spent time in the Navy, means that only through good fortune did I escape such conflicts as our troops now face.

I pray, "God, please watch over our troops on foreign soil, and bring them safely home."

I ask for nothing for myself on this sacred day, but do ask the Good Lord to watch over our troops and allow them to return home, mentally and physically intact, in the very near future.

Many will return to fish and to hunt, and whenever you or I go afield to do these things, let us thank those who have fought in this ugly war for their efforts and sacrifices. They are the ones who fight our battles, and allow us to have our freedoms, our lives, our liberties and our peacefulness.

God bless our troops, and God bless America. This is the greatest nation of all, and it has been our Armed Forces, past and present, who allow us to dream and live the great American experience.

Merry Christmas. And keep a prayer available for our Armed Forces. They need all the help they can get.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Antlers Can Be A Thing Of Beauty

It's not that a basket-rack 8-point isn't pretty, because it most certainly is, but beauty is always in the eyes of the beholder. Some whitetail bucks simply have a great deal of class, and others do not.

Two things that make for a beautiful racks are mass and points. A buck with good mass is a sight to behold. Some people favor a typical rack, and they can be stunning with high points and a wide spread, but I really enjoy seeing nontypical bucks.

A buck that has antler bases that most bow hunters can't get their hand around are truly breathtaking. And great hunt to hunt. Such deer often are nocturnal, and you've got to be in the right place at the right time when one of thest monster bucks decide to move.

Locating, and hunting nothing but one big buck, is one of bow hunting's greatest challenges. Finding the buck's home range is important, and then trying to pattern the animal can be a lengthy and time consuming effort, but when properly done, the end result is a thing of wonder.

Lots of mass on this early-fall typical whitetail buck.

I will hunt any big buck I find. Some years are better for big bucks than others, but often I’ll locate at least one nice buck and sometimes I shoot him. One I found avoided me last year, and the same happened this year when I fell off my back steps, landed on my back and rearranged several vertabrae, but seeing a buck with this much mass and so many points, puts a fire in my belly.

I look for classy looking bucks. There is something about a symmetrical rack that is delightful to see, and there is something about the freaks of nature -- the non-typicals -- that capture my attention as well. I also like really high racks as well.

The non-typicals have so much going on with their rack that it is difficult to make a really adequate assessment of size. I look for drop tines, kicker points, sticker points, out-of-balance racks with one side higher than the other. To me, deer with drop points are really something to see, especially if the drop point is long or thick.

One fairly common non-typical is one with double brow points on each side, and one look at such a buck gives the impression of Richard Nixon giving the peace sign with both hands. Double brows on one side are fairly common, and there are always a few bucks with double brow points on each side.  A fairly common non-typical may have a third main beam on one side but I’ve never seen one with two main beams on both sides.

This 3-beam non-typical has an extra beam on the near side under the normal beam. it curves out over the near-side main beam.

One of my buddies saw a non-typical last year that was much higher on one side, had more points on that side, and he was an impressive looking animal even through his rack wouldn't have scored very high because the rack was too far out of sync with the other side.

There are a fair number of big, heavy, high and wide typical bucks that offer viewers a big thrill. These bucks have excellent mass, 10 or 12 points with very large G-2s and G-3s, wide spread and there is little doubt among viewers that they are looking at a very special buck.

A photographer buddy -- Dennis Buchner of Grawn -- shoots bird and deer photos. Last year he was cruising, and saw a massive 10-point stand up in marsh grass and run into the open woods. The rack on this buck was truly impressive, but there is even more to it than that.

Most truly large-racked bucks are large bodied as well. The neck on some of them looks as big around as a barrel. See one of these huge bucks, and the skin seems loose around the neck, and when the animal turns its head, the rolls of skin and fat move with it.

Time is a major factor in growing big antlers.

Time is the major reason why big bucks grow to such large sizes. In reality, most hunters shoot the first buck with antlers they see. These 1 1/2-year-old bucks have tiny racks, and once they've been killed, there is never a chance for them to grow any larger.

Many hunters can feel free to disagree with me, but if most of them passed on these small bucks every year, and other hunters in the area did the same, within three years they would be seeing and shooting massive bucks. It's really that simple but everyone has to cooperate.

Sportsmen who are content with shooting a small basket rack and continue  shooting them, will never see a big-racked buck. Those who instead choose to shoot a doe are doing the right thing, but it's right only if everyone plays by the same rules. It’s  one reason why Quality Deer Management rules are effective; only large bucks qualify to be shot. That allows smaller bucks more time to grow high-quality racks.

Shooting a real trophy  is a difficult thing to accomplish in this or any other state. One must either be very luck or very good at hunting to pull off this trick more than once, and that is especially true as the late deer season winds down.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

What To Do During The Winter

Many hunters lose their deer-hunting focus during the winter months. It's easy enough to do with ice fishing, getting past the holidays, and getting ready for Income Tax Day. That day is not fun to look forward to, and I refuse to worry about it nowr.

So, what can sportsmen do during the winter months that will keep them somewhat wired for the upcoming deer season next October? There are countless things to occupy your time as we count down the remaining days of this deer season, and I'll add some others. I'm sure you can think of many others to help keep you motivated.

Most of us are just getting all of our gear stowed away from this hunting season. Now is one of the best times to check over our equipment and make certain it will be in fine condition next fall.

The first thing to do is to check if the bow string shows any fraying on the serving or around the ends where they attach to the bow. A frayed string or serving should be replaced. If the string and serving looks fine, a coating of bow string wax will help keep it in good shape.

Anything used during deer season should be checked.

It pays to check for anything loose on the bow. Unless a bow is dropped or the bottom limb hits something when a shot is taken, it should be fine. If you have a red-dot sight, check now to see if it is turned off. You can remove the battery if you wish, wrap it in Saran Wrap, and tape it to the bow handle.

Some people let off the poundage on their bow before it is stored, but not me. I shoot my bow almost every day, and it would be a hassle cranking the poundage up and down. I leave it set at my normal hunting draw weight, and it keeps me in tune through constant shooting.

A release requires very little care. Just store it in your bow case or in a drawer where it can be easily found whenever you shoot.

Boots and clothing need to be replaced when necessary. I like to get my clothing washed and put away, and I've been wearing the same set of coveralls for several years. Pulling them on is something that just feels right. People ask when I'm going to get new coveralls, and I tell them that my present clothing is good for another 10 years.

Anything to do with tree stands should be checked prior to storage.

Hunters should check their tree stands, and make certain that all nuts and bold, straps or chains, are present and a tough plastic bag with all parts is duct taped to the stand so none of the parts go missing during the winter. Make certain that safety harnesses are checked before being stored for winter.

Many people carry a backpack with little odds and ends inside that may come in handy. Check it now, and replace whatever is missing, and it will be ready to go hunting when you are. I sometimes take a good flashlight with me on a hunt, and it is usually set aside for use during the off-season.

I seldom carry much with me into the field. My binoculars, bow, quiver, arrows and a flashlight is about it. In December, if the temperature is cold, I will carry a little heater that runs off a small bottle of propane. It gives off just enough heat to take the chill off my hands before a shot.

I often take a walk here and there. I check tracks in the snow in midwinter, and I make it my business to know what is happening on my ranch. I like to know what trails are being used most often during the winter, and I do the same thing during the spring and summer.

Glassing the open fields and woods often reveal where deer are bedding down if the weather is decent. If the weather turns bad, I know they will be in heavier cover but I want to know which patch of heavy cover holds the most deer.  Binoculars or a spotting scope are handy for checking areas without having to walk around too much near the bedding or feeding areas.

Watch for coyotes when making last-minute gear checks.

I spend some totes when making last-minute checks of hunting gear.ime looking for coyotes, and often have my .264 Winchester Magnum rifle with me at the time. I've taken plenty of coyotes during the winter, and it helps keep the predation of young deer to a minimum.

If I see crows or turkey buzzards circling, or occasionally an eagle, I go to check the situation. A young deer may have died or been pulled down by coyotes, or a big buck may have been gored and died after a fight with another big buck. All bear investigation.

Winter is just a temporary inconvenience. It gives me time to pursue things that were impossible to do during hunting season. But ... I'm always thinking about the upcoming deer season.

It's those thoughts of next fall that give me the greatest pleasure of all.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

I Dream Of Old Ice-Fishing Days

I dream of old-fashioned winters. Hard freezes that locked the ice to the shoreline on all sides with just enough wind to scour the snow away. There would be no worry about pitching through when the ice caves in under my feet.

The memories are still fresh and vivid even though my first ice fishing trip was taken about 60 years ago. It was on a little lake near Millington in Tuscola County named North Lake. My parents owned a small lot and kept an old house trailer there, and brother George and I visited the area often from January through March.

North Lake held bluegills, largemouth bass, sunfish and some pike. Ice-up came quick and hard that yeard, freezing the lake's surface, and within a week there was six to 10 inches of firm clear ice with a skiff of snow on top.

Early ice usually produces the best fishing.

The early-ice action always featured a good bite, and I'm hoping to be ice fishing this year by January 1. We triangulated the green weedbeds with three shoreline landmarks to mark our hotspots, and often could return to the same holes that we'd fished the week before. The 'gills and sunfish would still be there, and we often lowered a six-inch sucker below the ice near the deep-water edge of the weedbeds, and occasionally caught some nice pike.

That was then and this is now. I don't know whether anyone has been paying attention, but the last three or four years has featured much more wind from the east. Many of the smaller lakes around Traverse City are barely ice-covered now but there is little action. We need less snow and more ice. I wonder:

Are we in the middle of the global warming that everyone has talked about for the past 15 years. I'm not a scientist, and certainly not a meteorologist, but I am observant. I remember things about the previous years, and I see a pattern forming and it's one I don't care for.

The past several years has produced some rather dramatic changes in the Great Lakes and many inland lakes. The Great Lakes undergo a cyclic rise and fall of water levels over the years, and levels have been low for longer than normal. Several years ago many marinas had to dredge so boats could enter and leave their slips during the summer trolling months.

Low-water levels affect some lakes.

Look at the Betsie River where it flows under the M-22 bridge between Elberta and Frankfort. The water level is up a bit but Chinook salmon and steelhead runs have been relatively poor for five years, and part of the reason is low water in Lake Michigan. There is barely enough water flowing through the channel to allow fish to run upstream.

Several years ago Crystal Lake didn't freeze well and I did a story about three men (two from the same family) that broke through the thin ice. That they lived was a miracle. The ice stayed bad most of the winter that year.

We can take a long look at this year. The stage was set for some excellent ice. Cold weather, freezing temperatures and no wind set the stage in early December, and for two weeks the cold weather made ice every night.

Unseasonably warm temperatures and too much snow doesn't help lakes.

Then, the week before Christmas, it began to warm up. Our January thaw began in late December, and it shows little sign of making really good ice. A persistent low-30s temp yesterday and today is taking its toll, and as this is being written, four more inches of snow has fallen. Too much snow acts as an insulation, and prevents safe ice from forming

Deer are free to roam wherever they wish, and they still have access to numerous unpicked cornfields with several inchs of snow on the ground and what ice still exists. There is no need for deer to yard up, and this may result in a good winter for deerl survival. What is good for the deer is good for wild turkeys as well, but not necessarily good for winter ice fishing.

It also could bring on an early steelhead run, and put lots of fish in the river before it freezes over again. I've seen that happen, and many fish move upstream to winter over in deep holes. I remember once, many years ago when I was guiding, when the steelhead run was over long before the spring thaw began. People who waited until April 1 found few if any fish left.

The weather is changing. That much is obvious, and it is having an effect on many people who depend on winter sport for most of their yearly income. Baitshops will suffer if safe ice doesn't come soon.

The snowmobile industry is facing a loss of revenue as are northern communities that cater to sled riders. Downhill skiing, although I don't partake in that sport, is another business that faces tough conditions.

A lack of deep snow cover keeps winter hunters housebound. They feed their hounds all year in hopes of having good snow, and when it comes late, it is often spotty or we wind up, like last year, with more than 200 inches of snow.

Changing weather patterns do not help ice conditions.

The weather patterns are changing. Will this climate change continue? Who knows, but if it does, the economy of northern Michigan will suffer still another major loss. The stakes have grown higher the past few years, and people can hang on only so long before being forced to fold up their business and seek other employment, which all Michiganders know is nearly impossible with our nation's high unemployment rate at about 13 percent.

I try to avoid such doom-and-gloom columns, but the changing weather is talked about in every coffee shop throughout the north. Many people long for the old-fashioned winters, and I am one of them. This snow, melt, rain slop makes for miserable driving conditions, and it produces little fish and game action.

So, if I can enter a pesonal plea, turn off the overhead snow machine and gives us some hard and thick ice. There's enough snow, and in some areas, too much snow for bunny hunting.

The season can be saved by solid ice and good winter fishing conditions. The last deer season has about 10 days to go, and the deer aren't moving. So, perhaps the ice fishing can pick up some of the financial slack facing northern businesses.

How about two solid months of great ice fishing? We need a change, and one for the better would be welcomed.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Bunnies & Hares: A Great Winter Tradition

Ham and eggs go together like cottontail rabbits or snowshoe hares and beagles, some tracking snow and a favorite shotgun. Add some sunshine to this mix, and a brace of hounds, and it can be a grand way to spend a mid-winter day.

Snow is a relative thing. A little bit is better than a great deal, and that's about where rabbit hunters are right as we make our way toward that hunting season. Sure, it's but few people hunting hares or rabbits until after January 1 when the late archery season opens.  There may be a bit too much snow in some locations, but warming days has helped settle some of the white stuff and a gentle dusting of new snow after New Years Day is something many sportsmen look forward to with great anticipation.

The load of snow that fell over the past two weeks is now just about right. There is enough to cover old tracks, and it's not so deep that it requires snowshoes to get around in. Much of the snow has enough crust that dogs and hares or rabbits can travel over the snow without breaking through.

 The best time to hunt hares & rabbits is only two weeks away.

Any fresh snow makes it easy to spot fresh tracks, and it covers up and cancels out old ones that are meaningless to a brace of beagles. An inch or two of fresh snow is just about right for beagles, and if they can smell hare or rabbit scent, they can work the bunnies fast.

Many a time we've hunted snowshoe hares with two or three times this much snow, and snowshoes were necessary for mobility. Often with varying hares, the white bunnies will sink into soft powder snow and I once watched a hare travel 20 feet under the snow without ever being visible.

The animal was running under the snow. He'd push up the snow a little each time he took a running step, and then he popped up out of the snow just a short distance away, and I popped him. It was the only hare we saw that day.

Hare numbers have plummeted over the past 20 years across northern Michigan counties where they were once plentiful. The easy answer to this decline is that snowshoe hares are cyclic. Their numbers go up and down, but in the past two decades, hares seem to have taken after ring-neck pheasants. There no longer is an up-and-down cycle. There numbers are very low, and anyone with a hotspot doesn’t talk about its whereabouts.

Hare numbers are down, and continue to fall. Some hunters blame an abundance of hawks and owls. Others blame disease or shrinking habitat, and I lean toward the latter option. If a hunter knows of a good hare hotspot, keep it a secret, don’t over-hunt it, and if possible, just let the dogs chase the swamp ghosts and don’t pull the trigger.It's also easy to blame overhead predation from hawks and owls, and a major increase in coyotes takes many varying hares each winter

There's no better feeling than listen to the hound sounds of the chase.

My idea of Heaven on Earth is a pair of 13-inch beagles with a throaty bawl or yelp on a hot trail, a fresh snow, sunshine glinting down through the cedars and junipers or evergreens, and two hours of listening to the chase with great satisfaction. Shooting the hare would be anticlimactic. The orchestration of hound music is enough to make grown

There can be a point where cottontail rabbits will find tough going if the snow gets too deep. They won't always move well in very cold or very snowy weather, but on a day when a pale lemon-yellow winter sun peeks out on occasion, the rabbits will lay down plenty of tracks.

Cottontails, once in the minority in northern counties, seem destined to take over where the hares left off. The smaller bunnies adapt well to human habitation, and ornamental shrubs and small trees keep cottontails fat and healthy near houses. The rabbits breed like, well, like rabbits, and they seem to spread out wherever farmland and timber meet.

They thrive in such country, and live wherever brush piles are found. Old abandoned orchards are key locations for cottontails, and they often run from one pile of brush to another. Pushed too hard, and they pop down a woodchuck hole.

Hares and rabbits have provided me with many years of winter enjoyment. I’ve hunted both species without dogs, but it begs the question: why bother?

Hunting with a beagle with a good voice is great fun.

It's been my good fortune to have hunted with champion beagles over a period of many years near Rogers City. These dogs were first-rate, a bit up on legs, and a 15-inch beagle will cover ground and deeper snow than a 13-inch hound. I once hunted with a beagle-Walker hound cross, and this dog possessed all of the best features of both breeds.

It stood 17 inches high at the shoulder, had a mouth like a choir bell, and cared nothing for running coyotes or foxes. He was well suited to deep winter snow, never ran deer and hazing snowshoe hares through thick cover was his game.

He had a nose like a Hoover vacuum cleaner, and once those molecules of hare scent tickled the insides of his nose, he would let out a howl that sounded somewhat between a moan of ecstasy and a primitive hunger. We'd cut him in on the track, he'd stuff his nose deep into the snow, point his nose at the sky and let out a moaning howl that sent shivers down your spine.

From that point on, his nose was down in the track and he was fast on his feet. Snowshoes often run hard and get 200 yards ahead of the hound, and then stop until the dog come within sight before dashing off again. Snowies seldom had that opportunity with this mixed-breed hound. He would burn up a hot track, and often would be sight-running the hares.

Hunters had to be careful when shooting because the hound was often within 10 yards of the hare, and sometimes much closer.

I like hunting cottontails but much prefer hunting snowshoe hares. There is something about the areas of thick cover that snowies love that also appeals to me. It’s close and thick cover, and cedar boughs are always ready to drop a big load of snow down your neck. There is no other place I’d rather be during the winter.

Hound music is why we hunt these animals. We enjoy hound music.

There's something about standing deep in a conifer thicket, listening to the hounds take a hare almost out of hearing, and then hear the chase turn the corner and start heading back. The hunter is smart to stay close to where the hare was originally jumped because it will almost always head for home.

Often, the first sign of a running hare will be puffs of snow flying into the air, and then the animal will be seen as a white-on-white moving object. But before that happens, we must stand where we can see 20-25 yards and watch.

Hares have very good vision, and it's wise to wait until the animal goes behind a tree before lifting the shotgun. Lift it when you and the hare are visible, and they will often spot the motion, and juke one way or another. Miss the first shot, and seldom will there be time for a second chance.

There is something haunting about hound sounds in the  depths of a big swamp where almost every step requires looking for new shooting lanes. Somehow, if a hare is out there in front of a hard-charging hound, and the swamp is filled with dog music, it really doesn't matter much whether a cottontail or snowshoe hare is taken.

Just being there to experience the sounds of hounds in full cry on a hot track is a good time. Seeing the bunny or hare is just frosting on the hunter’s winter cake.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

The Lure Of The Steelhead

The earliest of the winter-early spring runoffs swell the river, and a steelhead holds motionless off the river mouth. The first hint of slightly warmer water creates a growing sense of urgency in her ripening ovaries. Slowly, she pushes upstream.

Close behind trail the males, some as dark as spent salmon; others wearing silvery flanks with a bright red sash along the lateral line, with cheeks and gill covers wearing the crimson and  pink blush of a soon-to-spawn buck steelhead. The spawning run, slowly and tentatively, has begun for just a very few fish.

Most of the run is still months away. There are always a few fish that get an early start on the run, and will winter over in a deep pool or run, awaiting the warmer water of a January thaw or the more rapid warming days of late March.

Oneness with a winter steelhead stream.

Far upstream a fisherman ponders, remembering rivers and seasons past as he looks over the snow-clad shoreline brush and waits for the first fish to show up. It’s an annual ritual for him as he patiently waits for the big fish to arrive. It may be a two or three months before they work up onto the gravel bars  to spawn. For him, this is a waiting game and he know the odds of catching a steelhead now are slim.

Spring steelhead fishing has a certain magic of its own. It’s more than just a fish plucking softly at a passing wet fly, tail-walking across the river’s surface, hitting a fierce current, and heading downstream like a runaway horse heading for the barn.

This is a grand sport, all wrapped up in mystique like a Christmas gift draped in colorful ribbons. It is a mood, as well as a happy form of winter or spring anticipation and enchantment. Not everyone can be a steelhead fisherman and not everyone wants to chase these fish. For those who are addicted to the sport and the fish, it’s as addictive as chasing wild turkeys on a still spring day. It’s enough, today, to just be here on a mild winter day to check the river for fish.

The angler treasures his relationship with this streamlined trout which has enough power to bring an ache to a strong wrist. Steelhead fishing is not for those bent on a limit catch. Fishing success is often poor. Instead, it is an opportunity to fish streams that have been only pleasant memories during the year-end snows that test one’s mettle against the most prized trout of all.

 Someone once said that anticipation is 75 percent of a fishing trip while participation offers only 25 percent. I often succumb to anticipation during the long winter months as my thoughts soon turn to cold, crisp spring days on my home stream.

Dreams of steelhead, past and present.

It’s those dreams that keep me fired up when days are short and evenings are long. I relax before a flickering fire, and reminisce about fish that have fallen and those, with luck, that will provide a long run and a jump or two once hooked.

In the early season anglers may risk life or limb dodging shelf-ice floes that hurtle downstream with the force of a jackhammer. Then again, sometimes shirt-sleeve weather prevails as if spring forgot to come and summer arrived instead.

A winter fisherman often forgets the bone-numbing days when his only luck is to watch the aerial dance of a woodcock towering high in the dawn or dusky sky to impress his mate. When I think of spring steelhead, I see a solitary angler walking a river bank, studying the stream through Polaroid sunglasses for a sign of fish.

A canopy of snow-shrouded cedars and pines muffle his steps. The rapid putt-putt-putt of a drumming ruffed grouse sounds like a far-off drum roll  of a generator running wild as the best part of winter-spring temperatures rise slightly.

He knows he’ll find some fish, but perhaps not on this day but sometime within the next three months. It would be too much to expect to find a Christmas steelhead in his favorite hole but it has happened before. That’s fine, because the ritual of looking forward to spring fish is as dear as family love, respect of one’s peers or a secure living in this sad economy. Any fish taken will be a bonus, and something to be cherished.

Steelheading has many devotees, who all have differing techniques but a shared love for a day on the water. A river-mouth addict might brave snow driven by Arctic winds, or share a lineup with a dozen other hopefuls, as  they work wobbling plugs, spinners or bait through deep holding water.

Boat fishing is a practical big-stream fishing method. The craft that plies steelhead on big rivers are often heated jet boats, although some anglers favor West Coast drift boats or aluminum car-toppers. From a boat an angler can see wildlife working river banks for the first hint of an early spring. One never knows what may be found around the next bend or what the next hole or sweeping run might offer.

Fishing the smaller and lesser-known streams.

Many fishermen, myself included, associate steelhead fishing with small, intimate streams. The chuckle of a riffle flowing past rime ice that tinkles in the early-morning stillness; an impossible wading area where currents slice deep under wind-topped trees to form tremendous log jams; a scrubbed-clean gravel bar with white redds formed by spawning fish—this, to me is the epitome of early steelheading.

I think of reading stream currents in deep areas to tell where fish hold, of seeing a hen steelhead accompanied by dark male fish, fanning redds from a hardscrabble bottom. It’s a one-on-one duel with fish more intent on spawning than striking.

Steelhead fishing is not a meat sport. The challenge of pitting winter dulled skills against a righteous and honorable warrior is real. These fish, often so silvery they blend in with the bottom gravel on clear-water  streams, are a breed apart from anything else that swims in fresh water. They can turn grown men into babbling idiots, weak men strong, and fish hogs into dedicated and capable true sportsmen.

The challenge of a single splendid take, a long run highlighted with a belly-whopper jump, and the eventual beaching of a noble fish is but part of the winter-spring steelhead allure. Dealing with a fish reluctant to strike, sharing a favorite  fish-holding pool, meeting old friends on the river, the thrill of just being there, and the glimpse of a 12-pound buck steelhead darting under shoreline cover; all are just another small sample of the story as well.

Above all, steelhead fishing is a livable dream. Some anglers dream about taking fish under the most difficult circumstances while others relax with a refreshing daydream about rivers, rods, reels, flies or lures, and of course, big steelhead.

Lonely cedar-shaded streams that bubble merrily, spacious gravel bars teeming with stocky fish with no other angler in sight—that’s what I dream about at this time of year. In truth and reality, crowds are more the rule than the exception these days, but this too is a part of the annual ritual.

Dreaming the winter-early spring steelhead dream.

We will cold nights away with thoughts of headstrong fish that will snap at any offering, and we long for those days when the morning mist rises from our favorite stream like a gray wool blanket to reveal deep fish-holding runs, log-lined pools, and gravel bars awash with silvery fish.

Steelhead fishing is a distinct and much different way of life, an experience, a happening; it means much the same to winter and springtime anglers as a decorated tree with presents underneath on Christmas morning does to a young child.

Spring means a rebirth of the stream and the fish that swim in it, the nearby lands and forest, and a new generation of tiny steelhead fry we hope will survive and return to spawn in the years to come. It also means a faint touch of steelhead fever that will only increase in intensity in the months to come.So, if you’ll excuse me now, I need to feel water pressure squeezing against my legs as I fish a long run in hope of hooking an early steelhead as it hugs the bottom.

I don’t care if a fish is caught or not. Simply being there today, and other future days, is enough for now. It’s enough to keep the fever alive until a fish is hooked, races downstream, hangs for a brief moment in mid-air before it is gone. No matter as we know more fish will arrive in the near future, and we can wait a bit longer.

You see, we are steelheaders and accustomed to brief flurries of heart-stopping action and many long periods of inactivity. It’s all a part of this fervor that captures our heart, soul and imagination, and leaves us breathless after every encounter.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

We've Got Enough Snow For Christmas

One of the basic problems of life is faced every Christmas season by children and some adults. The old saying that the only difference between a man and a boy is the price of his toy.

Kids want this toy, and that one for Christmas, and every plaything seen on television goes on their immediate want list.

Some kids get everything they ask for but most do not. Now me, I'm beyond the toy stage, but I still have a wish list of a different sort.

My wish is no more snow for awhile.

My wish a few days ago was for colder temperatures and light snow. Hello, we've got it. There has been enough snow so far the past two weeks  to make travel treacherous, and I'm going to pass on hunting tonight.

Too much snow is the reason, which makes me say: be careful what you wish for. You just may get it. Well, we've got all the snow we need for December. Mushing through snow in a standing corn field isn't much fun.

Much of the snowfall the past two weeks has been lake effect. I've measured 83 inches at my place in the last 14 days.

The temperature is anchored at 24 degrees at this writing, and the wind is blowing but not hard. I went out to get the mail earlier today, and brought in the garbage cart that holds our refuse. It has wheels, but wheels don't work well if this kind of snowfall isn't blown away from the house. The trash container pushed up big ridges of snow all the way to the garage.

No deer hunting tonight. It might be possible to get to my hunting area but getting back home could be a major challenge. Besides, in my humble opinion based on watching deer movements in heavy snow for many years, the animals stay tucked away in some thick cover and wait for the snow to end. It's not snowing now is there are predictions for possible now tomorrow.

That means if we don't get much snow, the deer should move quite well tomorrow. But who knows how long any storm will last or if we'll get a story. I grow tired of trying to second-guess the weatherman.

Snow has been building for two weeks.

Snow really wasn't forecast for this area. I have no clue if we will get belted this weekend as they originally predicted or not, but yesterday's forecast showed that we would dodging this snowy bullet. Enough is enough, already.

Timing is everything with snow storms. Deer often move two hours before the snow hits which means had I been in my tree stand instead of nursing a sore back in bed this morning, I may have seen some deer early today. One food plot near the house is all tracked up.

The snow we already have has brought out the snowmobilers, and hopefully all of them will use the common sense required to keep from killing themselves by impacting immovable cars and trees.

Is this what I meant when I wrote that cold weather and snow will make deer move? The temperature at 24 degrees isn't cold, but when it becomes coupled with strong wind and snow, the deer probably will not move until the snow stops and the front moves through. It's supposed to be partly cloudy and nice today so we'll see what happens tonight.

Me, I love hunting in the snow but not when the wind chill factor is closing in on zero. It's a night to sit inside, do computer work, fill a few book orders, and wait for the storm front to move on. Frankly, I'd like to see a thaw soon, and perhaps do some winter steelhead fishing.We don't

We don't need a repeat of last winter's hugesnow  storms.

If a wind and snow storm arrives and then stops tonight, while some cold weather hangs on, we'll may have all the makings for good hunting over the weekend. I plan to take advantage of any weather change.

And then, I'll join forces with my buddy Dennis Buchner of Grawn, Michigan's largest wholesale live bait dealer, in praying for cold temperatures to lock up area lakes with ice ... without a foot of slushy slop on top of it.

So that's my next wish. Solid ice, cold weather, and no more snow until the lakes all freeze tight with safe and solid ice. That will make my December, January and February ice-fishing plans come together nicely.

So, my advice for tonight: stay off the roads if any significant snow should develop, and take it easy. Grand Traverse County's Road Commission will not be plowing secondary roads as often as in past winter. That can lead to more traffic accidents, and frankly, I choose not to join others in becoming a back-road accident statistic.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Use Quality Archery Equipment

I have been up and down trees since it has been legal to hunt from them. On occasion, I have done what every other longtime bow hunter has done.

I've accidentally dropped my bow, had a haul rope break or dropped my release. I try to make certain these things don't happen, but there have been a few times when things have gone wrong.

If a bow is dropped, it normally must be taken into an archery shop for repair. If a string breaks, the hunting night ends right then. If my release is dropped, I dig into my backpack for my spare. I always carry a spare release simply because I become fumble-fingered at times, and having an extra along beats climbing down from a stands and make more noise and leaving more scent behind.

This is no time for a bow, sight or string to malfunction.

Many hunters use baling twine as a haul rope. It's hard on the hands, and if the twine get wet, it tends to break. My solution is to use a good solid rope secured at one end of my stand and knotted securely to my bow.

Game Tracker makes a haul rope in camo color, and it is 20 feet long. It works well and will last a long time. I test my old ones every year, and often can three years out of each one.

Don't make the mistake of tying a haul rope off near your feet. Bending over in a tree stand can result in a fall. Secure the rope to your seat or a nearby limb that is easily reached without bending over. Of course, using a safety harness is one of the smartest things a hunter can do.

Follow these recommendations.

My recommendation is to change bow strings every year. I know people who do not practice much, and a string may last several years. I shoot several times every week, and most of the year, and I replace my bow string every year and more often if necessary.

Look at it this way: Once deer season ends in about two weeks, it's nine months until a new season opens. What no one needs is to be on stand, watching a big buck move closer, and patiently wait for it to offer a broadside or quartering-away shot as you come to full draw. On the release, the string breaks and the deer disappears without having been hit.

A new string is cheap insurance against such problems. I wax my bow string periodically (two or three times a season), and change them on a regular basis.

Carry a spare battery for your bow sight in a backpack.

My red-dot sight has a long battery life but how often do people carry a replacement battery? Not often, I promise you. Buy a spare battery, wrap it up tightly, and test the sight once or twice while on stand. If it is turned on but the red dot is absent, changing a battery at the time is usually much easier than trying to change it with a big deer standing nearby.

You might be surprised how many hunters carry two or three different arrow sizes in their quiver. Each one is bound to fly to a different point of impact, so why not buy a dozen new quality arrows and keep six for target practice and six to hunt with.

For many years, I shot aluminum or wood arrows exclusively but I've found that the Eastman Outdoors Maxima carbon arrow is the finest carbon arrow shaft on the market. It is strong, made to extremely close tolerances, and as long as nothing on your bow or broadhead changes, the arrows with a constant anchor point, will fly to the same point of impact.

Hunters can insure that constant arrow placement will be available by using a release. My GatorJaw release holds the string above and below the nock, thus avoiding the problem of putting undue pressure above or below the arrow nock. This release gives accurate shots every time.

Big bucks don't grow on trees, and hunters who choose their equipment wisely and take care of it, are always prepared for a shot. Those who are properly prepared, and are intimately familiar with their archery gear, are the ones who shoot the big bucks.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors