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